Beautiful As You Feel

Foolishly awakening

The aliens of the deep

Nothing makes a sound

Unless there is something to shout about

Back within my cruel world

The silence grates

Standing with the movement

On the Earth

It’ll make you as beautiful

As you feel


Here I Am

Here I am

Looking into tomorrow
Without control
The drifting moments
Of today
Have lost their lustre
I’m letting go
That part of me
Born within time
Everything I looked at
Having been driven away
By the ghosts
Gone where they’ve felt free
From me
And staring at the brutal nature
Of the lonely path
As I wander aimlessly
Along the streets of shattered memories
The darkness
Beneath the starlight
Beckons my useless self
To drain away
These incessant tears
I formulate a plan
And greet tomorrow
With a faux-smile
And give away
The last of my memories
So that I can live anew

A Blank Canvas

A point of interest

On a blank canvas


And Seamless

Paint in hand

Brush at the ready

Magnificent visions

And the means

To capture them

So why do I not paint

Why does my brush not create

The masterpiece in my mind

I’m a blocked drain

Without a plunger at hand


You’re at the end

Of another quiet Monday

Wandering through the drifting fogs of time

The imprint of your hand

On a glass doorway

Is all you’ll leave behind

To memory

And the love of those you’ll leave behind


Because you’ve stopped trying

A Sea Of Sifted Gold

I’m swimming through a sea

Of sifted gold

As the delightful crowd

Chants my name

Each person I pass

Placing a weight on my back

And laughing as I sink

Into the deep

I’ll rest on the bottom

And breathe it all in

But only when it is right

To do so



Under A Kerosene Sky

Nothing works when you try

Only when you fail do they notice

Innocuous comments

Become violent streams of apathy

Lost in the streetlight

Under a kerosene sky


Multiple vials line my streets

And contain the essence

Of life’s CT Scans

And I’ve found no voice

At the other end of the broken



It’s slow to achieve progress

In the world caked in dry mud

And the bingeing will stop

When someone stops selling




Clenched, Aching Fists

She weeps
But doesn’t know
To console her
Is difficult
To make her laugh
An impossibility
To talk
To try to sift
Through the clouds
In her mind
Too awkward

So I’ll sit
To her clenched
Aching fists
And I’ll make life
All about her