I’m Alive

I wish to write a novel
A beautiful tale of woe
I wish to be an adventurer
Into the pages I’ll go

I wish to be more than I am
Than I’ve been
I wish to rewire my brain
Delve deep within

I wish to execute the demons
That fear has fed, allowing them to thrive
I wish to remind my soul
I’m here, I’m alive

Nostalgia? Not.

They told me that one day, in envy, I would look back

On the days of school, hot summers on the grass

I’m yet to see that nostalgic glow,

Rather there exists a reddish hue

Tinged by blood, washed down by tears

The place so deep rooted within my fears

Like That Feeling…

Like that feeling when you miss a step on the stairs

Like that feeling when you’re halfway between consciousness and sleep, you roll slightly and feel yourself ‘falling’

Like that feeling when you’re running for the train as you can hear one pulling away from the platform, you can’t see it but you’re sure it’s yours

Like that feeling when you’re late to class but you can see through the door that everyone else is there

Like that feeling when you leave on time, you’re going to arrive on time, and you realise you left the one thing you needed to bring, at home

Like that feeling when the doctor tells you the one thing you wished they wouldn’t

Like that feeling when you stand in front of the mirror dressed in your best black clothes, willing yourself to make it through another funeral

Like that feeling where it couldn’t get any worse but you know life will find a way

Like that feeling where you’re all alone

Like that feeling, all the time, like that feeling.

Are They Better?

Bitter words spoken
Are they Better?
or worse than
those left unsaid

Shouting, screaming, tears
Are they Better?
Or worse than
An unnaproving silence

Arguments and fights
Are they better?
Or worse than
Not being yours.

My Dragons

 

There is a dragon which resides inside of my head.

Guarding the memories which weigh me down like led.

Scorching all reason which tries to invade.

Crushing the questions that come in a raid.

Guarding the wall’s built high around.

There lives an army of doubt; keeping hope from their compound.

In their hands, they grasp their swords of malice.

Incessantly protecting this faithless palace

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