#24 The Writer

Full of bleeding heart

That’s me

Slowly dying

For all to see

Hoping for words

To set the world alight

As I scribble away

In the dead of night

Debating At Dawn

I don’t agree

With what you write

But I respect your right

To post it

Just don’t expect

That I won’t interject

Or in my own words

Oppose it

L’appel du Vide

I knew from the beginning

He said

Within you there was a spark

Writing is now a passion

She said

With misery my trademark

Last Post

This is

My last post

Everything

Has been written

All sides

Of this cherry

Are now

Thoroughly bitten

Writer’s Block

I try to write but the words fail.

Sit, think, smoke, exhale.

As I reach for the coffee cup,

I wonder if my time is up.

Have I forgotten you,

Is that what this is?

The reason I can no longer write this shit?

Or could it be this depression is finally lifting?

Maybe the all encompassing darkness is shifting?

Perhaps after all this time my heart is mended.

And my love affair with words has ended.

(Originally Posted 11.08.2019)

The Bakery Aisle

You’re in the supermarket on a cold winters day.

You’re minding your own business, pushing your trolley and checking items off your list when your nose twitches at the smell of freshly baked bread. Tempted, you wander over to the bakery.

Your stomach grumbles as you peruse the counter. Your eyes widen as they drink in the glorious delights on offer. Loaves, rolls, buns, cakes, pastries, biscuits, tarts: each as tantalising as the next. After much internal deliberation you finally decide which one to buy.

A chocolate eclair.

You signal your selection to the assistant who hands you your prize in a cardboard box, neatly tied with ribbon. You carefully place the box at the far end of your trolley, safely stowed away from heavier household goods that might roll around and crush it.

You finish the rest of your shopping a little quicker now, somehow lighter of step, and stride with purpose to the checkout.

You hastily pack and pick up your shopping bags but you grip the box tightly in your hand, carrying it safely all the way out to your car.

You drive along with the box calling to you, provocatively, on the passenger seat. You glance over every few minutes, stretching out a protective hand and smiling in anticipation.

You get home and unpack your shopping whilst waiting, impatiently, for the kettle to boil. The box consumes your thoughts as you drum your fingers on the counter top, and your excitement continues to build.

You sit down in your favourite chair and make yourself comfortable. You tenderly untie the ribbon and lift the lid of the box. You lick your lips as your heart quickens and you finally take a bite of the glistening chocolate eclair.

You begin to realise, as you chew, that it doesn’t taste as good as you thought it would.

The cream is artificial and bland. The pastry is soggy and sticks to your cheeks. The chocolate is saccharine and hurts your teeth.

Disappointed, you put the remaining piece of the chocolate eclair back into the box, close the lid and re-tie the ribbon. You throw the box in the bin without a care in the world.

And that’s what love is like.

Being lured in by the chocolate eclair when, all along, you really should have picked the strawberry tart.

(Originally Posted 07.03.2019)

 

Words

It's only when you have nothing
That you realise words are everything

Words make your mind break
Words make your soul ache

Words incite you to roar
Words inspire you to soar

It's only when you have nothing
That you realise words are everything

I have nothing
But my words

(Originally Posted 16.03.2019)

 

Hecklers

Has 
anyone
ever
told
you to
stop

He
said

With
these
bullshit
rhymes
you
spew

Oh
many,
many
times

She
said

And
I told
them
to piss
off
too

Finding Fault

All 
you
do

He
said

Is
whine
and
moan

I'm
surprised
anyone
reads
this
pish

Well,
perhaps
if you

She
said

Weren't
such a
prick

My
words
wouldn't
so easily
flourish


Cutting

I scythe these words

Across the page

To allow my pain to flow

I find it leaves

Much less of a scar

Than other ways I know

‘You Won’t Know Until You Try…’

Should
we
accidentally
meet

On that
busy,
bustling
street

Would
the birds
above us
tweet

As our
hearts
skip a
beat?

Or would I just blether on a whole heap of shite because I’m clinically depressed and unable to formulate a meaningful conversation with anyone of the opposite sex since my partner died so you just give up trying to listen and walk away thinking who the fuck was that lunatic and happily go about the rest of your life whilst I retreat back to my house wondering why the fuck I even bothered going out in the first fucking place?

Only Joking

You’d
think it
would
take
some
effort

To
write
as
much
as
this

Well
please
don’t
think
me
arrogant

But
it’s
really
a piece
of piss

Self Esteem

There’s
nothing
more
disheartening

That
brings
such
misery
and
strife

To
find
I’m
much
more
captivating

On
the
page

Than
in
real
life

Please Bear With Me

I’m
sorry
I haven’t
been
around

As
much
as I’d
like
to be

But
lately
my life
has run
aground

And
your
words
won’t
go in,

You see

Reminiscence

I could
spend
hours
writing
poetry

But
I could
never
do it
justice

How
once
upon
a time
we
had
it
all

But
now
I’ve
been
left
lifeless

Dear Reader

Sometimes
my words
are so
savage

I even
surprise
myself

It’s like
the page
I must
ravage

With no
care at
all for
yourself

Funny Guy

I like
it when
you laugh

He said

I wish
you’d do
it more

Just write
another
paragraph

She said

Then you’ll
really see
me roar

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