Tag Archives: war

Cyclothymia –


I wake up to an epiphany everyday, buzzing with thoughts, high on adrenaline.

Catapulted into the stratosphere with nothing more than a basket of dreams and tears of fear.

There is no come down from this everlasting nightmare.

The switch is neither on or off the fuse is merely pulsating to the beat of dread.

Desperately willing to cut the cord, hoping for nature to break my fall.

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A riddle of life


I sit in a room thinking, wondering through a maze of hysteria.

Unknown triggers and abnormal fears plague my uninspired mind.

I sit here in tears, I’ve learnt nothing all of these years.

I should have known this trap this malice despite such pity, I am still thinking about fear.

As I sit in this room, looking at a crooked path. Waiting for an offer that can’t be kept.

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The saga continues – death do us part #2


“Through the valley of death, lies a secret to be kept. Through the night of hidden secrets a lie is to be said. Whisper softly upon ones ear until this moment it was you I fear”. He woke to the sound of someone dressed in black whispering into his ear, it felt nice.

It felt almost worm and peaceful. “Is this it? Have I finally succumbed to my untimely death? Am I in hell? Am I in heaven?” Greg attempted to move he couldn’t, he attempted to scream but he couldn’t. “Stay still my fallen angel, stay still”. “What the fuck is this? Who are you?” The lady fell silent and began to stand, she was holding something in her hand, it looked like a broom. Greg instantly realised what this was. “Your a witch, that’s right your a witch who has trapped my soul in this dead body aren’t you? Listen what have I ever done to deserve this, I can’t move this excuse of a body I feel so so cold what is going on tell me N-N-Now!!”

The woman removed something from her head, Greg’s vision was disturbed from the bright lights surrounding him. “Did you speak love?” “YES WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?”….”no sorry duck I can’t understand what your saying, I’ll just finish replacing the hand towels and wash your sink out and leave you be”. Greg didn’t know what to say “A FUCKING CLEANER!?!?”. She continued sweeping the floor and placed her headphones back over her ears and began to sing “There’s a lady who’s sure All that glitters is gold And she’s buying a stairway to heaven”.

Greg decided he was loosing his shit “psychosis I’ve got psychosis, my boss always said I would have a break down…this is it”. He closed his eyes again, hoping to fall asleep and dream of something that made him feel human again.

This was to be short lived, he could hear a ruckus outside of his hospital room. “He is my husband and I demand that I see him, how am i supposed to feed my child, how am I supposed to go to work? NO NO NO I’m sorting this out…GREG…GREG….GREG they won’t let me in. Move BITCH” Greg heard an almighty crash and a female screaming for security. The double doors to Greg’s room burst open, “AWWW my man, we need to get you out of here, I know your dead but I need you to provide for us some how. I’m going to take you to the job centre and see if we can get you on the dole”. Greg was in disbelief…”I’m dead clinically at least, I can’t move and I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me, yet you expect me to visit the job centre so I can sign on?…..ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY??????”.

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Work….


He wanted nothing more than an escape, his grip on reality was slipping. His days merging into total chaos, like a whirlwind sucking him into a dark abyss.

It was Sunday night, his stomach was in knots. Another day of typing, another day sat in a room filled with fluorescent light and the sounds of people selling their souls and drowning in thoughts of horror.

“five days…Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thur….Fri….” he punches the mirror, he can’t even look at himself. Looking down at his numb fist he watched the crimson flow drip slowly into the sink “I need to escape, start again…I need my life back” he opened the bathroom door, his flat was small and in sheer disrepair. His lounge was his bedroom and also his kitchen it consisted of a singular cupboard with a microwave on top and a single mattress on bare floorboards covered in stains. It was dark and damp. The smell of death was ever present and despite several complaints to his landlord, it fell on deaf ears.

He lay down on his bed and tuned his radio to BBC radio five live as always. He felt hungry, his lips were dry and his eyes stinging from a constant migraine that never seemed to stop. He always had the radio on whilst he slept, it drowned out his thoughts and made him feel safe in the darkness. Secretly he enjoyed listening to other people’s woes, with Stephen Nolan asking “outside the box questions” in a cut throat manor. Tonight was no different to any other Sunday night, he closed his eyes laying naked on his bed. It was cold, goosebumps spread down his skinny Mal nourished body.

“I’m fed up of today’s society Stephen, Snow flakes…that is all they are. In my day I would work fifteen hours straight Monday to Saturday, I had six kids to feed and was paid £10.00 a month. Now tell me how that is fair?” The radio presenter took a long pause…”your pathetic you work nine to five Monday to Friday earning £1000 per month…and you say you can’t do it? You really are a worthless creep and you don’t deserve any better because your not capable of earning it” He took another pause “this gent is right you have to work hard and do what you need to do to live and that is it”.

The room began to spin as he opened his eyes he could see nothing but blackness, the radio was talking to him again…”do the right thing Micheal we know you are listening to us, do the right thing and contribute to our great Britain, you cannot and will not defy us. Work is the only way out. Work until you can no longer work, then you can die.

“What do you want from me…I can’t do this you can’t control me I’m a human being I’m alive…” He picked up the radio and in a blind rage threw it across the room, the sound of intermittent static filled the room…”hahaha your alive because we allow you to be alive….you work for us we own you. You will work for us until you die and there’s nothing you can do about it.

He stood up, he struggled with his balance walking towards the window, he knew how to finally escape. He climbed upon his window sill, his vision still blurry and dizzy. The room fell silent the radio was smashed to bits. He turned his head to take one last look. The cold wind penetrated his flesh, he turned to look back at what he was leaving behind.

“Fuck it….”.

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Big issue sir?



Watching people that is all I do

Confused about what it is they go through

Your dumped, it is me not you –

What should we have for tea?

I am hungry…

Hungry for attention

But no one sees my needs

They will shop in marks and Spencer

Then eat their McDonald’s

They smoke cigarettes

Buy clothes, spend, spend and spend

I ask “hello my friend, big issue?”

They look and laugh

I smile trying not to look sad

Is what I am doing really that bad?

I want nice clothes

I need a new pair of shoes

I work hard asking these people

But despite refusal I am still willful

My life depends on it

You see my dear public eyes

I am from another country

Black and red fiery murder

Contemplating eventual escape

Crying for mercy, bludgeoned and scorned

My people, my people are dead.

So here I am –

A doctor of medicine begging to be fed

Your judgmental eyes and

Convicting smiles

Do not give me the bread I need.

The bread to live –

Bread to eat

Savage creatures creep up instead

I am angry, alone and dying

Dying within a society that does not care

For this I will carry on

Maybe someone will care.

Along comes a lady

I smile while she flicks her blonde hair

Approaching fast she holds out her cash

Tonight I shall eat but; tomorrow I’ll be back on my feet

Big issue sir?

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Selfish disposition


I can see the world
From a hight you cannot
I can see the beauty
That shapes this universe
I can see the shame
That we have brought upon it
I can see the rain
Before it touches the ground

You cannot because
Your stuck in a disposition
That lacks equality and
Emotional composition

a being without selfishness
Does not appear to me
But a being who is
Selfish exists everywhere

But everywhere is nowhere
Right?

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Too the park again


A kid sat smiling at the sky

The clouds make shapes

Alive for seconds

The kid starts crying

It is time to go.

My mother used to do that

i would always say NO!

She would walk over to me

and say do as your told!

The kid is no longer smiling

But the clouds still form shapes

glistening and sailing through the air

My dog just fouled on the floor.

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Today the light went out


I walk into my kitchen
She’s here again
Sat on the floor
Chewing her nails
Waiting for me to talk.
I look at her in disgust
Whilst she attempts to
Grab my hand.
I want you back – she says
Pushing back her hair,
To show me some REAL tears
Fuck she thinks I’m an idiot
So I refuse to talk
Stepping over her I reach –
I reach for the tea bags.
The kettle is crying
This girl is crying
Hell I think my dog is crying.
I leave the kitchen
Returning to my room
I blast out some zeppelin,
Man it pissed her off
She stormed into my room
Like a wolf on a rampage
Why are you doing this
Blah blah blah
I decide to answer her,
You know why…
Fucking that Irish guy
To start my rant
And ending with the
Debt I owe.
Fuck you, go back to
Dublin find this man
And show him how
Fast you ride
I’m busy polishing
My lamp so please
Take your shit somewhere
Else.
I carry on blasting zeppelin
The door slams shut
Shit my lamp just broke.

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This world we call home…


Destruction death and pain,
A morbid reminder that this world is wrong.
This place we all call home…
Sunshine, flowers and euphoria
Jumping upon the graves of sorrow.
The touch of death that grips us
Its cold, it stitches our mouths shut –
Leaving no room for apologies.
The minority have been spared;
But still their concerns will not be herd.
Instead the majority walk the earth on a notion – one person cannot change a thing.
What will it take to remind them?
Your not alone, unite and hold the ground with clenching fists and –
Wait for the merging movements to grasp you and give you a welcome kiss.
To be in possession Of power is to be a weeping child. Under the thumb of a maternal democracy – do as I say or a slapped arse and sending to bed will be enforced.
Although deceived by an invisible power this world is threatened. We are as delicate as those flowers – dancing on the graves of sorrow.

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