I love you like you are my light and my life
wanted you to be my wife
loved you like a fetish
black like a rubber skirt
the words you say hurt
you cut my heart to ribbons
and still I am giving
my all
in your dominance I fall
I hit the wall
but I drill through
I love you I still do
but I am ruled by you
the wisest thing to do is to walk away
but I can’t eat or breathe without you
I love you I know I am no wimp
maybe I am a simp
but I love you all the same
in our deranged game.
Under a sign of neon loneliness
We are all drifting
shifting uncertainty.
If you don’t say what you mean clearly
it falls apart!
Like the shifting sands of a man’s heart.
I love yous repeated like rhetorical questions
a quest never to be won
a word we lean upon
but who really knows what it means
we can only dream
of being narcissistic kings or Queens
with enough love for ourselves
the magazines sit on the shop shelves
Do they dream of being read?
Loneliness the killer of lives
love the flip side of the coin
but they join…
They call me the bravest man in the world
but I just want to be held
and kept in her cage
admired at her whim.
From the lake of fire
to the snake of desire
I am lonely.
Hell is carrying around loneliness with you
it grows out of all perspective
it grows with you
it starts with a child’s heart
of wanting acceptance and love
people’s love
then it turns into anger and rage
that you cannot have those connections you yearn for
that you burn for
in later life
a maddened heart torn apart of the fear
that you will never see one person from one day to next to make meaningful conversation
that ache in your heart becomes more than a sensation
You learn that your needs won’t ever be met
that life has caught you in its net
But you are forever alone.
No one knows what you go through
in truth even if they saw your entire life
their perspective wouldn’t change
or see yours, isn’t it strange?
to be cast adrift in world that promises much
and delivers very little
hearts grow cold and brittle
and they break in many ways
Not just in half in the centre
you may plan your ventures
you may look for adventure
but your only friend is you
and love is only love if that’s the truth
Alienated alone
Friendless in the friendzone
No forks to give in a world of spoons
A real world character in a world of toons
a goon army
that want to harm me
I must be barmy
An only child to a wild man
a Stan to other people
imposter syndrome makes me feel unequal
the film I wrote won’t be a prequel
it’ll be where I stand
to where I finish as a man
This life is bitter
a litter of ironies
this life is a cycle
but the spokes won’t break on this bicycle
I am a nutter
with clutter in my head
I am smart but not book smart
I am art
but in chaos
I am the freedom you find in loss
I am joy but the heartache it cost
I am the I am and I am god
I am the I am but I am a little sod
I am the odd
one out
I am you and your every doubt
the beating second
the way it beckoned
I am reckoning
I reckon
When I reach the end
send
for help
I know I am freedom
this is where I gulp
for air…
The whisper of a shadow song
Morning star no glory
just a story
I am just lived backwards
hidden track words
scars like lines across paper
can I save her?
I am not what you think
drinking from a cup of agony
no God can save me
but death won’t enslave me
I am midnight verse
nails won’t surrender to my skin
the truth they told you the lies worn thin.
In the yellowed worn out dusty pages
the poetry that had a purpose is not lost
no matter how much the ideas cost
In this cupboard space
like the recesses of my minds eye
Ideas on the page never die
the reader if they thumbed through my poetry
would likely gain a paper cut or two
red ink another happening
mapping the page
the poetic wars we wage
on this desperate stage
between poet and reader
In this cupboard hidden away
will these poems ever see the light of day
like the dead poet lost in time
his reasons and rhymes
still unearth histories
and mysteries of life and of the earth
from birth to the finish
these ideas won’t diminish!
Maybe behind the library rooms and shelves
the poet unpublished poet finds themselves
and their voice
And these poems and half finished ideas
give a voice to voiceless after all these years
will be found and treasured and made into books
that people will treasure read and look
after finding this lost cupboard.