In Some Place. In Some Time.

Blasting through the desolate cosmos,

Destination, unseen – unheard.

Life on the edge – vanguard to the posturing elite.


Shrimps drifting through the black mass,

Unable to witness the gleam of stars,

Unable to sing, and to laugh – exiles;

Living amongst the ice,

And encased in the shields that

Fail to falter and blink.

Languid in eternal, light-less sleep.


Craving all we cannot have,

Free movement, and happiness, and love.

Under the hammer,

Pressure beating like that at the core of a star;

We cannot move.

We cannot hold;

Those nearest – simple acts overlooked.

Separated by countless light years,

Galaxies spanning the indeterminable void.


One day, maybe we will arrive,

Pioneers, starting over – another try.

A time when we can hold, touch,

And linger in the soothing heat of close bodies,

The promise of warmth and intimate pleasure;

Sleep, with dreams, and fleeting images of the past,

Ushering us along

Towards a mirage that shimmers

All along the boundary, eclipsed by only vision.


Some day we will exit this relentless purgatory.

Some day we will kiss, and make love,

And bathe in the beauty of re-kindled humanity;

As we sail, and as we drift,

Living – but just for the moment,

On the cusp.

From the New World

Leaving behind home – some home, at least.

Backpack, scarf, and winter coat,

Alone and youthful

In the desolate Wilderness.

Bare feet on the bitter frost,

Not a moment passing, without glancing back,

Watchful of what might come running

From the ravenous purgatory of the far North,

In search of forgone humanity.

Crossed raging rivers, and traversed flats,

Into the distance, wanting – needing

To touch frail skin, and linger in the essence,

The sweetness, and the rare euphoria

Yet, my feet, they sink too deep.

So, maybe I don’t truly want to witness

What awaits beyond the decadent Wilderness.

Beyond the air of Death Roses,

And the scent of age-old ash in the choking breeze.

You wonder… why now,

And why here… why just me?

Staring into the bleak divide – the line,

Wondering if it is a sin to see;

If life might just get a chance to freely speak.

Across the mountains,

Along the coasts of seas’,

Where whale song once bellowed,

And where men were brought to their battered knees.

I tread the lines,

Paths not taken for untold millenia.

All for touch, and all for sense?

Driven to the ends of the land, through basic intent,

With the need to lay hand upon skin-

Hear a voice whisper beside me-

Share a bed that has always been for one.

Until then, the Clouded Sun can wait.

Thank You – I Mean It!

This, is rather spontaneous, but it’s been on my mind, so why not also write a little on it?

I’ve been writing on here regularly since the beginning of October last year.

What did I think it might be back then? Well… to be honest, I saw it as nothing more than a place for my tumultuous thoughts to reside, a place where they would do no harm. It was the period when I returned home from university after a short week. Things weren’t great, in fact, they were awful. Though, I suppose they could have been far, far worse.

I didn’t know what to do.

I wasn’t sure I could do anything at all, but slumber in my anxiety…

So, I came home, and began writing here. At the beginning, it was simple. There were no goals, no aspirations, no plans. I just needed to know somebody could read what I wrote if they so pleased. I found comfort in that. I still do. Of course I do. I’m humbled by those of you who regularly read what I write. That means a massive amount. I don’t take that for granted.

I got into writing poetry.

I got into writing ‘Tiny Stories.’

I got into so many things.

I’m still getting into them…

This has become a staple part of the life I’m currently living. I don’t know where it’s heading, and I don’t want to know. Not everything I post is polished, and I don’t require it to be. I hope you can see something heartfelt in them, in the poems or stories. Each one of them is a part of me represented with words… of varying qualities. It’s a journey of self-discovery for the most part – if I’m able to say that without sounding pretentious. I don’t know what’s coming tomorrow. What words will arise with the sun, and what anxieties will haunt with the waning of it.

A life where everything is expected would certainly be boring.

It’s enlightening to see and read all your words too, because they are so beautiful, and it would be a shame for them not to be heard. This really is a great community, and now, I’m not sure what I’d do without it. I harbour a deep well of loneliness, and if I’m able to fill even a tiny part of it, that’s more than I could ever ask for. I need that motivation to create, to push myself onwards to deeper waters – to discover things about myself that are required, if not pleasant.

So… Thank You!


-Chris ❤


Night-Time Fantasy

Sometimes, I ask you to walk.

Sometimes, I watch as you cry;

Tears, flowing, as the world trudges by.


Talons, catching my feet,

Wasting the days, and the weeks.

I cannot take one final step, onto the moon,

Onto the surface where yellow light beams.

And I sit, and I drive to the land,

Where the residents kneel,

Where they have no feet,

Where the demons permeate sickeningly deep.


Take me away,

Hold me close, my shoulders tight.

You mean more to me,

Than those shadows that wander the street.

You mean more to me,

Than I know of myself,

Than I know of the world.

So please,

Don’t ever leave;

As the leaves fall and sprout from the trees.

Love… stand beside me.

White-Walled Rooms

Looking onwards, towards the hourglass room,

Beside where the Erlenmeyer flasks stand.

Thinking, why doesn’t one speak,

Duress in the real-world-light.

Panic stricken by night.


Hidden beneath the Store-Cupboard of Questions,

Ruminating, cascading – light utterly faded.

Walked corridors, and descended stairs, ability waning.


A teetering life;

Strangled and brain-dead.

Energy expired, nothing to lose.

Nuclear powers’ spent fuel rods.


Cowering by the Natural Gas taps –

Arms wide open, embracing,

As the flames stream, vicious, sun-hot,



Glance this way;

Stride over to me – understand implicitly.

Because surely, after all, you knew…


And take me away to the place of no rain.

Drifting in silence, through endless time and space.

Questionless, regretless, perfectly prideful.

Only in dreams, I imagined.


Sat on plastic stools, I waited,

Silently for a day with no foundations.

Pencil lines, black lines, thick lines.

No end. No certain destination,

For the person who holds the lab at ransom.


Sure, you just went on gliding,

Smiling too.

That was alright, I didn’t mind.

Just the times, and the excuse to touch,

To tickle, and to prod, to joke – everything.

So, I waited,

Right by the Erlenmeyer flasks.

Through Tinted Glass

Listening to those songs, remembering those times.

Days of darkness – window staring.

Love remembered…

At least the need for it.

Time passing, willing it to pass all at once.

Head – faster than light,

Body – slower than the ticking of clocks.

Dream like-

Colourless dreams.

Unfeeling, meaningless dreams…

In the waiting, and in the seething,

Telling myself,

We all go through a times of teething.

Darkness in different shades-

Spanning the hours, the waning of the days.

Mumbled sentences, and dead-heavy limbs.

Waking – not really.

Sleeping – not truly.

Lazing in the fuzziness, the dead TV flicker,

The subtle blur that borders every edge.

Peering into a future that’s anything but clear.

Wondering, pondering, thinking-

Anything but believing…

Venting Stars

In truth, let the words simply be words,

For they are a poor medium to express my mind,

To shine light upon the things that have dwelled in darkness.

They try, and they try their best,

But in the end, discerning meaning through the fog of war,

Is surely no simple achievement.


Words – huddled,

And muddled too.

Lines and lines, without commas to break.

Each syllable felt, each intention taken.

Oh, please forgive the occasional misinterpretation.


Watching fleeting images of self-doubt,

Listening to the confusing lyrics of orderless orientation;

Haphazard in what is thrown, and what is devoured.

And yet, it’s nothing but home…


Tell me, and tell me straight-

Straight faced, based in all truth, without hesitation.

And, promise me you’ll try…

To pass on the singularity of blinding night,

Always climbing from the relentless abyss,

The scourge of extra-terrestrial bottom feeders.


Sure, things will pass,

And things will fade – life in all ways.

But let this be real, and let yourself feel;

Unhindered and without a morsel of regret.


In a life so apparently bleak.

A world so cold.

Both hands are held, balanced, equally as giving.

Resting on shoulders, closing weary eyes.

Let it all flow…

Let it all be unhinged, relieved of all burden…