Honest… Honest Work

Flashing of dire images,

Like ghouls in the Mirror of Regret.

Temptation sulking in red-soaked-pools,

Knowing that if I fall, there are no nets,

And the walls – they’re far, far too steep,

Covered in layer upon layer of bleak memory.


And I look upon the canvas, devoid of paint,

As I frantically search for that rosy paint-

A medium for expression;

But it’s oblivion… not a single brush,

Nor a pencil.

Nothing to imprint the white.

Emptiness – alone – lonely.


Traversing corridors – back and forward,

Forgetting the doors on each side,

Forgetting the chances that wait beyond.

Needing to walk back into space without electricity;

Or, at least being duped into thinking so.


Please, do something, I was caving,

Mites ruthlessly bit, and the ticks latched without remorse;

Eraser, white pen on white paper.

Each stroke heavier – breaths taken on Mars.


My laugh filled the empty stretches,

Bleak, and self-depreciating – honest.

Painfully, wretchedly, horrifically… honest.

Heard by not one soul.

Breaking the boundaries of sound,

So loud – silent – vacuum sound.


All these years,

Time ticking like a clock at half-speed;

Time spent, time… honestly wasted;

Not wasted honesty.

Under the Dark, Dreary Night

Night-light rains down in the field of wolves,

Their names called, summoned at once.

Crying and screaming, the masses run,

From the beasts – the savages.


Bottle in hand, legs afloat,

Climbing trees – falling into heavy arms –

Strangers arms, unwelcome by the recipient.

Heart breaking, secluded to the dark beside stone walls.


Ground-worms, the eerie winds of euphoric glass.

In the trailer, painfully few beside;

Outside, the golden world goes on,

Laughter, chaos, the hugs of youthful sentiment.


The Forgotten, the Shadows in no light,

Weaving like willow around stronger trunks;

In the chinks and the chimes-

Kissing, looked on upon with bleakness of vacuum.


So, the bottles are empty;

A world turned hazy with grim solitude.

Nothing before. Nothing after.

What had I been expecting, a change in base temperature?


Morning light, and lingered pride,

Loving all around, but honestly, nothing inside.

Taken home, forgotten thoughts-

Trying to forget.


Images of possibility,

Voices that could have been, and might have been,

If only it weren’t for battered sanity.

Some things are never.

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.

Unfeeling in the Lands of Plenty

The want of something, with the knowledge of nothing;

Impeccably thought, redundantly realised.

Sitting back against the tough leather,

Waiting for the cackles of the rotten hags.


Littered the streets in utmost contempt.

Rallying against the heiress’s henchmen;

A force of a million suns.

And yet they whisper, ‘stay, do not run!’


Groveling in the street’s putrid drains.

Accused and cursed, burned, egregious.

Whittled down, strewn from humanity.


With the waiting of months, years, and decades.

Needing and wanting, nothing sacred.

Skin touching stone and wood,

Unearthing destinies from the old and young.

And yet, nothing of skin to skin.


Dreaming of picnics,

Hand in hand amidst the blustery winds.

Crossing forgotten walls, only breathing.

‘Whisper in my ear…’ she tells me;

Though, I find words do not form in this lucid land.


Stricken, ruptured – wandering the void.

Free in the free lands – feeling aside.

Wandering around the dreamworld,

In the search of something to commandeer reality.

And so, I hold her hand as the light fades.

The Forceful Tide

Often, the wind blew a furious squall,

Gusts, hurricane force – deadly.


Inked hair on the stormy beach;

Strolling away, scowls, feet firmly beneath.

Without even a glance behind.

Sacrificial, scaring, thoughtless.


Nights in December, frail skin,

Life in front of the flames – scorching.

But what of those slashing thoughts,

When all seems truly beneath the waves?

Life lived in a frantic haze…


With the flick of a sudden wrist,

Denouncing all, swearing in retrospect.

Into the distance,

Contemplation, revelation – coming undone;

Undying in the light of perpetual dusk.


Eclipsed by the tides of wanting.

Sun glistening of that youthful skin.

Flowing, ebbing, silently fading.

Lust, and subtle reason – morose.


Silk used to run through my ten digits.

Now… nothing but the sand of ages’,

Nothing but the dust

Of relegated dreams.



Crouding Around Delusion

All of the road bumps, light.

Hard on the bare plastic.

Light in the dregs of nowhere.

One dim street lamp, to the next.


Idealism rocketing around.

Amphetamine, reaching light-speed.

With the bumps, the rumbles, the cognitive jumbles.


Doors closed,

Spirits living high, hopeful.

Backpack rattling away with needed fuel,

A little fire in the ever-night.

Crackling, burning, smoke rising high.


Laughter breaks the silence,

Half-drunken vigour, ruling.

Into the darkness, one small step.

Music in my ears; base heavy, rattling.


Farm-grass beneath the feet of dozens

Lighting the fires of careless youth.

Tires screeching…

Alone amidst the crowd.

A few friends beside, nothing more,

Not enough.

Not to crack such a fleeting consciousness.


Pull tabs, pulled;

Bottle tops, popped.

Chaos lingering, unperturbed.

Sexual laughter, tension, aching in the air.

A wish to place ragged hands anywhere.


I sat, jumper hanging loosely from my back.

Out of sight, out of the fire’s irreverent glow.

A few hugs, but even those –

Wrong; written to fail.


Down: one, two, three, four, five, six-


And more…

Time nothing but an illusion,

A construct in the fragility of existence;

Within the wood-smoke, the midge bites.

Truly alone, despite the crowd.




“We were completely visible and simultaneously, completely invisible. To be seen, to be heard, to go unnoticed. Shadows in the constant night. Bugs to serve no other purpose than a nuisance. That was what we were. That was the theatre our weekends had morphed into. A realism of chaos within a world of uncertainty. A […]