Too many people allow their thoughts to be constructed from sharp objects; knives and swords. Too many people have lungs corrupted by hatred. Too many people spend their time existing rather than living.
Our problem is that we aren’t grateful for what we have: half the world are left starving whilst the other half are trying to lose weight. Our thoughts race at three am, when we ought to be wrapped up in our sheets rather than the words that never left us. Continue reading Burn out.
You play me like a game. I’m a pawn in your chess match and you change the rules as we go. But, like a fool, I’m in too deep and I’m blind to the Game Master’s corruption.
“You’re in this. All or nothing.” But all and nothing seemingly fits much more appropriately. I’m risking it all and I know I will win nothing.
Like a chip, I’m flicked away again and again as you hope for a better deal, unsatisfied with these cards that you’ve been dealt. I’m trapped in your slot machine and I’m dizzy as I spin.
But, darling, this isn’t Monopoly and I’m not your “get out of jail free” card and I don’t owe you any rent. You can’t decide to mortgage me and you can’t decide to trade me for Park Lane.
I’m not your pawn to move as you please and I refuse to abide by your rules as if I’m dictated by your disease. Gone are the days of manners, “no thank you” and “yes please”. I can see through your disguise but can you hear through my cries? This is no longer a no-win situation and I refuse to fall victim of this state of stagnation.
This is a foggy world and with my cold hands I explore it’s lack of substance; searching for that question, that answer, that thing that resonates with me.
These secret hours of the night whisper a dark enigma that only we can understand. But we’re not sure if the glass is half empty or half full. We’re not sure if Van Gogh represents a starry night or a bloodied ear. We’re not even sure if we’re dumb, or just numb. Continue reading Not All Who Wander Are Lost
It was the kind of love that was forever nearing the edge; one slip and it would all be gone. And the slip came too soon; she was hanging on, fingers numb and pale, before she had the chance to ever even apologise. Or maybe she never would have apologised, because people like her had the world at their fingertips but spoke with a poisonous tongue, tainting and rupturing all things good, bright, and warm. Continue reading Decay. Slip.
You warned me that my burning desire would not match your burning heat. You warned me that l would fall if I ever chose to fly too high. You warned me that love always meant falling, and reminded me that I’m afraid of heights.
But, just as Icarus loved his sun, I too ignored the lectures and flew too close. It didn’t matter that I loved you in wavelengths of red and blue because your aluminium wrap thwarted them from ever breaking through. The sad truth is, I can’t help but think we’ve been here before, because despite any attempts to ground you, the sun rises each and every morning and my love for it is relentless; forever flying too close. Continue reading Icarus