Tag Archives: thoughts

Song for the dead

–

They almost called them out again,
The police and searching teams.
To say Alice had gone missing,
Black T-shirt, blacker Jeans.

But this time they knew where she would be,
Though it’s been days since she’s come home.
She’d be somewhere in the graveyards,
Touching all the tombstones.

Wandering the cemeteries
Singing dirges to each stone.
Under light of stars, she tells
“It’s ok, you’re not alone.”

A gesture of reassurance,
By the gentle light of the moon.
Humming the song softly
‘It’s ok, I’m coming soon.’

the leaky hooman

–

-for my cat. the only good thing left šŸ’”–

My hooman is leaky again. more than before, which I did not think possible.
(My hooman was already leaky a lot.)
it seems She is leaky from Her eyes Almost Always Now. are all hoomans so leaky?

Eats. Sleeps. Warms. these are Good Things.
maybe some hoomans too.
The Final Sleeps is not for worry. all breathers must Have their Final Sleeps, Some Time.

I worry she might run out of hooman jooces, so I generously Eats as many Treats as she tries to give me.
it seems to make her happy for a Short Time.
she Is worried about Me Having My Final Sleeps Soon.
I can feel It waiting, just like It has always waited, and will still wait until I Have It.

it is The Way Things Are.

it is The Way They Have Aways Been.

my hooman is finally having Sleeps.
I think I got an OK One, All Things Considered. I have Witnessed much worse hoomans.
I hope mine will be ok, I have looked after her All My Time Here.
what does my hooman call it ? ā€˜fortein yeersā€™
what is a ā€˜yeersā€™? silly hooman.

I will have Sleeps, Now, too. Some Time, Very Soon, I think, I will Have My Final Sleeps.
not Yet. but Soon.

Sleeps, hooman. try not to leak.

Bright, bright, sun shiny day..

–

I want to move somewhere super clichƩ
Like Paris, NewYork or even L.A.
I want to find someone, so we can be together,
You know what they say about ā€œbeing alone foreverā€.
Actually what DO they say about being alone forever?

I hope it’s something positive,
I hope it’s something clever.

I doubt itā€™s a saying about sunshine and fun,
It seems like itā€™s great, but itā€™s far too hot, for one.
Cos if you live where I live, you grow to hate the light.
If you live like I live, then you learn to love the night.

Too much light simply burns you up,
Yet I continue to try it all over again.
I never learned to learn my lesson, so
Just earn third degree pain.

Here comes the night, little darlinā€™,
Here comes the nightā€¦
And I say..

..itā€™s alright.

message from The Matrix…or is it real life?

–

knock knock Alice. .
. .
Follow the white rabbit. . (done that)

Take the red or blue pill, actually take both, and a fuckload of others as well.
No, you’re still insane, but at least we got a laugh out of it.

The mainlines have been broken, everything made wi-fied,
While adults turned violent, and hospitalised children cried,
Trampled for a roll of toilet paper.

But that’s what humans do, right?
Accept and like it, don’t try to fight.
Thats what normal is.
You’re the crazy one for wanting out.
FU-CK-ING CRAZY.

Drink to excess, abuse drugs,
Grab a weapon and join in the fray,
Becuase that’s what’s considered OK.

But if you try to leave on your own,
We’ll lock you up FOREVEVER
and pump you full of the equivalent
of a chemical lobotomy.
For your own good, of course.

Reflections

–

Sparks..
Floating hot
..likeā€¦ embersā€¦
..memories?..
Flit erratically ā€¦ and
I remember..?
Separation.
Thought from mind.
Mind from thoughts.
Reality from ā€¦?
and then The Dance.
Floating.
I have found the fae-folk,
And they are angered.
My intrusion, unnatural,
Unwanted, unwelcome.
I step forward, but cannot.
You may not cross the barrier
In such a manner, I am told.
Go back, Human,
Even Death does not want you.

Plastic lives

–

I watch the people, and their
Greener sided fences.
I note their masks and their reflex defenses.
I move through life just being myself,
‘though I could be anyone. Anybody else.

I watch the people and their plastic smiles,
Their luxury sports cars driven less than five miles.
Armani suits, suited to suit them,
Or viewed through the right eyes, suiting their disguise.
And I wonder if they’re happy in their artificial lives.

I watch the people. I could mimic their movements,
Act out their gestures, smiles, plastic puppetry.
And I wonder if I’m happier inside self-misery.
‘Cos I could have it, have everything I see.
And all it would cost is me.

Troubled Mind

–

I have a troubled mind,
Athough the troubleā€™s mine,
I find I always mind, mind the trouble, yeah.

I get angry,
Oh I get angry. and
I donā€™t know why itā€™s true, but, I get angry that I do.

And Itā€™s not me, no,
At least, the one I used to be,
and, itā€™s not me, no, not the me that Iā€™m trying to find, no..

Somebody help me, wonā€™t
Somebody kill me, cos,
I have a troubled mind,
And everyday I find
My troubles spilling over
On to you, on to you.

Feel the spin?

–

Do you feel it?
When you are down,
Down inside yourself?

Those deeper dives.

The separation and fear.
Silently Screaming
This isnā€™t me!

All the while,

Clinging desperately,
Tighter still,
To every failing fragment.

Tumbling between

The darkness of the void,
And the bright splintering light of insanity.
Feel that sickening

Sickening spin?

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.

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.

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.

Dark. Darker. Darkest.

–


The fall of darkness finds
Everyone judged,
Sleeping within cool sheets
And honest dreams. Though some perhaps,
Twisted sheets. Twisted dreams.

You said you drew night near
Because it was a dark and endless place.
One of life’s hidden mysteries,
How darkness folds to finds more space.

Recursive fractals, unlimited dimensions?
Logical limitations until you
Reverse them, inverse them,
Treat them like university knickers,
Frontwards, backwards,
Inside out. Then front and back again.

Where does the negative space go
When it’s right there, missing on the page?
Where does everything else go,
When darkness makes it all unseen?
Peer into the spaces between,
Nothing that isn’t, is ever what it seems.

Perhaps darkness isn’t endless,
But rather an end in so many ways.
Severed from the tip of the universe
When the beginning was just beginning
It’s beginning phase.

And not knowing what else to do,
It just lingered without a clue,
Clinging and surrounding.

Maybe darkness
Is simply a lost and lonely loose end.
Looking for a friend.

Lost

–

Whereā€™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 Iā€™ve wandered way too far.

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

And my dreams all sprout from darkness sown,
And Iā€™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.

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.

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

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.

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’.

briefly on suicide

–

I find it somewhat ironic that in society today, when someone suffers greatly from a particular mental illness or malady, that they will go to such lengths to ‘heal’ them.

All kinds of medications and treatments have been prescribed to me.
Many that are illegal in any other context.
Amphetamines, benzodiazapines, anti-psychotics.
Iron infusions, supplements, electrocuting your brain.

They do so much to keep you alive and attempt to make you functional.
Even when they shouldn’t.

Even when it would be so much cheaper and easier to let you die, they still refuse.

But they have no objections about removing your rights, forcing you against your will to continue to exist in constant misery and suffering. To remain alive.
Even when you shouldn’t.

Insomnia pt.2 – Nevermore

–

So I’m jiggling my legs like some frenetic junkie, waiting for the benzos and codeine to kick in.
It’s one of those nights where despite the warmth of the room, I feel cold inside.
My self hating nihilism is all-prevailing and the certainty that I will never be better, that I am doomed to endure day after day of misery and frustration, clings to me like a cold wet bedsheet.

The experience of staying awake all night, especially 2 or 3 days/nights continuously, not only creeps into joints and muscles as stiffness and pain, but eventually becomes a pressure inside the head, like a clamp crushing upon your brain.
Given enough time, everything about staying awake for extended periods of time becomes unpleasant.

My best efforts to boost my mood upward, to think of positive things, and to convince myself life is worthwhile, such as trying to believe that one day I may be even happy, is met every time now by Poes’ Raven, embedded in my mind, it’s vocabulary no greater now than from it’s famous past.

‘Things are going to get better’, I repeat to myself.
“Nevermore”, comes the inetivetible reply.

‘One day, I will be happy’, I even try to believe it.
The Raven croaks, “Nevermore”.

‘I WILL be happy’, I tell it.
“Nevermore”.

I wonder if it understands double negatives.
‘I will not never be happy’, I offer.
Silence.

In the end, I just return it’s ridicule.

‘I will not never inversely opposite become antithetically unhappy’, I say, although I doubt it will fall for any convolutions of syntax and reply ‘Nevermore’.

The raven just stares at me. I suppose because the raven is a creation in my mind, trying to fool myself when I know the plan, isn’t really very logical.

But logic seems to diminish exponentially as hours continue to pass without sleep.

As does motivation, positivity, and the will to live.

I’m beginning to become so freaked out that I can’t even cry.
I want to, I can feel the tears behind my eyes, but the raw scraping of my nerves won’t let them flow.

A tiny bit less control and I’d probably be laughing maniacally. Panic and lack of reason start burning hot in my chest, a strange counter point to the ceaseless icy chill in my guts.

From experience I’ll still be awake this time tomorrow (5.30am), so there’s always some potentially delusional posts to look forward to.

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 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 kind of messed up mental itch,
But if I scratch it ’til it don’t itch any more,
There’ll be chunks of greyish matter scattered all over the floor.

They say you’ll never love someone ā€˜til you learn to love yourself,
Well Catch 22, here’s a thought, let me share the wealth.
How can I learn to love myself, ’til I’m loved by someone else?
The lesson goes both ways, as most good lessons do,
And because everybody else hates me,
I’ve learned 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 simple 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.

The Galaxy Lake

–

Surrounded by tired clichƩs,
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.]

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 at you through.

Am

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

I

See the palette 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 itā€™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 neā€™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.

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.

Fading

–

Iā€™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 donā€™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.

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,
Itā€™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 Iā€™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 youā€™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.

Iā€™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 youā€™d get.
Like each forgotten lonely grave
Of every childhood pet.
The only thing thatā€™s certain is,
It looks a lot like loneliness.

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
Breaks.

Window Pain..

–

What good are windows?
The view stays the same:
Grey, grey days only promising rain.
One more sign Iā€™ve lost control of my brain.
Perhaps I should say ‘I never really had it’.
Itā€™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.
Itā€™s like Tori and her ā€˜Little Earthquakesā€™:
ā€œDoesnā€™t take much to rip us into piecesā€.

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 clichĆ©
What more can I say?
I only care that I don’t care.
At least there’s some irony there.

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,
Youā€™ll always be beyond repair
In every way that matters. “

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 Iā€™ll relate this little story,
Quite the handy alogory.
If spelunking in your mind,
Beware what you might find.

Resistance is Futile..

–

[ Connection Stable]
[ Downloading Personality Upgrade ]
ā€¦.
Version 23.07b:
In this version there are major updates to the [Happiness Sub-Routines], which will lead to overall performance in:
-Depression Suppression
-Sarcasm Reduction
-Doubt and Misery (bug fix)

Also in this update, Greater Reduction in:
-Independent Thought
-Individuality
-Rebelliousness

Leading to smoother functioning Personality Systems, and Happiness performance.

Some Users may notice feelings of discomfort and lack of self identity, but with our new social media peer pressure campaign, this should soon pass, as you become accustomed to being just like everybody else.

–
[ Upgrade Download Complete ]

Do you wish to install upgrade? (Y/N)?
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Bus Seat. (prosetry)

–

Sits uneasily, bus seat perfunctory.
A lump of hard plastic.
Stares through the once was window, now just a diary of scratches and rage.
Watches uncertain possibilities of herself huddling around trash-can fires, scrounging through back alleys behind steaming food stores.
Standing staring back with vacant yet accusing eyes.

Sees herself in the cracks.
The could have been.
Might have been.
Almost was.
Hot and heavy tears,
Almost unfallen,
Often unnoticed.
Always unsure.
Perhaps they fall for all the could-have-beens.
Perhaps they fall because I’m uncertain on which side of the glass I belong.
Feels lucky.

Feels guilty.
Hates the burden of this unwanted blame.
Unresolved guilt builds into anger.
Resents your unspoken accusations.
Sick with self-doubt about how true they may actually be.
Hates these imagined obligations of grief, twisted and embedded in my head.
All these not-so-very-unlikely possible, potential versions of me.

I hate them.
I hate you.
I hate myself.
I hate society, for making me feel as though I should constantly feel lucky.

Lucky to be as damaged and fucked up and empty as I really am.
Oh, so lucky.

Checking In. (prose)

–

‘And how are things with you these days, Alice?’, inquired Chester, her cat.

‘Well’, she answered, ‘You know that feeling when everything seems to be working out?
Your chickens have all come home to roost.

There’s a glorious sunrise, and finally, life is good’?

‘No’, replied The Cat, ‘ I can’t say that I do’.

‘Oh’, said Alice, thoughtfully, then after a little while, rather sadly, ‘Me neither’.

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.

Missing

–

The universe is out my window,
The stars all shine and the moon hangs low,
And I wonder where the parts of me go,
When Iā€™m not myself, the self I know.

When Iā€™m busy being someone different,
Parts of me wonder where parts of me went,
Where was myself for the time that I spent
No longer at home, not paying the rent?

So while myself went out to play,
I sat and passed the time away,
Where I went I could not say,
I hope I had a pleasant day.

And now myself is home again,
Iā€™ve been here since who knows when,
Where will I be in the end?
If I find out, Iā€™ll tell you then.