Another day

I swear they all merge into one

one long, long day

I can’t keep track of the time

if I’m losing time or


it’s strange-

I say that a lot

it’s strange to just sit back and watch

as time slips through my fingers

as the days grow longer

as my thoughts grow-


that’s all there is

just empty nothingness

a blank canvas begging for the first lick of paint.

The end, it doesn’t seem as daunting as before

perhaps I’m getting old.


Grey in White

My pockets are empty

I’ve got nothing

there’s nothing left

nothing but emptiness

broken emptiness

and my head-

inside my head there’s clouds

clouds were thoughts should be

rain damping the memories of yesterday…

I’m tired

there, I said it

I’m exhausted

trying to live in a world where living seems like the hardest option

take a break, I tell myself

take a break and you’ll be fine

but I’ve been taking breaks my whole life with very little rest

I just want-

I just want to be the best.

The end.

There, that’s it

let me sleep.

The Sensation of Wanting


I wish there was more of it

less of it

I can’t decide.

If there was more

there’d be nothing

and if there was less


like I said, I can’t decide

life’s too short to decide on anything


It’s strange to think of having everything





all too much

everything’s too much

but I can’t escape this terrible sensation of wanting






it’s all too much

and as my head hits the pillow

and I’m surrounded by the darkness

I breathe

and breathe

and breathe

and suddenly, everything falls into place.

A Short

It’s been…a while, I suppose

a while since my fingers caressed an open page

a while since my creativity knew no bounds

a while since my-


I suppose I should say…something?

It’s easy to say

much harder to do

and that’s why I haven’t the time to write!

I’ve been speaking too much

whilst doing too little.

How cruel.

I Just Do It and Do-

I’ve done it again

I didn’t want to say but-

the addiction claws at my brain

its fingernails scraping across my eyes

blind to the promises

blinded by life

I descend

into a darkness of my own making

and it’s…

I don’t want to say fun

I know damn well the fun will end the minute my head hits the pillow

but again

and again

I go through this again

refusing to put pen to paper

paper to pen

I descend



They’re all doing it

there’s no room for me

I can’t be doing it

not whilst they’re doing it

living it

becoming it-

I’ll just repeat the same old lines and convince myself I’m getting better

as if it even matters

no one’s listening

if they were listening

truly listening

surely, they’d hear my screams erupting from every empty page?

But no

because they’re doing it now

it no longer belongs to me

it’s no longer mine

it’s theirs.

Scary, isn’t it?


Have you missed me?

Stupid, I know but…

I’ve not had the urge to create

and it’s scary because I never thought I’d lose it

but it’s lost

it’s gone

do I care?

I’m trying to-

I’m trying to act as though I’ve been doing something

acting as though I’ve accomplished something other than nothing

other than emptiness.


it’s hilarious



breezing through life like the wind


Have you missed me?

The silence says it all

speaks it all

and I’m too tired to focus on anything

good morning.