I see your reflection bouncing off my sunglasses

You think you see me but
you don't.
You don't see the fear or the love
you see yourself and
you hate it.

Don't think you know who I am
when you can't even see my eyes -
You don't know what I've seen.

Your eyes dart away but
you don't even know what you're afraid of.
Your face says I'm a cunt yet
your lips don't even move an inch.

Don't think you know what I am
when you can't look at your own reflection -
You don't know what I see.


The river flows,
and in it
comes violence of the sea -
washing down the stones
and washing down the dirt.

Inner turmoil out at sea

My mind is a storm
Clapping and bashing against itself
Turbulent, carrying away men that enter

My soul is the depths
Pushed beneath the surface
and the body I own is the earth that holds it

My words are the tides
and my thoughts are the sea salt
Giving life to all beasts hiding within me.

Purge me

Purge me lord
my stomach is empty.
It's only a matter of time
before my heart does the same.

Fuck you, I’m done. and so are you

 I can hear them
Why is it wrong to be quiet?
Why is it?
Is there a problem?

It's just quiet.

But yet we watch talk shows to hear celebrities talk and poor people laugh
They don't stop
I know they don’t,
Searching for the next joke
The audience almost coughing
gasping for air
strangled by social pressures to not hurt anyone’s feelings
or get in the way so
Crying but with smiles
As if held down and tickled against their will
Tortured by their own biological systems,
I can feel it through my ears
The pain and the tickles
Their diaphragms like windbags
Their arseholes tight like a gun cocked
At the ready they'll fill the room with hysterical laughter and a metaphorical bang
All targeted at the host with hoots, hollers and metaphorical bullets
All because of an actor’s charming recount of forgetting their keys and wallet at home.
Like charms that ward of evil spirits
Like screams that ward off room for thought
The awkward smiles attempt to ward off any returns
The privilege to think is now an inconvenience
So we kill our brains to be able to get on with our days 🙂
Fuck being happy,
We have work tomorrow.

Siren trash

The voice that haunts us like a siren
she calls us all
Her howls melt away the ice in our hearts
to let our feelings flow like water
If my mother was dead she would sound as beautiful to me as this
Holy is the cold and disfigured serenity that motivates us to hold ourselves in self-pity
and plunge into the cold depths of emptiness and victimhood
Her distorted voice sings me a narrative to drown myself in
If there is no love out there
I'm not ready
The convictions I hold as cold weights tied to my ankles
haven't dragged me down deep enough
I'll call you when I'm ready
I'm not done brooding


If you loved me, you’d let me sleep

That Blank stare
and those repetitive answers
and the uh-huh's
They irritate you and I can tell
I can see the slight awkwardness between silences
The inhibited second stutter while I read your lips and your mind
Your face hangs loose hopelessly
but your heart beats tightly trying to keep it together
I see you getting smaller but the negative energy around you growing larger
But just because I don't exist the way you want me to
doesn't mean you don't exist to me
I listen to you through your thoughts,
not your words
I love you for what you've done for me
Not what you've said to me
Now come back to bed
I'm tired
I've got work tomorrow.

Everyone’s ugly when they’re dead

The crowns on our heads were made to be bludgened
but for you my dear
It was meant to be the ash tray for my tears
to hold you while you freeze me with the chill of your dead corpse
and if I could do it again I would
to witness your beauty fade into a titanium white hue of your ashy complexion
So I can remember that I love you and that you're
I'm still bargaining with God
But it seems Nature doesn't do second chances

We’ll fall in love in the sky

I'll cry for you now so I won't have to later
But when I stand in the rain
I'll know that you miss me
Because I'll feel your tears running down my face
Trickling down my cheekbones
And gripping my chin to hold me steady
for one

Like poultry to the slaughter

Birds that aspire to be doves and eagles
but objectively, pigeons
Fat, dirty, stupid and oily
Failures without even having the knowledge so
Rummaging through trash bins and
scraping by
expecting bread from strangers
and others to share - because we're special
Our incompetence within the hunt only makes us more of a priority
victims with fat chests and fat bellies,
weak wings and unused claws
Like poultry to the slaughter
Like city-dwellers to the morning train.