Where do we go, from here?

My thoughts ring out like gunshots,
I feel the wounds within,
The warmth inside me bleeds away,
My soul is wearing thin.

I’m standing here in darkness,
Staring straight into the sun.
My heart unable to decide if
I’m ending or just begun.

The choice keeps getting colder.
Do I end here or begin?
Because before I get much older,
I might end up giving in.

Joke’s on me..


Didn’t get that far through ‘Joker’,
Before I started to cry.
I wouldn’t make a very good clown,
I couldn’t say why.

Movies I see in myself
Always tend bring me down,
Because people are cruel and unkind
To those with a different mind.

You’d have to look pretty hard to find
One more different than mine
Around here.

I can’t put a label on it,
Except that I don’t seem to fit
Around here.

But I still couldn’t tell you why,
A movie of a man who laughs
Is making me cry.

Line Language. (trigger warning)

If pressing blades against my skin,
Until they cut right through,
Pushing them still deeper in,
Is how to talk to you..
Start counting cuts.

Try to see what they might say.
You think I don’t have the guts,
To cut myself away.
But listen hard, no, harder, because before too long..
I’ll be gone.

Plagiarisation

‘I say’, said Alice,
And so she did.

Until such a time,
At another tea party,
In a different rabbit hole,
She heard, reverb, words
She knew were hers.
She recognised well that which she had created,
Now in another place, twisted and restated.
And she screamed with anger.

But her mouth was quite full,
Of delicious cake.
And she choked, and swallowed,
Furious!
Then, on reflection, took another nibble,
And swallowed again.

‘You’, she said most sternly,
‘Have NO RIGHT!’.
‘No right at all’, she continued,
‘To take words that I have wrought,
And use them as your own retort.’

But no one replied, and
With no thief in sight,
She returned, despondently,
To eating cake and thinking furiously to herself,
In between appreciating the silky sweet icing,
How she might, she might..

‘Someone has stolen my words!
I simply can’t abide the pilferring
Of perfectly presentable poetical practice.
Something must be done!’
And something was.

The familiar cry :
“Off with her head” was heard,
And with it, every poetical line and verb
Alice had created here,
Indeed, once there, had dissapeared.

Oops! Something happened to their page.
‘And that’, thought Alice, ‘is that’.

‘But now I don’t know what to say.
They’ve taken my mouth and my voice away.
They’ve taken my words away!’
‘I can’t say what I wish, I wish!’

‘Words and emotions I need to shout!
Going ’round in my head like a fish,
And THEY CAN’T GET OUT’!’

‘An Alice with no voice of her own,’, smirked the Cheshire Cat, ‘is hardly an Alice at all, now is she? My, my, whatever shall she do?’.

‘I suppose I may as well no longer write, Cat’, said Alice.
‘As I cannot speak the words of how i feel then,
In case someone was to simply steal them.’

‘But I don’t know how I might ever mend,
Without all my words to spend,
Like bright pennies at a bakery..’

She had a thought.
Say, do you have any cake?’

Alice sat, munching cake, and taking time out to think on the matter

Unbelonging

She wakes up every morning
Just to die a little more,
And this feeling, unbelonging,
Well she wonders what it’s for.

The world’s a crazy jigsaw,
With no design to it,
And still she always tries so hard
To make the pieces fit.

The clutter of her past life,
Scars from so-called friends,
Too much toxic baggage
In a suitcase of pretend.

Life is life, no meaning,
No laugh, no joke, no prize.
There’s just the punchline friend,
And you’ll find it’s coffin size.

Not this story.

Now I am distilled,
An essence merely to be contained.
Poured into a tiny vial
No larger than a fingertip.
Sealed with scraps of cork and wax.

And this is me.
Relegated to a dusty, insignificant
Place upon a shelf.
There to remain,
Trapped within myself.

And the label,
Now yellowed with age,
Hath spidery writing scrawled,
Barely enough there to see
Words that remain. That say
‘Drink Me’.

Liar, liar, liar!

I write poems how I’m going through Hell,
‘Cos up close I know you can’t really tell.
I spend days getting mentally ready,
So for that one afternoon you think I’m better, already.
Then I go home and fall
In a heap ‘gainst the wall,
Because if I’m better at all,
It’s just putting on elaborate shows,
So that you just won’t know…
I’m not.

It takes me three days to mend,
And then I do it again,
But the laugh is on me,
Because the person you see
Is who you expect me to be,
Anytime, anywhere.

And it’s simply not fair,
Because that person’s not there,
No that person’s not there,
Because that person is me,
And that person’s not me.

Such a perfect disguise
That you believed all the lies,
But it’s to my demise,
’cause when it’s time for the truth
You just believe in your eyes
From all the times that I lied.

Lied, to me and you.

Waste my time, please

I think it could be rather fine,
If you allowed me to waste all your time.
There’s a trick when there is time to waste,
But you may like it once you try a taste.

It’s rather dull when you’re all alone,
Wasting that time on your own,
But if I waste my time with yours,
It no longer rains, it pours!

Running out in the pouring rain,
Laughing like we’re both insane,
Wasting time, side by side,
The world gets wonder multiplied.

All these things and more to do,
When wasted time is times by two,
So please let me waste your time,
And I promise you can waste mine.

Blogger’s Insecurities

No one clicked like
On my poem so far,
It’s been almost a minute.
Perhaps I put the wrong words in it.

Still no likes,
With an hour passed by,
I’m not insecure am I?
Still I try not to cry.

Still no likes now
Almost a day,
What on earth did I say?
Are they all ok?

I’ve not been outside,
Perhaps everyone’s died,
I do hope that’s the reason,
For me feeling so small,
<ding>
Oh! A like!!
It’s OK after all…

Dead before due

Around my house
They’re planting cemetery trees,
And there’s no breeze.
No bees,
Forth, or back,
As the flowers all bloom black,
In a garden such as no-one sees.
And the children play no more,
Where once they played before,
Outside my door
In the street.
Nobody can see me now,
At least, unless they choose,
Except the girl that lives in the house on fire
And pretends she has new shoes.
She says hello
From time to time.

Forgetful

I forgot to notice
When I stopped thinking I was ok.
If indeed, I ever considered such circumstance.
Now I am older,
Supposedly wiser,
But still, I find myself lost.
A child in a crowd,
Frightened and alone.
Alone on my own instead,
The crowd is in my head,
Everyone I’ve ever met,
Everything I ever said
To them.
Or maybe ever will,
Still,
I stopped forgetting
To notice if
I ever thought
That I thought I was ok.

Songs & forgotten daydreams

I’m older than this time yesterday,
But younger than seconds hence,
I feel there’s so much more time to spend
On the other side of that fence.

I know all the lyrics to my favourite songs,
But can never remember the tune,
While only the grace of borrowed light
Allows you to see the moon.

I’m surrounded by good looking daydreams,
Of who I want, or want to be.
I’m in love with my ego,
But my ego don’t love me.

Snowbird

Snowbird,
Flown to southern lands,
Settles down with healing hands.
Perfection perching in a tree,
Too high for such as me.

Mächina Me.

This machine is busted, hon,
Of all the lights there ain’t but one, that
Survived the flood of sorrow.

Still, don’t go feeling hard-by-done,
We had our days and maybe one, or
Two tomorrows.

No race was lost, no race was won,
But nonetheless, our race was run, on
Time we borrowed.

But this machine is busted, hon.

That Hated London Sweater

How quickly happiness becomes
A devoured distant moment.
She looks at me, in essence, like
That hated London sweater,
Once gifted by her grandmother.
How she would burn every thread
If such an act could pass without remark.

Like the bright eyes of a Blackbird,
I too have brief, bright moments of hope.
And I hope, indicated by a nod from
The old chess player in the park,
That ‘Things Might Improve’.

Instead he said “things only get sadder.
Be it one lump or two, they all dissolve.
The way each of us dies,
Just..dissapearing..then swallowed
Back into the dark.’

“I’ll tell you plain, that you
Should have expected it by now.
It is as it will always be,
Like an icy dagger,
In her heart, and in her hand.’
He nodded as if I should understand.

But I can’t relax. I’m spinning like
Galaxies around a clock,
And when I chance upon the rarity of a dream,
It’s in white and endless days.
I walk alone, and I weep. Weep
For my Guardian Angel, perishing, always perishing.
Never knowing which pieces are her or me.
Never seeing the tiny bloodstained feathers.

Confusion.

Oblivious,
You just do what you do.
And I can’t help having
Feelings for you.
So (don’t?) stay away.
Stay away?
I’d be lying if I said
I wanted to,
Stay away?
Because all I
Want is you.

Lost

Where’d it go?
The bright star I should follow.
The blackbird or the swallow,
I hoped would guide me home.

For I am lost.

Meandering, misguided and malingering,
Looking for a coloured string
Or breadcrumbs softly scattering
That mark my path unknown.

You may feel lucky when you know where you are,
But unfortunately for me and my stolen star,
This reversely is adversely conversely true,
And I’ve wandered way too far.

And the moment, this moment, well maybe I own it,
Or maybe I’m in a dark room,
Pitch black, with a cat that I’m trying to catch,
Whose existence I only assume.

And my dreams all sprout from darkness sown,
And I’m always and never forever alone,
They forged my last sword into a throne,
An unending game I play to atone.

Swirling in my haunted head,
Promises broken, friends misled,
Choosing one, not the other instead,
What have you got to lose?

Only your dreams, your soul and your shoes,
And the brightly coloured thread.

Wrong Rabbit..

Snared rabbit.

Staring at life, but
Can’t grab it.

It’s a
Bad habit.

Cheaper by tube,
Still cab it.

Reach something,
Can’t have it.

I’m in a
Cold panic.

Taking pills and weed,
Still manic.

Can’t stand it,
Nobody planned it.

Some kind of clue?
Never had it.

Crash my own party like I’m
Mad at it.

Some kind of lifestyle?
Bad at it.

Think I’m simply on the
Wrong planet.

Yeah.

Wrong planet.

Custom Made

I don’t believe in God, the Devil,
Heaven, Hell or Sin,
But if someone did create me
They put too much crazy in.

It was supposed to be a spoonful
But they poured in a whole cup.
Now this mixed up mood of mine
Can’t tell down from up.

‘Oops’ he said, as on he stirred,
Aloud was heard a dirty word.
‘The jar I thought said ‘Vocal Pitch’,
Was accidentally ‘Total Bitch’.’

‘To balance, I’ll add ‘Passive Front’,
‘Oh crap, that was ‘Massive C*nt’.
This one could be trouble now,
I’ve gone and mucked it up.
I know, to make sure no harm’s done,
I’ll add in ‘All Fucked Up’.

Once was Alice

I saw Alice in a shattered mirror,
Barely recognised or seen.
I knew that I’d been out of touch
And asked her how she’d been.
I hoped she hadn’t suffered much.

She said she hurt. Hurt like never before,
No drugs worked, no sun anymore.
She looked at me, then I was the mirror,
She said ‘how’s it feel now you’re broken through?
Do you bleed inside? Are you out of your mind?
‘Cause I’m out of my mind too.’

And all that I could say,
Was I even died on good days,
Because every morning feels
Like a spiders sting that stays.
And though the ground falls beneath me,
I float because I’m empty.
But deflate too soon.

She nodded, not seeming very surprised.
‘No one sees me either, I’m just dust in people’s eyes.’
‘No words I can believe,
Because they’re designed just to deceive.
I can always see through,
Anything and everything said to
Me.’

I felt her pain, nodded again,
Said it’s lonely here without you.
‘Someones touch, I crave so much.
Even if they hold me and squeeze,
‘Til my insides crush and bleed,
I still might get what I need.’

She said they always leave you wounded.
Her torso had a hole,
And it bled right through her soul.
She turned, and then she became me,
Or did I become her inside?
The hole was in my torso though,
And that was how we died.

Addicted to pity.

I’m a hypocrite of great degree,
For I think forums hurt more than they heal.
It’s nice to have some sympathy,
But stay out of the hamster wheel.

I have become a child of the dark,
Which inside me grows wild.
Yet at the same time, meadowlark,
Full of brilliant smiles.

So take a forum post as needed,
Fill it with your woes.
Hoping it is read and heeded,
Sympathised by those.

But be wary of the kindness trap,
For sympathy is to treasure,
But if it always draws you back,
Then I advise, take measure.

I know that in the passing days,
I’ve been a victim and a villain.
But with every so called healing phrase,
It’s ourselves that we are killing.

FYI

Lately I’m not doing so well,
Thought you should know.
My mind’s half heaven, half hell,
But there’s no difference I can tell.

I’m standing still as life speeds by,
Thought you should know.
I’m lost in the wood, no bearing.
Bleeding out in the cold, uncaring.

It hurts to be alive,
Thought you should know.
It’s overloaded all my senses,
And I’m left without defences.

Lately I’m not doing so well,
Thought you should know.
In case I go.

Dressed for Depress

I’ve often been to the edge and back,
It’s now a familiar sight.
This might be why I always wear black,
It feels false to wear anything bright.
Cheerful colour is something I lack,
And I never don anything white,
No sporty wear designed for the track,
Somehow it doesn’t feel right.
I only get things from the discard rack,
To better reflect my plight.

Let’s be outspoken

Every single one of us
Has something longing tries.
That speaks from unseen places,
Within each heart, decries.

No grand proclamations,
No great discourse or mystic word,
But a simple desire
To be understood and heard.

With each attempt to make a sound,
Ten will overcome.
Our melodies defeated,
Our vocal chords undone.

Too oft these sounds are violent,
Compelling gentleness to choke and die.
For each of us that has no voice,
Therein shadows lie.

Only obsessive

Sometimes I’m on the edge,
Only held up by your hand,
Your fingertips dictate my fall,
That was my plan after all.

Sometimes I hold on tightly,
As tightly as I can, simply so,
I’m the only one who lets us go.

Am I insane,
To blame the bee if it stings?
Even when I tore off both its wings?

I had so much to say,
Too much to say after all.
In the end, I said nothing at all.

I took your wings,
All of your things,
So you would stay.
In the end, you left me anyway.

But I can still taste honey.

Conformity

It seems I posess a penchant
For inexplicably, inextricably
Colouring on the outside
Of lines they create with such pride
Then insist I remain inside.
I ask for pencils
In Shades of Cezanne Blue,
And lines are just a thing
I want to draw right through.
I felt I was drawing everything alone,
But one day I saw you:
Colouring outside the lines.

More fool, I – Hindsight.

I spend so much effort resistin’
Anything that feels like addiction,
Convinced myself I was winning,
While you were addicted and grinning.

Now I’m not so sure,
What I was put here for,
Always avoiding the dance floor,
Avoiding drugs and drink even more.

Got buried in my own sorrow,
Hating being alive,
While you lived life like tomorrow
Would never, ever arrive.

So who was the idiot then?
Happiest way back when
We had the chance to be carefree.
I thought that I could see
Further than you.
Guess I hadn’t a clue.

You seem happier still,
Moreso than I ever will.
Lately I seem to find
Myself in a forest of pines…

My wisdom but a soap bubble

the first rule

I am Jack’s smirking bravado.
Performing such convincing shows
So all who watch will never know
The depths to which I go.
How I am beaten bloody,
Mind smashed ’til I cry for peace,
But still I grin through broken teeth.
And where is Jack?
Shown his true colours and fled,
While my own true colours have bled
Upon the hands of society.
Eventually I break,
My body and my pride,
Taking more than I can take,
Revealing the fear
I always keep inside.
The first rule of depression,
You don’t talk about depression.

Harder than hardest.

I heard once,
Diamond was the hardest thing on earth.
I think they’re wrong,
Just my opinion, but for what it’s worth,
The hardest thing in any place,
Is resisting confessing to your face
That I think I love you.
By far the hardest thing to do..
Could cleave a diamond right in two.
The only thing that could be harder than that bit..
Is going through and saying it.

Your very own butterfly effect

As you no longer stand
Where you always stood,
This emptiness inside me is so
Poorly understood.
One hundred million butterflies
Together flapped their wings
The moment you departed.
A coiencedntal thing? That did far
More than leave me broken hearted,
Now it’s a massive tidalwave your
Butterflies have started.
As it looms, large above my shores,
I’m left without a life-boat,
All I have are wooden oars.
And although it means that I would drown,
If you need them,
They are yours.

Oh Christmas tree..

My friend wants to take a bit,
Party, Go right off her tit,
Get totally fucking lit,
Like a Christmas tree.

I say “I won’t touch that shit,
Not even the smallest bit,
Because I know that I will like it
Far too much you see.

And when you go too far
I don’t want to do CPR
On the floor of the latest bar
That you’ve dragged me to.”

I told her “In the ending you
Will wind up in ICU,
Face all corpse-pale-blue,
So be careful what you do.

After Christmas trees are cut
They die on Christmas day,
Then they’re burnt or thrown away,
Don’t be a Christmas tree that way.”


Drugs are baad, hmm’kaaay?
Dying is baad, hmm’kaaay?

Enjoy a safe end of year.
Hmm’kaaay?

Easier said..

Dreams are easy to achieve,
If dreams are all you want to be.
The sky may be full of Angels,
With just your lonely star,
But if they’re dancing on that pin,
They won’t be going far.
The only way for you to win:
Be more than it says on the tin,
More than you think you are.

Merry whatever…

Well here we are, it’s time again,
The festive season.
Time to hurt the ones we love,
No rhyme nor reason.

An Angel sits atop the tree,
As something to believe in.
Should e’er an angel come to earth,
May my heart unfreeze then.

If we all got gifts our deeds deserve,
Not rewards just for believing,
There’d be no need to wrap them up,
You can’t hide the truth by deceiving.

Good to heaven, bad to hell?
Some have faith,
But some things
You can’t buy or sell.

We all find what we need to believe,
Don’t need a reason.
I only have faith in what I can see,
Enjoy plastic season.

Faded like a flower.

Whats the time?
Seems I’m already mourning,
I see the sky,
No longer beautiful without you.

And it was good,
But it’s over now.

No more listening on my pillow,
Now it’s buried, in the ground,
No more music, just an air of silence
In my headphones, and all around.

One more clarion belle falls silent.

RIP Marie.

Burning for you..

You say you think you’ll drown
And that you’re lost at sea.
I say keep your eyes on me,
I’ll do my best to be
A guiding light.
You’ll be alright,
Just wait and see.

We’re back to dry land now.
But I never told you how
I started that fire,
Created the pyre
That suddenly saved you.
I think you know it,
But you never show it,
So I stay silent too.

But things are no longer same,
Even though there’s no-one to blame.

But there was nothing to burn, out there at sea…

Only me.

..in a blaze of glory.

I bear the scars of your forty-fives,
You tried your best but I’m still alive.
You used two pistols and magazines,
Shot my heart and destroyed my dreams,
But a heart still works if it still cries,
And I cry.

I’m full of holes from your forty-fives,
You couldn’t have missed me if you tried,
But planned demise isn’t what it seems,
Because I survived all your plots and schemes,
And a thing’s alive if it still bleeds,
And I bleed.

Now I’m immune to your forty-fives,
And when you shoot me, I will still survive.
The slugs are out and the wounds are clean,
So go find better guns, if you’re still keen,
Cos a girl’s alive if she can dream,
And I dream.

Some Days

Some days
I don’t know that you exist,
On others, I don’t even really care.
Some days
I want to slit my wrists,
‘Tho I fear I’ll find but emptiness there.
On so many other days
I’m simply lost inside my brain,
At least the parts that still remain.
And if you cut me all apart,
You’ll find emptiness and pain, no sign of a heart.

But some days
I cannot unremember,
For the sun becomes an ember
When compared to you.
Some days
All that will exist
Are the parts of you I’ve kissed,
So at least I will have all of you.

Some days
You’re my everything.
Some days.

Falling With Autumn

I suppose the trees, in retrospect,
I should have attended, my neglect
Of time’s subtle scythe, and due respect
For their reminder; nature always calls,
And she who answers always falls.
A premonition of my future
Abandoned casually by trees
Crying red,
Dying, dead.
Autumn leaves, as they led
Falling echoes of my life,
Fleeting, fled. Underfoot
On which to tread, and I,
Despondent, sighing said:
‘There lies everything,
Don’t by it’s beauty, be misled.
The whole world and all within ends thus:
These dying leaves are us’.

be careful what you..

Success can make you bleed,
Because what I thought I wanted
Wasn’t really what I need.
And it’s not how I imagined
To walk a mile in those shoes.
Sometimes when you think you win,
You lose.

Late for the Wedding

I turn up at the wedding,
But they won’t let me in,
I must have been specified
‘Unspecified’, again.
I’m sure I’m on the guest list,
Please have one more look,
It’s my sister getting married
So I must be in the book.
Can’t you see that I’m a bridesmaid?
I’m getting kind of harried
And I’d hate to make a mess,
But if you don’t step aside,
I have a switchblade in this dress.

Insomnia

Some might fall asleep with ease,
Such vanity!
Amost equal to the envy
That graces my every weary breath.
These empty, malicious hours
Will not be filled by mere distraction,
Night demands complete attention.
She will be neither shunned nor ignored,
Tearing into your head like sheets of sandpaper.
Time, ever her gleeful accomplice, slows all,
Until the distance between each minute mark
Surpasses all the great oceans as one.
While confined to a coffee cup,
You keep paddling.

Mental Marionette

There seem so many truths,
Which one do I face?
Which one takes the place
On the pedestal?

When I tried to face them all,
They warned me I would fall;
See me falling.
Trying to pretend
That the song will never end,
But for better or for worse
I think I’m running short of verse.

I can pretend at emotion,
Lip syncing to the song,
But the words are all rehearsed,
And each line is getting worse.
All I feel now is an emptiness,
Just nothingness, maybe less.

An undefined ache
Where I thought my soul should go,
But I’ve always been a fake
And I just put on a show.
So convincingly the act
That I once believed the fact
That I could be a real girl.
But oh, Pinoccio,
I should have listened
To you.

Catch 22

If I had anything to say, maybe of interest,
I’d pin the fuckin’ thing up on my pinterest.
But all my conversations now are with myself,
And it’s slowly eating at my mental health.

Like seagulls picking at a whales’ rotting corpse,
The wide beach view is fine, until of course,
You look a bit closer, see the detail,
That’s my sanity: half eaten whale.

I should probably get a friend or maybe two,
I like them in the same way that I like you.
Fine until they open up their mouth,
Then I don’t want to hear whatever shit is coming out.

Well, maybe I’m a narcissistic bitch,
With some really messed up kind of mental itch,
But if I scratch it ’til it don’t itch no more,
There’ll be chunks of greyish matter scattered all over the floor.

They say you’ll never love someone until you learn to love yourself,
Well Catch 22, asshole, here’s a thought, I’ll share the wealth,
How can I learn to love me, ’til I’m shown love by someone else?
The lesson goes both ways, as most good lessons do,
Since everybody hates me,
I’ve learned how to hate me too.

Nothing for me.

Spent three weeks in an unmade bed,
A pounding in my skull,
Repeating thoughts in my head.
Like the lyrics of a song
Singing ‘please let me die before long.’

I’m trying hard to hold on to the act of holding on,
But even now my own mind wants me gone,
So the line I’m holding onto’s not that strong.
The basic problem with this kind of rope, you see,
Is that it’s tethered far too tightly to my sanity.

Maybe if I enjoyed a single moment,
Maybe if I could control or own it,
I’d be happier alive,
Given a reason to survive,
But all I get is non-stop misery.

So fuck me.
No apologies for profanity.
I’m stuck here in my head, wishing I was fuckin’ dead,
Because there’s nothing in this world that I can see,
Nothing for me.
Nothing for me.

closing time, closing time..

The fun-fair’s coming to an end,
The few poor tokens yet to spend
Have tumbled from my pocket.

I hesitate and weigh the cost,
Move along, or seek them? Lost
Among the trampled grasses.

The mask that lasted for so long,
Now cracked, the smile forever gone,
Has broken, and will not stay on.

The Galaxy Lake

Surrounded by tired clichés,
My mind dies.
Dies again.
A myriad of mortal, mired ways.

As is wont with mind to mend,
I’m drawn to midnight lakes’ embrace.
My freezing, bare-feet thoughtless wend
To every deeper, quiet place.

I forget how elegantly swirling stars
Weave such delicate distractions.
Flickering inside and out
Barely seen refractions.

Starlight floats in darker water,
Gently mesmerising motes.
The lake becoming midnights’ daughter,
Magic and music without notes.

More oft’ my private galaxy,
Calms more than ‘cut’n’bleeding’,
Regardless, tonight my regret remains
Highly caffeinated, thoughts still speeding.

[End pt 1.]

When was it you left?

I never even noticed the clock.
Did it tick?
Did it tock?
Did it not?
Was it frozen in indecision,
In the moment that was lost
When you reached the doorway threshold
And you stepped across?
Stuck? Between that second and the last,
Unable to move on, unable to move past
A fate of helpless observation,
Endless replaying rotation.
A mechanical mind,
Unable to find resolution
Or a hint of absolution,
Sounds so very much like mine.
Because when you left the last time,
When you left for the very last time..
I never even noticed the clock.

the forest for the me’s

I can smile at a party.
After the turn out, I
Turn off my burnt out
Holographic face.

Who

I can greet you on the street
And you won’t even ask
About the chosen mask
I look through out at you.

Am

I can attend a family event,
I’m still quite able
To sit at a table,
Pretending to be me.

I

See the pallette spread before me,
Choose a colour, it adorns me.
Pick the right one, I can be
Anyone I want to be.

?

If I can be anybody, oh so easily,
No difference that any one, not even I can see,
One face or another, all so equally..

Which one is really me?

Sugary Bipolar Low

She brings me spun-shadow,
Like a cotton-candy treat,
Delicate, and deceptively sweet,
She says ‘taste of this’.

Already sugar high,
It’s so easy just to try
Spun sugar with a darker dye,
Just a bite.

But an insidious spiders web,
A sticky gossamer thread
Like fine, fine spun-sugar,
Gets inside your head.

Ensnares you there
In shadows.
Wraps around you,
Like a sticky quicksand glue.

Mired in darkness
That clings and brings
You down.
‘Taste of this’.

Spun-shadow.

Have You Seen This Life?

Have you seen my life around?
Now it’s lost,
I have found,
The whole world wanting.

Not pages torn from fairy tales,
Far stranger by many accords,
No songs to make a million sales,
Or plays stepped out on Broadway boards.

But it’s a dizzy, dancing, summer spark,
A falling, flying Meadowlark, and
All those nights spent in the park
Laughing in rain, and wet, and dark.

Also the sharpest knife that ever was,
A blade that has no par.
It has to be that sharp because
It constantly cuts, with ne’er a scar.

Those kind of days are hard to misplace,
Oft’ tattooed upon my face,
There, in ink you can’t erase,
Writ large the tale, my fall from grace.

Heartlost


Composure,
Yeah I lost it.
My mind, I lost that too.
I lost my heart and everything,
The moment I lost you.
Now I’m shaking and unsure of
How I’m supposed to feel,
My friend’s are so blasé
But to me it’s a huge deal.
My stomach’s in my chest,
I’ve lost track of all the rest,
Each cell in me is bleeding tears.
Although I’ve tried to act my best,
I don’t give a fuck about
Backlash or all that cost,
When all I want is gone,
Heartlost.

Inside Out

So you might think I look ok,
Kinda normal in a geeky-goth way.
But I always dream and dream of the world
Where I’m the ‘trembling, adored, tousled bird-mad girl’.
And I long to have a writing-desk,
Like a raven in a riddle,
‘But there’s something inside,
Trying to eat its way out from the middle’.

“All the world’s a stage…”

We spend
Our whole lives playing
At make-believe and pretend,
When,
Like every song or story,
All songs and stories
End.
We act so well, the human lie,
But acting takes its tole,
For if we are to fit the role,
A piece of us must die.

ForNeverEver

Did you ever never
Stop and ponder whether
If forever is a never
that simply will not die?
Then maybe never is an ever
That was severed from forever
And will eternally endeavour
Wherever, whatsoever,
To reconnect together
From the tragically cut tether
That was in a manner clever,
Keeping ever, never and forever
From being ForNeverEver.

Gradually Infinite.

How did I miss them?
Everyday they came.
So small, it all just seemed the same.
If I noticed without worry, I am sorry.
For each microscopic gap, the infinite tiny spaces,
Gathering gradually over time.
Connecting to make this chasm.
Such a painfully intricate distance
Between hearts.

Pencils

15 boxes of pencils, and
Countless pages, and
I’m still trying to write
How I feel about me.

15 boxes empty, and
More notesbooks full, and
I’m still trying to draw
What I want you to see.

Not Not OK

When your mind is broken
And the world is wreckage
Inside you,
They tell you to say:
That you’re not ok,
No, you’re not OK.

So I said it, I wrote it,
Used my blood to draw,
And what the fuck for?
Nobody listened, nobody cared,
Nobody got what I shared and I shared.
I guess that was lucky,
Because although I had tried
To express how I wish how I really had died,
Express how I hated myself and my life,
How my pain got less with each cut of a knife,
It turns out I was actually, really, OK,

Compared to how fucked I am now anyway.

Young and ‘insane’

Apparently my informed honesty is wasted,
Overwhelmed by stolen analogies and unfriend-me messages.
‘Unbalanced Alice’, so susceptible to mind-space deficiencies
And fairy-tale moonlight monoaminergic rushes.
The happiest of unhappy clowns. Careful never to grow up,
Because adults abuse their lungs and veins,
Simply to achieve the same.

Bipolar Unpredicted.

Despite these slow bright waterdrops,
My rainbow remains incomplete.
I thought I had booked my happiness well ahead of time,
Pre-forming a flood of excess enthusiasm.
Instead, I made popcorn for the gathering storm
And prepared to go swimming.

Suicidal Ideation

Vicodin? Percocet?
Still not sure which to get.
If only oblivion tasted more
Like raspberry and chocolate.
Why are these things so hard to choose?
Although nothing really matters when
There’s nothing left to lose.
Vodka? Tequila? Fifty year-old Scotch?
My favourite song that hurts just right,
Put on ‘The Crow’ to watch.
Video diary? Hand written letter?
Email or text?
It doesn’t matter, it will won’t change
What will happen next.

Fading

I’m not sure if I forgot
Or have just grown indecisive,
But I can’t really quite recall
Exactly what my life is.
I used to know where I belong.
Used to have a favourite song.
Favourite author.
Favourite food.
Favourite colour.
Favourite mood.
Now I don’t know
What my greatest fear is,
Favourite beer is,
Time of year is,
Or even how deep the lithosphere is..
OK, I never really knew that last one,
Carry on, my wayward son.

Mona Lisa Crash Cart

Her smile is a Mona Lisa Crash Cart.
A work of art that stops and starts
The broken beat of my poor heart.
Her lips are painting perfect, her smile mystifying,
I bet even a single kiss would be electrifying.
When it’s briefly, brilliantly, put on display,
I surge with desire to steal her away.
When I see her, my career ambition
Is ‘art critic with a heart condition’,
So I can see her defibrillating smile play,
As they wheel my body away.

Why So Serious?

Wanna know how I got this scar?
Let my trust stretch a touch too far.
Got run over by the car
That you happened to be driving.

Shattered limbs, broken bones,
Barely breathing, made it home.
Found everything I’d ever owned
Burning on the front lawn.

You said our life was such a mess,
Everything my fault, more or less.
It didn’t hurt much, I confess,
Until you smiled.

Destroy the things I want and need,
Run me down, for I concede,
The only thing that makes me bleed
Is that smile.

Like a knife, it cuts me deep,
Leaving scars I’ll always keep.
You ask me how, but already knew.
I got these scars from you.

Dear Santa..about that heart.

Where do the pieces of a broken heart go
If they’re too fragile to stitch, or you don’t know how to sew?
Are they put back together with some mystical glue,
Or is there somewhere you can go, to purchase one that’s new?

One thing’s for certain, it takes forever in time,
Fresh hearts are in demand, judging by the waiting line.
Installing a new heart must be hard, I’ve no doubt,
But I’m stuck at the part where your insides are your out.

This isn’t really new though, it’s not my first time ’round,
First-timers wait the longest, due to covering fresh ground.
I always ask for Adamantium, for a heart that cannot break,
But they keep giving me a glass one, and no choice but to take.

I never see who does it all, maybe it’s Santa Claus.
If he’s not received my letter yet,
I’d like to add this clause:

“Dear Santa, let’s just skip right to the end,
You can forgo all the material gifts,
If you’ll hurry up and mend
Me.”

ice ice, baby.

I thought I was too cool to care,
Now maybe that’s too true,
There’s an Eskimo outside my door
Building an igloo.

I’ve always wanted to be cool,
But detachment was my reason,
Now I am so very cool,
So cool, I’m fucking freezin’.

Frozen up in isolation
I can’t relate to you.
I’m the White Witch of Narnia*,
Somehow remade anew.

Snowdrifts almost covered me, my igloo and my sled,
I was speechless as you walked away,
Then you turned and said:
‘You know nothing ‘pon snow.
Let it go.
Let it go.’

——

*(though really, you can’t beat Tilda Swinton).

“..hardly hedgerows, little lines..”

Melancholy musings must
As everything, regress to dust.
All things return from whence they came,
Doth my memory the same.

Sparks of Spring-blessed childhood.
Early risings and cool dawn grass,
As sunrise amplified reality
Granting tiny temporary kingdoms
To my imaginative keeping.

Barefoot child I,
Twixt river and orchard wild,
Would careless spend my day
Full of mud, fruit and fae.
Until as is wont, up I grew.
Something one should never do..

Weekdays

I hate weekdays,
They drag us from our bed,
Where we could snuggle down together,
Keep each other warm instead.
The winter morning chill pervades the room,
Then together, almost as one, and far too soon,
We cast aside the cover,
Glancing shrewdly at each other
Before competing for first shower,
Hot-water, soap, and scour,
While the other makes us coffee,
With toast all buttered down,
Warming frozen fingers,
Wrapped in a dressing gown.
Humming out a cheerful morning song.
Perhaps I don’t hate weekdays all along.

Filled up with Empty

Hey, It’s me, calling up at 2am,
Just a little bit off my face.
Ima need some bail again,
For fighting at some place.

Shouldn’t have gone out,
Probably should have stayed home,
But when I’m empty, and angry,
I’m not safe when I’m alone.

I tried my best to fill up the hole,
Indulged in dancing and alcohol.
Maybe got just a tiny bit lit, but,
It’s called a hole ‘cos there’s nothing innit.

Lost my temper, and before I knew,
I glassed some bitch and her boyfriend too.
She needs stitches, he might be blind,
Maybe I went too far this time.

It filled the hole, but I must confess,
It only filled up with more emptiness.

Hello Darkness, my old friend

Black is the colour in which stars shine,
And hiding underneath closed eyes,
Black is the colour in which you’ll find
Dreams and Realms Untold reside.
There within the colour of coal,
A canvas for the mind and soul,
A wonderland where you’re made whole.
Not a colour, but a tone,
It’s somewhere safe to call your own,
A place that’s yours,
And yours alone.

Alone, Together.

You say goodnight,
Time for bed.
Tired eyes,
Sleepy head.

In the stillness of the room
I can hear your gentle breathing,
You have fallen straight to sleep
Before my feet are done unfreezing.

Another icy night,
It’s the middle of that season,
Our body-warmth beneath the quilt
Is not the only reason
To lay here.
To stay here.

I picture monsters in the darkness,
But I’m not much for believing,
There are much worse things by far,
Like the clock hand slowly cleaving.

Cleaving away each helpless hour.
And I lie here, wide awake,
Hours long since passed from evening,
Well into the morning now,
I wonder what you’re dreaming.

Because I’ll lie here with my mind,
My mind all madly teeming,
Body cramping, muscles screaming,
Trying so hard not to move,
Or accidentally waken you.

I’ll lie here all night, suffering instead,
So that you can sleep soundly, when we both share a bed.

Together Forever (not)

So this is what ‘forever’ looks like
From the other side.
A lot like broken promises
And echoes of goodbye.
Like everything you never got
But always thought you’d get.
Like each forgotten lonely grave
Of every childhood pet.
The only thing that’s certain is,
It looks a lot like loneliness.

Misery in greater detail..

I thought I’d upgrade my depression,
See how it’s looking in 4K.
Ultra High Definition is the new norm now,
At least that’s what they say.
So I tried my tears in Ultra High,
Unsurprised to see,
The resolutions that I cry,
Are way past UHD.

All the Times

One AM is staring at the ceiling.
Two AM, the window and the moon.
Three AM can’t tell me what I’m feeling,
Four o’clock is too large for this room.

Five is slowly breathing in,
Six is breathing out.
Seven with the sun up brings
Another day without

You.

A Tidy Demise

Unsure, I feel unsafe.
Former pillars and paragons of my life
Now indifferent to my demise,
Pretend to care just enough
To avoid aspersions and lies,
Potential implications of associated guilt.

The small signature attached to the bottom
Is cutting and carelessly impersonal.
A full stop to the note :
‘If you do it, don’t make a mess inside.
I’m the one who has to clean it up.’
Suicide reduced to an inconvenience.
How fitting.

Ungiven

There are plenty of moments
Of heartache I admit,
Some hurt more than others,
And those hurt quite a bit.
But nothing cut me open
As surely and as swift,
As when you walked up
And handed back all of my gifts.
The ones that had meaning,
Given over years.
But you just dumped them in my hands,
Ignoring all my tears.
I confess not knowing what to say,
Never having felt that way.
You walked away, left me to hold
Rejected pieces of my soul.

Watch Out!

Keep one eye on the wolf, my dear,
And one eye on the door.
But then who dreams the dreamer, dear?
And which one came before?
So one eye for the dreamer then,
One eye, one dream too many.
Best you look behind again,
Before you don’t have any.

Sharp as a hammer

There may be those who think I’m just not that bright.
But I can find a door-frame in the dark,
I don’t need a light.

There’s no mail service here on any weekend day.
I know the letterbox is empty,
But I’ll go and check it anyway.

If the remote doesn’t work
I mash harder,
If there’s no food in fridge or in larder,
I’ll check two-dozen more times just to see,
If something appeared magically.

I can open those childproof caps,
But still the hot and cold taps
Confound me unless coloured or labelled,
Or why a tablespoon is not for the table.

And I still trust people,
I still open up my heart.
And I still can’t find myself
In the dark.

Innocence lost

So you’re empty,
And you’re angry,
You’re confused.
Once with hope
That’s now gone,
It’s been used.

Stole your believing,
Simply leaving
So much doubt.
You let the world in,
Now a hollow thing.
Eaten from the inside out.

So you sit there,
And you don’t care,
You’re forsaken.
They took so much more
Than you had in store
To be taken.

And the heart
You once had,
Truly aches.
In this world,
Innocence
Always breaks.

Shooting my mouth off

I’m dressed to bitch, and
There’s an angry itch
Behind my eyes.
One that says I may be guilty
Of more than one demise.
Imagine their surprise
As I cut them down to size.
My verbal six-shooters hang in cross-draw,
Sights filed down, and furthermore,
With a quick-pull-trigger,
This mouth is set to go off.
‘You’d better run, better run,
Outrun my gun.’

Text me with your best shot

I know you claim I’m gutless,
That I don’t say what’s on my mind,
But you just lack the mental wherewithal
To read between my lines.

Your attempts at clumsy sucker-punch
Text messages aimed at my head,
Will never vitate my ego much,
Without polysyllabic words instead.

I admit it may be perniferous,
To be consistently superfluous
With every transcription writ,
But no use of simplified language
Will make up for the F in your wit.

Irony

The meadowlark laughed.
Her singular propensity for disregarding
Guilt and sorrow
Made me think of you.
Everyday is such a perfect day
To be down.
Especially days when you’re around.
I try to tolerate such intolerable intolerance,
Given the chance. The circumstance.
It’s not the end
Of the world,
But I still fall
For the straight girl.

Window Pain..

What good are windows?
The view stays the same:
Grey, grey days only promising rain.
One more sign I’ve lost control of my brain.
Perhaps I should say ‘I never really had it’.
It’s not as though you can reach out and grab it.
Trying too hard to do whatever it takes:
Deliberately remaking all my remade mistakes,
Never get to choose just which part of me breaks.
It’s like Tori and her ‘Little Earthquakes’:
“Doesn’t take much to rip us into pieces”.

Coffee, tears, and misery.

The sun comes up, but you’re no longer here,
Just tangled up sheets and a pillow of tears.
Maybe I should thank you
For some madness in my morning,
At least it won’t be boring
This time.

I take comfort in my coffee cup,
Hide from feelings swirling up.
All that caffeinated sadness,
Barely holding back the madness.
If I could drink you down,
Would it make me drown
This time?

kind of.. analogous

My life is a metaphor,
Analogies and nothing more.
No original thought,
Everything is store bought.

Which pieces are me?
What more can I be?
What else do I entail,
When my mind is retail ?

My life is a metaphor,
What good is it for?
Just recycled feelings.
Emotional fruit peelings.

My life’s a cliché
What more can I say?
I only care that I don’t care.
At least there’s some irony there.

on reading Alice..

All those times my English teacher
Critiqued my poetry,
Yet could never see,
That all along,
I was never writing poems.
I was righting wrongs.
Composing songs.
Putting things inside my mind
Back where they belonged.
So if there’s nothing in my ‘poetry’,
That you can see..
There’s no standard meter,
Find in each it’s melody.

Note: Almost every poem posted so far contains a line ‘heavily inspired’ by a line or few words from a song.

This ‘line’ is the foundation for the rest of the poem, and usually the poems ‘meter’ is written to time / match the song the founding line is from.

Bonus points if you see them. If you reread the poem to fit the song, it will click.

Blood Angel

Scared and cold and dripping red,
A knife cut to the bone,
Something echoes in my head,
‘..don’t want to die alone..’

A gentle wind begins to stir
My Angel whispers low,
“Silly girl, you were always were,
You simply didn’t know.”

Her final words hang in the air
“Just like a glass that shatters,
You’ll always be beyond repair
In every way that matters. “

Unseen

Each time you pass me in the hall
I find new depths to fall into,
When all I ever wanted was
Some kind of smile from you.
One meant just for me,
Have your eyes focus and see
Me standing there,
Red faced and feeling small.

fairly self exploratory..

I thought to go exploring,
Deep inside of me,
Hoping I might find the things
That cause such misery.

But what I found was certainly
No stately pleasure dome decreed,
No lands untold, or centre earth,
No, all I found was me.

And so myself and I spoke long,
And although I hoped we might,
We did not get along, but rather
Hated on first sight.

Myself confessed they hated me,
Despised me through and through.
I realised when I looked at me,
I hated myself too.

And so I’ll relate this little story,
Quite the handy alogory.
If spelunking in your mind,
Beware what you might find.

Grain

Sitting by the ocean with the break-up blues,
You’re in my head whatsoever I do.
You’re the irritating sand down inside my shoes,
You know I hate you, but I love you too.

I put my heart into a locket,
In an envelope inside my pocket.
Should I throw it in the ocean blue, or
Find someone else to give it to?
Somebody new.

I don’t know why you always reside
Embedded in my mind.
A single grain that got inside,
That one that I can’t find.

You’re an irritation to my heart,
The sand that I can’t lose.
But I know a place that I can start,
I’ll empty out my shoes.

Wreck

My life, the eponymous derailing train,
Out of control, and I’m feeling the same.
At least the wreck will be magnificent.
Read the news, see how it went,
My life in print, splashed across a page.
So unremarkable for someone my age,
She lived, she died, is what it will read.
The in-between is what I need.
So much time and room to grow,
I hope I do, before I go.

Pointless

I’m standing on the shore,
Throwing rocks into the river,
Hoping I can hit a fish.
But I still have little more
Than I ever did before,
Other than wishing
On the wishing
Of a wish.

Once in a lullaby..

This place is feeling far too much
Like Kansas, or locales with such
Mundane similarities.
Where is Toto when I need him?
Don’t want to be here anymore.
Where’s the Tornado or the Rabbit Hole
I’ve been longing for?

I cannot find my Wonderland,
Went and lost my Yellow Brick Road.
Threw myself into a mirror,
Just to have the glass explode.
Oh Neo! How I took the red pill,
In fact, I took them all.
Ended in the emergency ward,
Not in The Matrix at all.

I don’t want to be here,
For here hurts far too much,
Everything here is destroying me,
And I’m destroying all that I touch.
I long so, to leave this place,
To find somewhere else to go.
There’s this land that I’ve heard of once..
Something about a rainbow..

Colour me

Grey.
Ghost-like.
I pass through life
Unnoticed in dreary monotone.
Stain me!
Careless watercolour washes
Or perfectly placed impasto.
I wish for more than merely nothing,
Having been a sketch too many times.

Once upon a lover

How long since gentle hands
Knew well the contours of my face?
My body.
Your hands.

When last did we not kiss,
Rather drink of each others lips
The lingering taste of dew
And morning sun?

Too many days plus one,
My love,
Too many days plus one.

punishment?

Please explain my existence,
Society, and it’s distance,
That only ever amplifies this
Self imposed resistance.
Decorating pillows with tears,
My armor but a quilt,
Alone, confused, helpless,
Masturbation and guilt.
I must have murdered an angel
In a previous life, now I atone,
Endlessly tortured and punished,
My brain is not my own,
Just constant echoes of darkness,
Alone, Alone, Alone.

Back So Soon?

This is the path I chose,
And here I am undone.
A clown without her clothes
In front of everyone.

Liar Liar Liar,
For closer to the fire,
What seemed like shining wings
Are melting waxen things.

‘As fake as a wedding cake’,
The Manson lyric goes.
I’ll be the slice left on the plate
That no-one ever chose.

Talks a lot
But says nothing.
Takes a lot
But never brings.

No more, no more,
I said before.
Yet here I write,
Poetry whore.

Sleep in.

Daylight demands;
Requests; Begs:
Cast aside your sheets
And rise!
But darkness leaks
Inside to out.
Always seeking night,
Lethargy reclaims
The weaker parts of me.

Eyes Closed

The cold air stings
Like a slap without sound.
Head thrown back,
I watch storm-clouds gather ’round.

Freezing wind whips over me,
I feel it through my shirt,
The pain it brings is welcoming,
No wounds, but still the hurt.

And I hear the rush
Of the breeze,
And the roar
Of the free-
Way beneath me.

Close my eyes, and I know
I could do it.
Just another one,
I could become,
A statistic.

I could become the delay
The commuters all hate,
Cos I ruined their day..

With my eyes closed.

Stir well, until crazy

Two days up,
Two weeks down.
Mixed episode, Mixed episode, lost count.
Three hours up, two down, two up,
Mixed episode again..
Two hours up, two days down..
Etc, etc, etc.
Rapid cycling is not given to record keeping.
Half a day up, 3 weeks down, 4 days up…
Blur. Blur. Blurrrrrrr.
Insanity, Insanity, Insane.

Smile Alice, we’re just getting started.

Nonsense..

Sarah senses subtlties
In the flight of bumblebees,
Passing in the summer breeze
On their way to places she’s
Never seen and never sees,
Beyond the flowering trees.

Of teacups..

My favourite colour is midnight,
Favourite time is soon,
My favourite song not written yet,
Alarm still set for Noon.
I quite like long beaches,
Just not walking along.
The time that I spend showering
Is the length of that favourite song.
I can’t stand cold showers
But love walking in the rain,
If there’s something I’ve never done before,
I’ll go and not do it again.
I’ve never seen a storm in a tea-cup,
Only tea-cups in a storm,
So I make sure to hold all my tea parties
Only when everything’s warm.
I’m party to tea at my tea party,
Where normally normal’s the norm,
And it’s cosier with a tea-cosy
‘Cos cosys keep everything warm,
And as we know about tea-cups,
The warmer ones keep away storms.
So that’s me in a nut-shell,
Where else would any nut be?
Will I live up to the low-down?
You’ll have to keep reading to see.

poorly timed

Tick.
I used to have a dream.
Tock.
I was on the cover of a magazine.
Tick.
Now all I do I scream.
Tock.
Doesn’t that seem..
Tick.
..Wrong?

please stop being bipolar..

Going up or down?
Country mouse or town?
Smile or a frown?
Heartbroken or clown?

You say
Make a decision please,
Indecision brings unease.
You think I like to tease.

You will not contemplate
Angles that aren’t always straight,
You say lie, and lie some more,
Act as I did before.

Be an emotion whore.

Colouring Book

I try my best to be careful,
Pay attention to the what and the wherefore.
But there always comes a time,
When I colour outside of the line.

I try so hard just to fit in,
Do everything the world is expecting,
But now and then you’ll find,
Not everything written will rhyme.

I put so much effort and vanity,
Into pretending I still have my sanity,
But too often comes the time,
I colour totally outside of my mind.

insignificant

I am small.
Not even
Second-hand dust.
I fit, I fall, am lost
Between the unseen cracks
In those lives I long to touch.
I am small.
Breathe me in, or
Sweep me up.
You’ll never notice me, or
What I want most of all.
I am small.

Miss Mirror

Hello there Miss Mirror,
Don’t I see you crying?
Don’t I watch you dying
Day by day?

Well hey there Miss Mirror,
I cannot be fake with you,
I cannot help hating you
In every way.

I wish you dead Miss Mirror,
I want to smash your face in,
There’s no beauty I see within
You anyway.

“…I want to get off.”

I smile and pretend like I’m ok,
And everyone I know
Views me that way.
But my masks are made from stone and lead,
And I carry them all
Inside of my head.

I know there’s something wrong with me,
But I don’t know what, and
No one can see
The cuts that run across my skin,
Where my soul seeps out,
And the world creeps in.

I don’t know about this thing called life,
Seems like it’s just a metaphor
For suffering and strife.
I’ve tried to see the beauty others see,
But I’m really not so sure
This world is for me.

Don’t say it..

The things you said
Have left me stunned.
I wouldn’t say those words
To anyone.

But the knives go in
And blood will run,
For you were not
The only one.

The worst is not how
They cut to bone.
But the feeling now,
I’m all alone.

You’ve said things
You can’t take back,
Then ask me
To forgive you that.

You act as though
There’s nought amiss,
But I don’t know
How to deal with this.

You act as though
There’s nothing wrong,
But everything’s wrong.
Everything’s wrong.

Jealous much?

Just when I thought
I’d seen it all through,
From the deepest of holes
To the darkest of blue,

Comes something new..

Now I see you with her,
I feel desire to kill.
I’m a mess of tears, but still,
I’m looking better
Than she ever will.

Now fifteen types of wrong are amiss,
There is no freaking manual for this.
Because I’ve never felt this anger before.
I wish to tear down the world..

Then tear it some more.

And
I really don’t know
What’s going to happen..

Now.

WonderlessLand

I’m not often given to crying,
I bear my grief stillborn inside.
In truth though, I’d be lying,
To lay claim to emotionless pride.
The genesis of these unauthorised tears
Is to look back over my life,
Regretting all of the wasted years
Spent fighting with fictional chemical fears.
Not the existence I once had planned,
Trapped the entire time,
In a fake and broken Wonderland
Within my troubled mind.

mentally ill

This illness becomes a definition
Of what I was. Who I am.
It cuts my vocals chords
One by one.
Leaves me stealing
Your unused whispers.
I have become the doll
Of a vindictive child,
Pulled into pieces.

occasional luck

My mistakes are in magnitudes,
I don’t expect platitudes,
But I guess I just have dumb luck.
Tho’ my BAE says I’m crazy as fuck,
She ain’t ever gonna give me up.
That’s gotta be the “half-full” cup.

treasure map

You drew me a map,
Said that X marks the spot.
Underneath that cross was buried
Everything you’ve got.

You said it wasn’t much,
But if I took the time
To go and dig it up,
What was under there was mine.

Then you took a Sharpie marker,
And you pulled your shirt apart,
And you drew a big black cross
On the skin over your heart.

strangely lonely

They said ‘don’t you talk to strangers’,
So I never spoke to anyone new.
And when I no longer knew myself,
I stopped talking to her too.

worthless

Lying foetal, shower floor,
Sorrow starts to drown me.
Emotions like the water pour,
Refuse to let me be.

Guilt, a humid scalding steam,
Swirls up, I choke and gasp.
Any hope, without the rope,
Slips from my shaking grasp.

I can’t stand this naked near my friends,
The worthlessness I feel.
Just a problem they can’t see,
Therefore nothing real.

So now broken bits of me
Lie on the bathroom floor.
Try to pick the pieces up,
Cut your fingers finding more.

At times the pieces gather,
And it seems that I’m complete,
But one look of disapproval
And I shatter at your feet..

sunrise..

I sit
Wrapped in the occasional blanket,
Knees pressed to chest,
Staring out the window, savoring
Slow sips from the ambiguous mug
Of dawns’ emotional duality.

I have shown my admiration
With this timely rising,
Flavored nonetheless by a profound
Distaste for such an hour.
I am ever
A child of the night.

Hues of dawn outline buildings and trees,
Splashing golden highlights in colors unique.
The city drags itself from
Tangled bed-sheets.

Gathers speed.
Begins to live.

I watch and sip as the world is made anew.

Breaking up and down.

So.
That is what you said.
Easier it seems, to leave,
Than just to make the bed.
Your suitcase sits in the hall, although
I know you packed it long ago.
Long enough at least, for us to fall
Apart.

So.
Is that the way it goes?
Mysteries of mice, and answers
In the wind that blows?
What do you think it’s for,
This life? Even God admitted,
She long ceased keeping score
Anyway.

So.
You even had to take
All our favorite art.
Wasn’t it enough to simply
Uninstall my heart?
Now you’re gone, I try, I try
To find the reasons we said
Goodbye.

Poor little bloggers.

Like me.
For any worth that you may find.
Dislike me.
For anything that comes to mind.

Laugh at me,
Be it mocking or from joy.
Play with me,
I’m but a broken toy.

Love me or Hate me,
Just do not disregard me..

Mis-thoughts

I’m standing here frozen
Inside this party crowd,
Thinking all these things
I want to scream out loud.
Swallowing so many thoughts
Of which I’m not that proud.

Now I’m staring at you all
Staring at me,
Looking so hard at
A thing you just can’t see.

And I think
I shouldn’t think
What I think
What you think
About me.

Wha..?

Well I’ll admit, yeah,
I’m a little more than tipsy.
Took a handful of pills
With some single-malt whiskey.

Cos I don’t know anymore
What we’re on this planet for,
Why I’m bothering with sober
When my life feels like it’s over.

And the funny thing is, yeah,
The thing that gets to me,
No-one would even notice,
I’m the girl no one can see.

I could get stoned, get wasted,
Be tripping, shit-face-ed,
Makes no difference at all,
If I chose to make that call.

It doesn’t seem that far to fall
Anyway

By Moonlight

Languid, silver hued moonlight,
Natures’ finest brush.
Paints perfectly poetic, yet
Starkly contrasting contours
Of your movie poster mouth.

Going my way?

Bipolar came to visit me,
I begged her not to stay.
She said ‘come along, and you will see,
That I know the way.

I know the way,
And it’s
Down.
Down.

Come with me,
Together
We shall be
Down.
Down.
Down.’

Shaken, not stirred

A mixed episode consumes me again,
Making me a force you cannot contain.
Hypomanic depression, painfully exquisite,
Takes me to places no one should visit.
There’s nothing you can say.
Just get out of my way.

I’m bitchy and nice,
Both at once, stir it twice.
Bartender! DoubIe!
Of everything in one shot!
I’m feeling hell that the devil ain’t got.
Somehow also like a saint.
Are there some flowers I can paint?
On the wall, or any place?
For a brush, I’ll use your face.
What a masterpiece!
Crazy duality refusing to cease.

Every misery exquisite.
Each sadness an exhibit.
Hypomanically heightened sense
Makes every nuance of depression intense.

Hypomania, depression and pain,
Should never be mixed up the same.

I don’t pretend.
Make it end.
Make it end.

Humpty

We all know how I feel,
From this endless exposition.
Got a scar that just won’t heal,
And I’m looking at you.
Won’t you put me back together?
I’m no egg upon a wall,
But I sure know how to fall.
There’s just so many pieces,
But they all feel so wrong.
No wonder men and horses
Can’t put them back where they belong.
Cos I don’t know how.
No, I don’t know how.

whose party is this?

I run into old friends
Who look shiny and new,
They ask me ‘damn, girl,
What’s the matter with you?’

I say ‘It’s done to me,
It’s not something I do,
“You would cry too,
If it happened to you.”

It’s my brain, and
Though I really don’t want to,
I’ll go high, (I don’t wanna),
I’ll go low, (I don’t wanna).

Synaptic strain has me feeling so blue.
I’ll go high, (I don’t want to),
I’ll go low, (I don’t want to).

“You would cry too,
If it happened to you.”‘

Mary, Mary..

What’s this?
This
Disembowelled flower?
Bearer of petals no longer.
Seeker of sunlight,
Blind beggar.
Trapped without garden.
Empty without rain.
I wither in darkness,
Unable to grow.

woven

I lean against the station wall,
Tethered to a painful weariness.
This recent storm of your volatile emotions
Left my soul wet and cold,
Bruised deep within every atom.

I close my eyes.
Unwanted but not unexpected,
My mind replays the scene.
My confusion. Your shouts.

‘Jesus, Alice, you and your fucking metaphors!’
For some reason, I recall your eyes most clearly.
Flashing swirls of anger and shattered sanity.

But without my fucking metaphors,
No one could relate, nor understand me.
Assuming instead secretive flickers
Of mockery. Of stupidity or foolishness.

Not this, this multi-faceted tapestry
I try so hard to complete every day.
But they look at me as though they
Had just discovered coloured thread.

Words and Walls

I build my wall
Of words and witticism.
Hiding from it all,
Afraid of the criticism.
Perhaps I prefer solitude
To your potential disdain.
Perhaps I prefer misery
To your complicated ambiguity.
Perhaps I prefer to stay broken
Than risk breaking again.