Withering colors, in carbonated yellows Rusted green and foaming white, Bubbling leftovers of humanistic pursuit. Rotten corpses of artistic benevolence lining the streets. The scrunched up flesh of unfinished stories, Discarded as fear that their imperfect toxicity might scar a pure white page, Just a bag of waste. Wasted potential Wasted time Waste
My fingers are aching from watching the busied hands of a clock – I just don’t know if I can keep up anymore. I stretch out my cracking palms, bruised and bloodied. I only fought myself- but does that mean I won? The keyboard is broken. I thought that if I just pressed on … Continue reading
Run away with me, Blue skies, green eyes, Think I, might need a change of scene, What I mean, is that summer’s fading Life’s a haze and, I miss the sun Please come and chase a dream With me.
Watching the world turn through a series of paint-marker windows, Of barely square houses, not homes, Drawn poorly and hung on the fridges of week-to-week mothers, With cashed checks strewn on the street, and fathers, all fucking deadbeat, Why do they always pack up and leave? Moments, passing in front of me. Houses all full … Continue reading Summer Day Sadnesses
A single seashell, pinkened by the sweetness of the sun, Lay her simmering curves by the corals, before the dawn had begun. White gulls balanced the wind between their feathers high above, The water gushing between the sand and their feet, - she fallen deep in love. The chattering of corals left the air salty … Continue reading Like Rocks onto the Shore
Sunlight days, memories Aching for a feeling We chase the butterflies in our stomachs, Across yellow lawns, Maybe we’ll catch those little bugs, And spend the whole night talking.
Desperately fluttering wings, a moth trapped between the window and the world. The rather ugly brown form pounding again and again, relentlessly trying to reach the light from the streetlamp just outside. I watch it with interest, merely intrigued by the futile struggle. Each time the little moth slams its tiring body against the glass … Continue reading
My fingers are aching from watching the quickening hands of a clock – I just don’t know if I can keep up anymore. I stretch out my cracking palms, knuckles that are bruised and bloodied. I only fought myself- but does that mean I won? The keyboard is broken. I thought that if I just … Continue reading “So you’re a writer?”
We stood there at the bus stop like we were standing at the edge of the world. Ready for our call to battle in the square of no man's land on this arbitrary road. Each with a number - a place to go. Readying ourselves to be shuttled into the rest of our lives. We … Continue reading Bus Stops
I believe that all of humanity can be observed on the doorsteps of the world. In that hallowed space between the sweet safety of home and the promise of the rest of the world, there, the species’ capacity for love, deprivation, humility, kindness, hatred is all laid to bear witness to. There, where tears fall hardest, … Continue reading Just a quick thought on doorsteps.