The road through

We’ve all got strings
Being played
How did I know
It would end this way?
Bust a lip with black eyes
Broken nose
Packs of ice
Resting on my bones
Till another fight

When will my strings
Be played right
Trying not to be a victim
But I’m feeling dark tonight
One drink for the road
This road I’m on
Mustn’t lose my grip
On the wheel, heading through
A town I know will never heal


I have possibly posted this before. I admit here openly this is not a poem written today, but was written last year. I’m struggling at the moment to write a poem every single day of April. I’ve tried prompt words, nothing is coming. I’m creatively constipated. So I figured I’d find an old one.

Hearts transparent in the crevices of our smiles
Those who know what to look for
Always find
The sorrow lurking behind
The laughter in their eyes
Humour is a bridge
Over sorrow
Transcending us through the waves
Frothing grievously at our feet
Trying to drown us whole
We laugh at the stench of our morality
Becoming clowns in our own rights
Casting illusions over doubt

Twisted love

Your kiss like a blade upon my skin
Naked before you, you delve deeper into my wounds
I don’t know if this is love or hate
But I can’t seem to walk away
I know I should run
But your eyes cut me down to size
I’m not big enough to take the road
I’m just a scared boy inside
Waging a war behind elusive eyes
And your ice cold kiss lays me down for the night
In my ice cold tomb where a soldier lost his fight
And your finger tips like knives
Cut across my skin
Full of sex and full of life
And your ice blue eyes are the only thing keeping me cold at night
This frost is a lesson learnt
And upon a body of curves I trace your skin
Like it’s a map of life
We hold on tight, waiting, hoping, wanting
For a fire to ignite


© 2015