Post with 5 notes
I feel the air turn to a dense bag around me.
I long for the air around me to turn to ice,
Just so the space between us could feel like fire.
I wish for the air to turn to water that can drown me in your scent.
I want to be intoxicated in your essence until breathing without you near feels like drowning.
I want your fire to breathe warmth on my face.
I want to burn in your inferno until im cleansed.
Post with 19 notes
I have seen the smiles of those not yet reborn in misery, and I have wondered when they will be baptised in the waters of disappointment.
For, you see, my prophet is one of false hope and deception. And he serves the holy spirit of misfortune and cataclysm.
I see these people and wonder how long it will be until they become lost in their anguish, trapped in a storm of turmoil
I wonder what my false prophet will promise them then,
I wonder how long he will keep them in dismay,
I wonder of they’ll have the strength to see the light
I have seen the smiles of those not yet reborn on misery, nor baptised in the waters of disappointment.
I used to consider warning them of what’s to come, but their happiness seemed so genuine.
And, after all, ignorance is bliss.
…And it wouldn’t save them anyway.
Post with 2 notes
You stare in silence and disbelief, checking your glass of scotch to confirm how much your drank, counting your pulse whilst trying to breath slowly.
You walk to the bed and lay down. You try to tell yourself the letter isn’t real, just a figment of your imagination, just a bill you’re too tired to make out, or perhaps just a dream.
“Sleep” you will yourself, “Just a dream, everything is fine” You desperately attempt to convince yourself. All in vain.
When you next see her, she is packing. you decide to opt for ignorance and say it’s for a business trip, and the stress of work is what has lead to her being distant, and he being short on time is why she didn’t kiss you goodbye. Again.
Days pass with no sign of her, you’ve wrongly justified her behaviour far too long. You become aggravated at yourself for being so blind, and furious at her for not even trying. Your hate consumes you and soon every detail of her is a target for your anger. You call her at 3am cause you can’t sleep anymore, you call her just to scream non-sensical jumbled words through the red which blinds you in a different way to before.
You resent every second “wasted” with her in the house you currently sit in.
When you finally come to your senses and see the destruction you have caused you back track on the late night calls and beg for forgiveness at a meeting in a public place. You see her for the first time in too long as beautiful as she really is, and you ramble. On and on, grabbing at any promise you know you can’t keep and every gesture you know won’t work. You make stupid claims about an “open marriage” knowing it would destroy you. Not that any of it matters, the reply is always the same.
"I’ve heard it too many times, this is it"
That’s when your heart shatters, or rather when you realise it already has. You recluse fully living inside a smoke filled bottle. Always awake. You think she wouldn’t want you, because no one could. You criticise yourself down to the last millimetre until you feel you’re worthless. You cry until you pass out on a bed made from empty bottles and cigarette butts.
And despite the smell of stale alcohol and cigarettes, one day the air seems fresh when you wake up. You have enough will to clean up your act along with your mess. You take responsibility and apologise while drinking your first non-alcoholic drink in as long as you care to remember. You attempt to fix burnt bridges when a girl gives you her number, and you realise everything is going to be fine
Sitting down on the sofa, at the end of the week. Unwinding with a beer and a show of humour, when the broadcast is interrupted with a warning of graphic and upsetting scenes. Cue the violins and piano, playing a melancholy tune as the face of a young child, in a desert continent fades up, looking through the camera to me in despair. There is nothing to him except for the sadness and pain in his eyes. A deep, soft voice talks over the music, describing the image, giving the child a name, immortalising him in my memory, informing me of his short mortality, and his struggle for things we take for granted such as food and water. I am told how he was born diseased, to only contract more disease, to lose his family to this, and grow up an orphan. No education, no prospects.
I am shown living in a barren land, surrounded by danger, living in fear. I see the children growing sick, in hospitals that cannot care for them. Taxes of corrupt governments, never going to help those in need, causing the death of thousands.
I am shown the face of the young child again, this time a single tear running down his face. The voice over tries to convince me the issue here is money, and urges me to send them some to help them solve these problems.
I can’t but sit there and think, if it’s so bad living there… move? And if they can afford a camera, and a regular advert spot, surely they can afford some food? Stop making me feel guilty and sort it the fuck out!
Post with 43 notes
A Harlot of a mother,
Seeded too early in life,
A bastard baby,
Removed from the bosom too soon,
An unwanted boy,
Blamed for the mistakes too quickly,
A rejected child,
Removed from the social circles brashly,
An emotionless husk,
Hurt too easily,
An isolated man,
obeying too readily,
A passed spirit,
Dismissed too effortlessly,
A funeral service,
emptied too rapidly
A supposed “loved one”,
Forgotten to Swiftly.
Post with 6 notes
Nothing breaks my heart more than when you cry,
I guess thats why I can’t seem to write all the things I’m thinking,
Cause I know you’ll see them,
And I can’t bring myself to risk making you upset any more.
There’re so may things I want to tell you,
But I have to stay strong,
And be there for you when you need me,
Through all my banter, jest,
And legendary witt,
I’ve been know to take things to seriously,
I’ve been known to worry far too much,
What couldnt have been more than half an hour,
Felt like a year in that waiting room,
a year of me worring myself pointlessly,
I worry about you know,
Because I discovered what a difference,
500 miles can make.
I’m going to miss those calls between us,
From the 5 minute to the 4 hours,
they always made it a good day,
Regardless of what else happened.
I guess the hardest part of this,
Is knowing I’m going to miss you more.
I guess I kind of betrayed what I first said in this by now.
All there is to say now is,
I miss you.
I love you.