Poetry Blogs (2016, self destruction)
I am a battering ram
Undulating forward with a willful lack of grace
Constantly pushing, pulsing
Headlong into an uncertain oblivion
Taking pleasure in the pain
Destroying what once was beautiful
Tuesday 15th October 2019 4:25 pm
Sitting on the kitchen floor
in the middle of the night
Pill packets to the left of me
and a knife just to the right
I was young, I was broken
I felt I couldn’t win the fight
Hopeless and desperate
I wanted a way out of this life
This wasn’t something new
there had been many other times
But usually the prescription drugs
were enough to suppress the crime
Tuesday 29th May 2018 1:00 am
I'm constricted by the fact, that life is to share,
I just see poor judgment, and a silly content,
of stay where you were hand, to raised and to forget.
Over bed or on couch, your time shall come next,
As the rest of your days, bad-thoughts, hopes and prays.
It is said that's not true, for you to be alone,
So to them I should say, my half never became.
I've been thinking ...
Friday 30th December 2016 2:22 pm
I am the wind
you are the ash,
the gust swept remains of a long awaited death.
I am the world warmed,
thanking the dawn after a long
I am that rejoicing bird
flying over your grave.
I am the sun,
setting above the black valleys
from where I rose - the lightness
you couldn't hold,
you were the darkness exposed.
Thursday 1st September 2016 9:41 am
Fetch the scissors
Bring the knife too
I've found something
for me to do
Watch the blood drip
Make a red puddle
They all seem to judge
Without knowing the struggle
If they can all hurt me
I can hurt me too
I feel like I deserve it anyway,
That's why I do what I do
That's what they label me
But they don't know
What I have to see
Monday 25th July 2016 5:44 am
I got a taste for blood last night.
It wasn’t yours,
It wasn’t his,
It wasn’t hers,
I got a taste for blood last night and it was my own.
Sometimes I consider draining myself dry,
Sucking myself into sand
Come, watch me crumble.
I got a taste for the blood which runs
From my lips.
But nobody ever described self destruction like this,
I never considered I mig...
Thursday 11th February 2016 2:43 am
did I ever say I was “good people”?
some days I miss the hasty shouting
the crack of fist on salted cheekbones
better that than the nauseous choice
of considered upholstery or designer phones
never weather appropriate, rather, accident
ripped and bleeding, waiting for some other
and days my head will fill with men of war
always in shock yet mostly in awe
Sunday 22nd December 2013 5:02 pm