In Debt to This- This Thing

It’s not fair 

none of this is fair 

I just wish

I wish it would disappear

the problems 

the struggle 

the feeling of waking up each day in a cage 

and the need to breathe 

the need to breathe is killing me

I want to replace your breath with mine

I want

I want my happiness to be yours

my contentment


my strength 


It’s not fair

not fair that I live this life

and you



Moulding the Shape of Your Eyes

I have all day,

all day without you

and, the thought of it

seemed, well it seemed 

glorious but, the actual reality,

the reality of it

is less-appealing.

There’s only so much

I can do; so much

of this, this waiting

and, so much of this,

this restlessness. 

I have all day-

when does the day end?-

I’ll create,

for a while, I’ll create

and hope that through my art,

I can summon your face or,

at least a convincing replica. 

Trusting How the Days Fall

I trust this

will find you

whether it does



whether it does


I trust that this

this will find


whether it be today

or tomorrow

or another year

I trust

I’ve emptied out my trust into

into this

the wisdom of this 

the words that rest beneath this

the love within this

the hate that surrounds this

I trust

I trust this

will find you

whether it does



whether it does later 

I do not know


I do know that this

this will meet your eyes 






it will be with you

even if I cannot. 

The Differences of Two

The flames rose,

we watched as they

did so

and you, you shuffled 

your feet

and the movement 

made me feel sick. 

We were burning some

of your fathers old clothes-

the ones that didn’t fit him anymore-

a check shirt,

a green jumper 

and a pair of size 20 jeans. 

I was watching the fire,

more than your reaction;

I was watching the flames,

how there was something quite therapeutic about the destruction,

the heat,

the fabric shredding apart-

I liked it. 

It only lasted an hour

but, I’ve could’ve watched it all night;

I even asked-

even offered-

I offered to throw 

some of my clothes in,

just so another hour

could’ve been wasted 

and the flames,

they soon died down

and the cold found its way to our cheeks

and my hands, they were numb 

and your face-

you were crying-

I remember that;

you were crying,

I was smiling,

I was smiling

as the differences hung

in the air 

and the smoke clung 

to our skin for days. 

If the World Were Flat

My life’s ageing now;

the people I saw,

the faces I knew

are decaying,

the world spraying across 

their cheeks and,

and I’m helpless,

helpless to it

and helpless to the change,

the motion of time

as it moves. 

My life’s changing now;

the image of death stands,

there, in front of my eyes

and its darkness blinds me

from the light. 

My life’s, it’s changing

and for the better? I don’t know-

I don’t know-

when it’s over,

will I cherish these moments

or, will I simply block them out?

I don’t know. 

My life-

the people-

the people in my life

are leaving-

not so much leaving but-

but dying;

the promise of death

has never felt so


the reality of it,

it frightens me

and my life’s ageing now-

changing now-

ageing in such a way,

a way I cannot possibly 

keep up with-

my legs ache-

chest aches-

just stop, rest, 

give me a second,

a minute-

time, that’s all I need-

time, that’s all anyone needs. 

My life’s ageing,

I can see the wrinkles 

as they begin to spread

across my memories;

the cracks are forming,

forming a perfect square 

over my heart

and the rhythm of

its beating reminds me

to breathe 

and breathe

and breathe;

the cracks soon shall break

but, for now,

for now, I am safe,

safe in the knowledge 

that tomorrow waits

and I, for it. 

If It Were Easy

An excuse to write

with feeling

and, an excuse 

to write in


I need it-

the escape. 

I need to be,

to be praised 


well, for something;

these words don’t just

happen, they’re 

kicked out of me-

bled out-

out, through my hands,

my eyes-

an excuse to write-

I need-

I need feeling; 

a feeling to feel

and a feeling to feel

nothing alike. 

I need an excuse to write;

an excuse to

embrace the freedom

that erupts from my


I need-

I want to bleed,

I want the words

to kick themselves out

of me


I want to be free;

free in this art,

free in this reality,

free in the way my

breath falls

and free,

free in the way my

eyes shut. 

An excuse to create,

an excuse to write,

an excuse to live;

to live in this-


this life. 

Wishing to Do

Something’s here

here for me now

and I want to go

and I think I might



something’s not right

but things never seem

as they seem

do they?

I’m leaving

retreating into the background 

and the world will still


and the crowd will still


and the words will still write themselves 


and my shadow will mean


and my shadow will


and the sky will lighten. 

Something’s here 

here for me 

and I don’t 

don’t want to go

but the possibility of leaving is


and something’s 

not right 

but it’s here 

and the world will still


the crowd will still laugh

the words will still be wrote

I’m not that special.