How It All Started

I know I can see into the future

Because I repeat it all

Over and over again

But I could be just dreaming

Because it feels so abstract

So now I just whisper

Scared to make a sound

Each day feels exactly like the one before

Me trying to do exactly as I’ve been told

Not as I’m expected to do

Forgoing all thoughts of love and pain

Trying to lose myself in the inanity

Forcing myself to be happy here

Finding too easy to pretend

So it write it all onto paper

Someone might someday enter the building

And find it all written for them

How it all started

How it all exactly ended

I won’t hide any of it

It’ll all be there

All bleeding through jotted note paper

I wished I could have done it differently

The moral is that in the end

I don’t know what more I could’ve done

© 2020 Arron Hickman

New novel

My new novel ‘Sebastian’ is now available to purchase. This novel was written at a time when my mental health needed an outlet. I tried to adapt the emotions I felt and focus them into written form. This novel was the result. Please feel free to purchase and/or share, and leave a nice review or two.

We do so alone


It terrifies me

The knowing
That there isn’t
Coming back
And the knowing
That it is something
We can only experience
Scares me

And the idea
That I can’t hold hands
With anyone
When I take that leap
Off of the mortal coil
makes me sad

At least when born
We are all born
Into the arms
Of someone around you
Whether they love you
Or not
They hold you
And for only seconds
Or maybe even days
You’re in an embrace

And I know now
After trying it
so many times
by myself
Shortly before I die
I want to do so
Being held in an embrace
So at that moment
I can leave this world

In love

© 2020 Arron Hickman (The Harlequin Heart)


The sign on her desk
Tells me
She is “focused”
Dollar signs in her eyes
As she beavers away
For her soldier-boss
What the sign
Should have said
is “Stay Away”
As I found to my despair
When cursed at
For interrupting
Her chain of thought
By wishing her good tidings

Dumped Bags

Dumped bags

On the pot-holed roads

Rats feasting

On the flesh of birds

If there was only time

To join in

With this festival of feasting


No protection

Against the stench

Of this human waste

Perfumed handkerchiefs

Held against our lips

Fail to stop the retching

Of our shadows



I’ve got a firebomb

High in the heavens

With it hanging there

Life is a trip

Hoping for the worst

Always getting the best

This poem is for the sad guy

The guy playing

His broken accordion

Playing to our fears

The little madman

Some of us a shadows

Some of us are melodies

All of us miss the lunacy

And so the bomb drops

And the tune stops

And I’m relieved