[War-torn six string thing,
with tips’ pressed I sprout wings.
Not quite flying, but strong enough
to not discourage the fantasy of it.

Our breaths are now in tune,
what a comfort it is to sing with you.
Somewhere else, even if the visit is brief-
how can sound taste so sweet?]

It has been a while, wordpress.


The Briefest Moment in Time (poem)

It was so lovely to see you,
regardless of what could be-
to greet your eyes once more,
and for your eyes to once again greet me.

To once more lift your smile-
as effortless as yesterday,
oh, someone catch my mind-
before nostalgia steals it away.

I was once yours,
and you were once mine-
and I lived it again,
for the briefest moment in time.

This has worked before (poem)

You could align the stars with battle forged scars,
a flurry of fantasy with herds of beeping cars-
my mind squeezing the distance to where you are.

There is no antidote to for an ex-lovers curiosity,
waiting out the transition from longing to ferocity-
am I nostalgia’s plaything? Possibly.

Flowers delivered to your door, what for-
I watched the movie, this has worked before.
Flowers delivered to your door, what for-
You loved me once, this has worked before.

Farce (poem)

I can’t decide if you are the love of my life,
or the pain in my arse.
True love is not easy,
it’s an absolute farce.

You don’t want to talk about the referendum,
all you want to do it be passive aggressive on social media;
when Satan finally calls you back-
you can’t take your followers with ya.

Dear Mrs Davies (poem)

Dear Mrs Davies,

I’m not sorry to tell you that your daughter is on drugs,
she’s got smack-heads sleeping on your DFS rugs-
I know that you don’t hold me in the highest regard,
but at least I don’t ask for MDMA in exchange for ten minutes with my arse.

I know that you blame me and believe I am the devil incarnate-
but you didn’t say those things: when I paid her phonebill, paid for her food
and her lifestyle-
like she was some starving artist.

You see, I do agree, we just do not work well together-
but I still hope, that if she changes, that there will be a future for us both.
All she really needs; is a new personality, a brain transplant-
and some nose plugs to prevent her from putting shit up her nose.


How will you feel? (poem)

There will be nothing but pieces of you-
that they swore was once crystal,
and only then will it all be clear-
your enemies were all too good and near.

You will chase that terrible town with excuses to drown-
every good memory with a shot of sympathy,
and none will you have saved for-

The difference in you and I-
is that I built a house of happiness made of bricks,
yours is a shack of self-absorption,
thrown together with mud and sticks.

I hope you engulf your nose with the sweetness that you snort-
commandeering a ship destined for a black-hole on mission-
you can never abort.
Soon are the days in which I become the bittersweet morning-after afterthought.

There is no doubt that your life will discover some plastic joy-
in the same personalities, same rituals and the same boys.
However, the plastic people will soon become apparent and real,
then, when you are stuck  in your cycle, how will you feel?


Aren’t you glad? (short piece)

I want to tell you how I feel. How much I miss you, how much I want your attention, how much I want you to call me yours. I want to tell you so much, I want so much love to spill from me that you drink it with a permanent sore throat.

But I can’t. I won’t.

Whenever I conjure up some pretty lines or my memory lapses to a time in which you are a the different person I used to believe; my heart stalls and throws me forward and I am forced to see the mud in the windscreen. My wipers used to work pretty good, often I would even wipe it off myself and sometimes, I would just tell myself that I could deal with the dirt. I made everyone believe I was perfectly fine driving with your mud. That it wasn’t so bad and sometimes I even tried to claim it as my own.

Love can only go so far.

You realize that you are out of love with someone, the moment you see them in the fullest and truest picture. The picture you try to avoid, the bad traits and bad memories you have repressed finally come through and your heart goes…”fine…you win.” Your heart and mind are no longer subject to your fantasies of this person. Love can only go so far and when reality decides it’s time, it is time. You stop loving when you realize you can no longer forgive that person. That you can no longer love them despite the pain, the pain not only outweighs the love; it destroys it.

And you feel terrible for its destruction.

Some days you feel like a loser, for giving up on a fairy-tale. You create another fantasy, you conjure up more excuses for that person and it is a vicious circle. You are fully aware of your situation and yet you pretend it is not the one you are in. Under the bed, find some good memories or locked away in the cupboard you will find some hidden laughter. Stop searching a house for reasons to stay when it’s no longer healthy to stay there.

Keep it to yourself.

The care, the love and the jealousy; it will all fade into a nothing without your notice. Do not give the dirt a second more of what it already got undeservedly. Be braver than the pain, suck up the loneliness and appreciate that it tastes far better than the sour taste of lies and deceit. No one is expecting you to be full of smiles, but you no longer deserve a face full of tears.

Stop investigating the pain, its there and you will only find more of it. Don’t put that on yourself, don’t put someones selfishness on your heavy heart. Leave it be. Let it go. Accept that you may not know everything, but you know enough of what you deserve to not care about it. Curiosity will kill your progress. The thoughts that swim in your mind will soon drown, the quicker you refuse to give them air. It does not matter anymore, for it has no effect on where you are going.

You don’t love that person anymore
and aren’t you glad?

r4b (poem)

You could make bullets feel like bubbles,
a steel umbrella in a waterfall of troubles-
the first and the only other lover.

Life has a funny way of making sense,
of the memories you chose to forget-
forgotten jigsaw pieces under the sofa,
sometimes the things you end are never over.

Perhaps the stars have aligned,
or my heart has truly lost its mind-
do you feel any way inclined?
How will we play it out this time…

Infliction (poem)

How cruel are the lovers to the hearts they fight,
how cruel are the lovers to the others in the heat of the night.

So content in controlling the misery of the day,
we forget the memories we bulldoze along the way.

I seek the reasons in answers I do not want to hear,
speaking of a love we longer truly hold dear.

The day has arrived, the pain is right on time;
how can you prolong it’s infliction this time?