My mind is pregnant,
seeded with something not mine:
I can feel myself changing,
something growing inside.
Yours.
Swells and moods and cravings of –
something… Feelings of abjection?
Everyone notices the change,
but they’re too polite to ask;
behind my back they wonder
while it grows into something strange.
Yours.
This fire in my mind,
this foreign piece of me
leaks out of my pores
and I’m pregnant with rage…
I’m pregnant with yours.
the truth tastes like blood
it drips from my mouth
standing still in my red shadow
my teeth are red
red like my rage
Judas kisses
wash my feet of the dirt
I walked through
the truth is still the truth
in outer space
and blood is still red
red like my rage
nooses smile golden loops
hanging like lies
smiling at me
but all I taste is blood
“At the age of fourteen I discovered writing as an escape from a world of reality in which I felt acutely uncomfortable.” – Tennessee Williams
You lack the depth
of reality…
Come on, man!
Stop abusing, stop escaping!
Face it head on:
flood light that truth,
fly towards it, bug!
Stop injecting with that stuff,
it’s poison for your veins.
Surely you know that?
I’m third tier looking down,
I’ve been through it all.
Don’t you learn, buddy?
Suck up and deal,
sniff a line of life: it’s free!
It won’t kill you,
fool!
Write out those feelings,
we need you here.
Don’t leave the truth unturned,
disturb the insects,
show them the light!
It’s for their enlightenment.
So what if I trip and
fall face first into failure?
So what if they laugh as I struggle?
So what if I make mistakes
and do stupid things?
So what if I live on the edge?
So what if you judge me?
So what if I damage myself?
So what if I don’t have your support?
So what if you all leave my side?
So what if I lose it all?
So what if I end up with no one?
So what if I’m the failure everyone least expected?
So what if I fall
from the throne I’ve placed my reputation on?
So what if I let go?
So what if I go wild like they said?
So what if I stuff it all up?
So what?
Why so scared?
Is that a hint of guilt in your
nervous smile?
Do you think you hurt me?
Is that what it is?
Don’t tremble at my scars.
It was only a small trial…
You hurt me, but I’m okay now.
I promise.
I promise.
It’s only my life.
Did you hear about that boy?
I did – he’s so young!
I wonder what caused it…
I heard his mother didn’t love him.
But why do something so horrific?!
Maybe she did it to him when he was small…
He’s on steroids now.
I blame the father…
He left when he was little apparently…
I wonder why…
I heard it was because of the child.
So maybe it started then even!
The fists?
The fists.
But I just think of the poor mother.
I’ve seen the bruises.
This is too terrible.
Better not get involved.
It’ll go away.
It always does.
No it doesn’t
PUNCH
Bleed
Bruise
Broken
Mr Individualist 