I’m tired of life
It’s always full of emptiness
we fill our time with TV
And any other screens
moving wallpaper over the teeth
underneath
that grind us
Tonight I don’t care for that nature’s green
it’s all a rollercoaster ride
beneath those canopies
pain and suffering hide
At least in winter, it’s plain to see
illusions revealing their skeletal remains
A butterfly isn’t beautiful
it’s a flutter of a moment
it’s death painted pretty
A blackbirds song isn’t melodic
it’s desperation dressed as music
trying to hang onto dear life
and I have to ask, why?
depression
Deaths cradle
the waves snap
at the edge
time chiselled in rocks
debris of war
aka life
a fossilised anguish
deep in the core of us
my brown eyes
darkening waters
the world a periphery vision
separating me from you
falling into the black
and I shall kick up no resistance
a night of forever
whispers me to sleep
in deaths cradle
The dying field mouse
A dying field mouse was the catalyst
For the tears turning to diamonds
Under the pressure of unrelease
An apologetic surrendering
To my failure to be a hero
My humanity drifting me apart
A wedge between me and my kind
A bridge I can’t cross
To look you in the eyes
And become a part of the rat race
I despise
That mouses black beady eyes
The abyss I looked into
Forever looking back
I am sorry little mouse
I couldn’t bring you peace
in your darkest hours
as you bid your long arduous goodbye.
All I see is death
Is there anywhere I can be someone else
I’m tired of being wrapped up
in myself
but I’ve seen out there
and seen the earth laid bare
it’s too much for me
all I see is death
looking back at me
mirroring my decisions and indecisions
falling into the abyss
of those eye sockets
Sunday wordle on a Monday: Scuffling with a ghost
I’ve been scuffling with a ghost
that fluttered by
after falling from the mouth of the sky
weaving through the dust
like tumbleweed
boom and bust
a story of angst
written only for us
Smiling irony

I saw myself in the abyss of someone else
and I can’t turn away.
Strip my skeleton bare of this flesh
in which this toxicity is enmeshed
The smiling irony
of the skeleton underneath
Survival instinct is my enemy

Survival instinct is my enemy
he’s always there when I try to be free
there was a moment when I thought
the end would come
but he kicked out
and I survived another fight
My survival instinct is my enemy
why won’t he listen to these thoughts in my head
I want to be returned to the earth again
Sunday Wordle: A house made of books
I am too small
and the world much too big
put me in a house made from books
instead of bricks
leaving everything to the imagination
with broken spines
as a sign
of worlds well lived
don’t leave me here constrained
in this broken body in bits
and the mind inside
that is folded a million times to fit
I can’t hold myself together alone
untethered in this storm
like a flag surrendering in the wind
comfort me with silk weaved wit and imagery
feed this insatiable hunger
for something to lift me from this black, black hole
don’t let me fall back to dust all alone.
The men who ate themselves
The world was smothered in white, a trees gnarly limbs pointed to the sky in accusation with curled fingers.
‘I can’t breathe out here,’ I reported.
‘Get back!’ Mack’s voice came through the static.
‘I can’t,’ I told him, ‘I can’t,’
‘You’re gonna die out there!’
My footsteps trailed behind me, I wanted so bad to cover each up, cover my tracks, ‘Soldier down,’ I said breathlessly.
‘Flint, If you don’t get back here now I’m gonna kick your fucking arse!’
‘soldier….down…’ I gasped.
‘Flint you fucker! We’re right here! Just walk back. Crawl back. Do anything and get back here, right fucking now! Don’t make me come out there!’
‘Mack, I’ve seen it.’ I fell to my knees, ‘I’ve…’ between each breath I uttered my words through gritted teeth, ‘seen it, Mack,’ a gush of wind blew the snow in circles around me. ‘He ate himself, Mack,’ a tear ran down my cheek, froze solid on its way down.
‘Flint, You cared too much. But it’s over, you need to let go.’
‘I can’t,’ I fell headfirst into the snow-covered ground. ‘I’m so tired Mack, I’m so tired of caring. The anger, the pain…’
‘Flint, if you let go you can get back! Let go!’
‘I can’t Mack. He’s a husk, a ghost. I never believed in ghosts but now I know they’re real.’
‘Right, that’s it!’
‘Don’t come out here!’ I screamed into the static, ‘Don’t come out here!’
Ghosts aren’t what you think they are, they aren’t the spirit of the dead they’re sadder than that. They’re living people who are helpless not because no one can help them, but because they won’t accept the help.
‘He ate himself, Mack,’ I cried into the void.
The snow slushed underneath me, my body leaving a trail covering up the footprints of the man dragging me.
‘You need to get out of his headspace,’ Mack was droning on, ‘he’s got you caged in his head.’ He paused and bent over winded trying to take a breath. ‘It’s an illusion, Flint,’ He coughed, ‘he got into your head and projected his own. you’re in his headspace inside your own headspace. You can let it go.’
I sat up and opened my eyes dazed and confused, he shut the door and switched the oxygen on, sat down next to me to get his breath back.
‘You don’t have to care all the time, Flint.’
But I knew I would. And I knew it would hurt and I was angry he saved my life.
I saw a man eat himself like the way the critters eat my mind. He ate me too, and now the critters in our heads eat us and we eat us and we’re all just consumed.
day 23: I try not to think….
I try not to think about you
but you come into my memories view
and I don’t want to let go
but you’re already gone
I don’t want to think about it too much
I’m scared I won’t make it out alive
but sometimes thats preferable
than this pain inside.