Poetry Drafts

rebel rebel

And there it was; the countryside

through a stained window I saw

my future; and the dire prospects of

a new life

There is always a pinch of salt sprinkled over my writing, a measure of conservation to stay savoury; in my mind

Major 2 Minor

admittingly of middle age // post-classical if you will // without a shining light for guidance // the dark ages grip tightens // new thoughts of hope will surface // as soon as you wake the god of summer // call her forth from her wicked slumber // to reset my age; to become a minor yet again

I Remember

Most of my days were filled with patterns, recurring images of every situation that had gone to pass; and triggered fear deep in my heart.

The darkness now accumulated; the filth beneath slowly rising to the surface; pale tan-less skin I exposed unwillingly, the stench surely tangible in my general proximity.

With time a vicious habit formed, not by choice of conscious act but rather from illness I declare; a statement you may so graciously reject. But of all the things I do remember, only memories of fear still linger.

black mirror

As I enter ever deeper into the black mirror // the doors close behind me // realisation striking; there is no going back // I am sameness; I am sickness // prolonging this careless whisper; futile prescription on repeat // I say “no” to a kingdom of dreams // with the mirror cracking I am left with only doubt // are the reflections real; is there sanity at heart

Binge

I’m on a binge
it’s 100 proof all the way
You see the haze surrounding me?
I’m on a binge
Mr Robot with scattered thoughts
I dream, I wake; corpses roam
I’m on a binge
Caprica, the early years
before the battle, fracking fear
I’m on a binge
on orphan black
I see her – everywhere

faith

I’d rather You

quote your heart

than a book

from long ago,

no matter how

You feel

right now

I do believe

in You

vacuum

The narrow space between duvet and mattress; once my sole comfort zone; now a depraved torture chamber

forget me not

I hope one day to write a book
about a recovering drunk
showing the breadcrumbs left behind
as time flew by and hours passed
the legacy that was never asked
became the item on the list of doubt
never to be forgotten

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