People tell me that things will get better
to trust my gut and hum my songs.
But to waste goes all I've tried and done
left in deep dark drains and pitiful pits.

I envision my endeavours in magical colours
that seems so mundane, that haven't been
discovered.
And writing my dreams on a bland blank sheet
it feels so incomplete.

I cross my heart and swear
I swear
that the pieces I create shall be priceless and
timeless.
And that whatever lays in the far-fetched future
will only be sparkles and glitter-full glory.

With the rackety clack of a Newton's cradle
I live on in envy of what I have created.
My eyes are shut
so I can see
a myopic view of me.

Like Icarus who fell so far
my ambitions fly close to the sun.
The Phantom whose love was stolen
away
left trapped in a Box 5.


I drive myself to my greater potential
Like Jason and his Argonauts.
The insanity of such greatness is flattering
and absolutely morale flattening.

I keep my thoughts in stasis
pulling them
apart and piecing them back
the creativity of lego pieces
infinite

Corralling my inspirations
like Noah on his Ark.
The warnings given days too early
and now I hold naught

but the night hallucinations that
keep me going
and the sun in the dusk sky

There's a fly that's buzzing in my ear
A constant, bugging irrational fear
Anxiety into overdrive
for a parcel that hasn't yet arrived

Insecurities that I try to hide
Awkwardness: a daily plight
I'm afraid they think of me uncool
I think they all call me a fool

My responsibilities rot on my desk
My social life: one ****** up mess
My teacher says that I behave
When actually I have no words to say

They slam their doors up in my face
They tell me I'm a long gone case
They smile at me and block my phone
I think I might just die alone

They laugh but they don't like my jokes
I think they're here cuz I'm not broke
Our bonds just a gummy strand
Who am I but one of their many friends?

So I think it's best I stay at home
With my wired telephone
I'll leave my pen and paper to rest
Besides, who wants to read this mess?

just because everything is
meaningless
nothing is ever
written in ink and stamped on paper
because if whatever we do will be
changed
why do we let the present be
dictated by the present
when nothing seems to be
right and
while no one is
arguing about the fallacies
we keep
telling ourselves to evolve
while
sticking to the devolutions of the past
there simply is no way we can continue
lying to ourselves
we have to stop
we have to stop being backwards

I float under the rough currents
dazed and thoroughly beaten.
My body air-filled and rubber
Bashing into jagged blunders.

Within the tides that turn me round
I splash without a decibel of sound.
The oars that row me rotten dead
and my veins flowing with molten lead.

The syllables with which I speak
deafened by my groans of weak.
On deserted sand I stand alone
crumbling to a pile of bones.

The pressures of the heavy air
the stresses of which I bear
over me so they tower
as I wait for my final hour.

The sands of time flow with sombre
whilst I pray upon a broken altar
The soft bugle of a marching band
and I shall take a final stand.

Cowering under my own regrets
facing off against life's threats
I decidedly drop my weapon of nought
and turn my back without having fought.

The strings of distress of which I spool
may only be that of a fool
but the cups I use to rattle the grate
the number of times I see a head shake

Frenzied terror's what I call my friend.
The devil graces me a shake of his hand.
I climb the ladder of despair.
The final rung: I sit and stare

Christmas lights and deep winter snow.
Summer nights and cool wind blow.
Autumn with her orange trees.
Spring bringing back lush green.

All this I watch from there
I weep and I silently bear
the pain and joy it all has brought
upon me: an ungrateful rot.

Repetitive volutions
of countless revolutions
supplying finite rations
killing future generations.

The stimulation of deep ire
by faux mutation of fire
burning rocks of ice
like useless sacrifice.

Yet the berserk scramble to the solution
of inevitable social dissolution
only sees to the ratification
of society’s julienned stratification

Scrabbling frantically in an upwards city
encompassing dictated veracity
within confines of a progressive nation
unaware of its gradual resignation.

Lost lust
Devoid of feeling.
Heart of rust
Introverted shielding.

Alone within the pink walls
I hold my baby angel arrow.
Watching as it slowly falls
Disappearing without a shadow.

Sand courses through veins
Broken glass making headway.
Never holding the intimate reins
A fey world of soft shallow gray.

Striding into a (space for two) rendezvous.
Screaming out loud: I love me too.

Shallow sunlight
Reaching grey areas.
Sporting berating frowns
And horrid, gaunt eyes.

Peeking
into black corners.
Turbulent emotions.
The stars and the sea kiss
just a footstep backward.

Noises drown.
Eyes burn.
Head smarts.

Flopping on the hamster wheel.
Resting on coffee makers.
The delicacy of energy bars served
on a silver plate.

And your body screams:
imalright.
While your hands scrabble for a handhold
on a self polished cliffside.

When you realise you're running faster than the treadmill.
It's already too late.

The miniscule presence
of a belated future.
Delayed lust.
internal loathing.

Pairs fall into
clutches of envy.
Poisoned waters
they drink in competition.

An inexplicable bond
through distrust and distaste.
A warming in duelling hearts.
A chilling within two halves.

Duos raise their spears and bows
in challenge.
Fighting for dominance
Elusively uniting souls

And they spark a heavy fight.
Neck and neck
A hefty bite
All without the price to pay.
As they grovel at each others show

Of deathly affection.

Stealthily. Love punctures the wounded
Binding like the wraps of bandages.
Understated healing properties
with a hint of fatal spice.

Poetry is a form of literature
Formed with lines and paragraphs
They say smugly
I know poetry

They call poetry an art
Like a monotonous audio,
repetition of every alliteration.
Born to repeat.

PersonificationMetaphorsDiction
They spout nonsensical meanings.
Because they know
Oh, so much about poetry
Like the poet next door does.

The words stick like glue
metres and “hidden meanings” tremble at their view.
as they view the prosed poem with confusing clarity
A concessive concussion forming in their heads

With the sesquipedalian nature of things they endure the
lies they spell with their eyes
as their mouth talks the cryptic truth

With a read of this poem
They look at the last stanza and think
In their muddled heads with a slight smirk
“It breaks the fourth wall. Nice poem.”

Dancing on tiptoes
Prancing around in the dark
Feeling. Touching.
Falling into songs of a lark.

Dovish tones
With hawkish excitement
Caught in the throes
Of devilish enlightenment.

Cries of pure ecstacy
Battles in sweet rain
A nearby fantasy
In a far far away place.

Clashing tongues
Of silver. Of knives.
A softening slate
In between lives.

A sour dream
In a fifteen carat cage
Locked in a world for two
Deep. Love. Rage.

the little ones
hiding in the
tiny shelters
of the palpating heart

they sit
in corners
of a
circular room

eating at
swarms of
undying flowers
that litters the bloodstream

a weeping
of souls
as they meet
at the overpass

drunk in the
midnight rain
of salt
and of grey moons

they pray
to an unknown
heaven
that lies intoxicated

painted a black
sculpture of misery
and torture
like da vinci’s death wish

all sit in a
pothole
filled with rain
of the wailing wind

and so
as they say
they cry

A lost plea for help.
Flatline.

falling through a sinkhole
pressured to a thousand atmospheres
thoughts and words
silenced

barriers surround them
words unable to
pierce through
engulfed in darkness

series of laughter
caught by none
to them its just
.

.
.
ripped off
my soul

drunk in the rain
the salty rain that enriches the ground
pleading for death
come quick

fabrics of time
torn and tattered
fluttering in the storms
never in their eyes

trees sway to no conclusion
with an undying resolution
screeching lightning
isolation from life.

Lapping at the shore
washing sand, salt and rock
Deep hidden lore
a timed ticking clock

Shallow depths roll out
a scroll of uneventful surprises
Silent in the overlooking clouds
unraveled by the tide that rises

Hushed syllables of spoken words
the song of crashing waves
One sees all in the seabed
simply a cover of the deeper caves

Storms unease the sea
as lightning flashes in the waters
Stabbing at the blind lights
nothing floods free

Extra terrestrial marine creatures
washed under cold spirits
a world under the sand of
skeletons, ghosts and grit

Fear like nothing else
trapped within warm calm waters
Unknown to the sailors that surf
or the turfs that rip waves apart

Spreading cracks
unearth the alien fish and murky
waters
disrupting rhythm only to be
pulled back in

A state of peace hides
anger
Crystal clear water hides
darkness

The water lies untouched
overflowing into lakes and rivers
Clarity in a desperate clutch
burying the happy-ever-nevers

My vision is clouded with
Creatures from another Universe
I yearn for them but
I know They aren’t real.

a flawed character in a musical
filled with ear-piercing songs
and the craze of beer and wine
and uncomplicated mess

despised and alone
creating mischief while no one but
the audience look on
and creating drama from the driest of
scenes

casted to be
cast out of the limelight
it slyly adds itself to the plot
wrecking death and horror in its wake
the backdrop a mess of red jewels

internally bleeding out lines
that attack the audience as they are
handed the ***** scripts
and they listen in glee to the
dead, screeching violins

it dances on the stage
clacking of tap shoes a sweet,
satisfying sound that claws at the ear
the heart savouring all there is

the rain breaks through the roof
of the bloodied theatre
****** under dark clouds
as eggs of gold are thrown and
splatter in a flourish and a bow

the clapping of hands as the
orchestra plays the dirges and
distasteful tunes
a spectacle for the ages
and it sinks backstage in
preparation for its next tour

Hidden deep within the grounds
of a tattered torn mess
Hissing of buried hounds
never a halted recess

blind to the fog
that encapsulates sound
silent ticks of the clock
understanding cannot be endowed

Digging deeper into the cess
feelings of helplessness and death
Lost souls under digress
enchanted under spells of nothing left

What is a stone that supplies nothing
to those who crave a deeper nothing

Just after midnight
The first hour strikes.
A shiver in the dark.
Blood runs still in the soul.

The clock jerks forward
Like the knife in the
Killer’s hands.
Unsteady.

There goes the chime
The third hour comes.
The clutching of rigid fists.
Immobile, yet feverish.

Then comes the wicked crimes.
A banging on the wall, silently sharp.
No one notices a thing.
Just a lonely person berating walls

A tear drips
From the soul of the weeper.
The hours that struck
They took the night deeper.

A splitting cry worse
Than the
Hummingbird’s flapping wings. Silence in the night
The clock had struck
Eleven.
Aid was never
Given.

Time was lost track of.
Chime after chime faded into sound sleep.
The thirteenth hour was called.
Could anyone do a thing?

The pleas were never answered. Because they
Were never
Called.
The fourteenth hour has arisen.
The other hours faded in comparison.

Laughter like ice
Coating your cage
a cold prison
Blocking out the abuse

Scraped legs
****** elbows
They whip you with their
silver tongues

Flying, flying
into a black chasm
Echos of your captors
****** your mind

Thoughts
scrambled
they lash out with needles filled
with poison stabbing
out your blood

A shriek, a scream
bouncing around inside you
fainting away
sarcasm overpowers pleas
punches rain in your centre cage.

Rope in hand
gun on the table
thoughts run in your mind
at the window they watch in glee
soon they giggle in shame

The gun hits the floor
the rope from the ceiling
the window now black
They go to haunt someone
else

Your world goes dark
yet, the laughter and stabbing abuse
reigns in your mind
always flying
never
free

drop to the ground.
They smash onto the tarmac
smothered by the city sounds
and the puffs of factories.

Jellyfish of man
they float in the sea.
Aliens in a different land
strangling stomachs.

Axes that berate the wild
****** the mightiest trees.
Felling them into piles
Incinerating into the afterlife.

The groan of the wild
destroyed by shouts of city life.
Humans create destruction
animals cease to thrive.

Holding on to dear life
on the highest branch.
The swamps become seas
with dead, poisoned lunch.

Yet our hearts wouldn’t shed blood.
Not a tear.
As we ****** these creatures
without death on our hands.

Roses are red
Dripping salt and slate
Brimming with anger and jealousy
Crying out tears of dead fate

Violets are blue
Only fear is grated on the board
Highlighting the stale
Mate, leave at your own accord

Sugar is sweet
A devil’s temptation they say
They pour the bitter water
Washing mind’s hallucinations away

And so are you
Willing to *******
Inside the walls of envy
Shaking your burnt-bulb rattle

i bear the cross of faith
tied down to the angels of
Heaven.
He listens to my praises
like the whisper of windchimes.
a tickling of silver tongues.

in the trying times
He burns in my head
a fireball of glory
a lavish thought in my brain.
He instills fear
He instills pride.

we read the words from His Grace
memorising the holy scripture
pretending like we understand Him
pretending like He
understands us.
the loss of faith is lost upon all.

and so as i sing these monotonous
phrases of glory
inside the church of alabaster
i ask of Him a delirious question
and he would answer deliriously.
a consciousness of oneself.

and as i feel my feet on the floor
the gold tiles freezing my soles
i bring into His Grace
a sinner
i ask myself
i reside in a golden cathedral.

i bear the cross of faith

life strides in mellowsteps
in the quickening of time
petals fall
denting the floor
scarlet red

entry to the darkest
promised light a burnt torch
narrow pathways an inch wide
cry

screeching of shredded metal
scraps laying down a support
simulation simulating nothing
under cheated by denied stress

a black gunshot
made blank by insignificant thoughts
head punctured by a billion holes
dried blood dripping to the floor

life calms to a hard
stop
squeezed air
sinking into blind fire

leaflets of chasms
turn the page over
words scrambled
blackout of grey dark text
life ceases in the eye