"All my life's buried here, heap earth upon it"
I wouldn’t worry too much
He said
Not everything can be a hit
I’m still amazed that anything I write
She said
Doesn’t always turn out this shit
Old Hat
You’ve
been
on my
mind
today
More
than
any
other
time
If only
it had
inspired
something
epic
Rather
than this
fucking
awful
rhyme
(Originally Posted 21.08.2020)
Yet I didn’t slip away
Quietly
I remained
And caused a fuss
I got my head down
And stuck around
To tell the story
Of us
‘Slip Away, Quietly’
All
happiness
is fleeting
All
sadness
is depleting
I am
no longer
competing
As from
sanity
I am
retreating
(Originally Posted 14.08.2019)
I know that here I come across
As someone who speaks their mind
But in reality
Words can often fail me
And my voice is much harder to find
The Jumble Sale
I rummage around inside my head as I search for what to say
But my silence means all you hear is I don’t want you to stay
I rummage around inside my head as I look down to the floor
But my silence means all you hear is I don’t love you anymore
What is painfully sad for both of us is neither of these things are true
But the jumble sale of words in my head prevents me from being honest with you
(Originally Posted 28.07.2019)
You said you’d had enough
Back then
That you’d heard it all before
But I always knew
With these words I spew
You’d keep coming back for more
With A Wink
You
really
are
He
said
Without
doubt
The
most
depressing
woman
I’ve
met
Really
She
said
That
is a
shame
As
you
ain’t
seen
nothing
yet
(Originally Posted 23.07.2020)
Sometimes
When you’re trying to rhyme
You hit on something
Quite profound
I’m pretty sure
This was one of those
Where I cracked it
First time ’round
(Prick)ly
Not
the
best
at
being
loved
But
pretty
good
at
loving
Not
the
best
at
being
pushed
But
pretty
good
at
shoving
(Originally Posted 16.07.2020)
“You know, I should just write down all my random thoughts and stuff that happens to me and conversations I have and just add a bunch of he said, she said’s, and get it published…”
– Logan Huntzberger
Author’s Note:
I didn’t steal this idea.
Honestly.
I can tell
That there are posts
I’ve written to please
An audience
But there are a few
That make me freeze
As the pain I was in
Is obvious
It’s The Small Things That Hurt The Most
How long does it take
To reach for one mug
Or only set out one plate
To programme the heating
To click on at six
Instead of doing it myself at eight
To only buy
One pint of milk
Or get one lottery ticket
To stop saying hello
As I enter the house
Because you
Are no longer in it
(Originally Posted 14.05.2020)
I have been here
Just over three years
With 2,500 posts to boot
So if you still don’t know
To expect a shit show
Then there’s nothing else I can do
Brutal Is My Middle Name
And honest
Is my first
Do not bother
Reading on
Without expecting
The worst
(Originally Posted 01.05.2020)
Perhaps
I’m not so bad
At this poetry lark
After all
Interlude
Time has dragged on today
Even more than most
It started off quite well too
Sitting down with tea and toast
But then the clock seemed to stop
At some point this afternoon
When opening up my laptop
Did nothing to lift the gloom
And as the evening drew itself in
I have sat here all alone
Thouroughly bored in my own skin
Barely stifling a groan
So now I guess I’ll go to bed
And lie there on my own
Until the clock stops in my head
And I dream in monochrome
(Originally Posted 20.04.2020)
I am still amazed
To this day
That anyone continues reading
Who knew there could be
Such a community
For those with hearts that are bleeding
Nobody’s Hero
Please
take no
notice
of me
For I’m
as fucked
as anyone
can be
So don’t
let what
I write
enthrall
As they
are just
words,
after all
(Originally Posted 16.03.2020)
Indeed she did
And she did it well
Or so some people said
Yet somehow now
Three years on
She’s still fucked in the head
The Beginning
‘Don’t be afraid to start poorly’
The kind man wrote
‘I will try’
The sad woman replied
And she did
(Originally Posted 01.03.2019)
I’ll be going on a journey
Down my very own memory lane
Back to the start of my WordPress life
To the advent of my pain
So please forgive me if you find
You are reading some posts again
But I feel the need to relive
Both the madness and the sane
It’s not that I’m leaving forever
I promise I’ll still be around
But the desire to fight
Let alone to write
Is proving too thin on the ground
That’s it all done now
There’ll be no more
Or no less
Thank you for living
Through this with me
And not minding all the mess
What can you do
When the words won’t flow
When you have exhausted
Every topic you know
Perhaps all there is
Is to put down the pen
And hope that one day
You’ll be hurt again
I can’t think of another ditty
Or come up with a different rhyme
Not when what I write is so shitty
More than half of the time
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
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
The last time we met I was crazy
She said
But you’ll be pleased to know I’m better
We didn’t need to meet for this
He said
In fact I’d have preferred a letter
I knew from the beginning
He said
Within you there was a spark
Writing is now a passion
She said
With misery my trademark
For someone who doesn’t care
You sure do talk a lot
52,806 words
Who knew death could be so productive?
I’m finally closing the curtains
In the windows of my mind
Another bleeding heart
With wisdom left to impart
You will have to find
I’m not sure anyone cares
Let alone if anyone reads
Surely there’s better things to do
Than to wade between my weeds
This is
My last post
Everything
Has been written
All sides
Of this cherry
Are now
Thoroughly bitten
I prefer the night
To the day
The world, on the whole, is quieter
This way
Words spill
Onto the page
Just like the blood
From my veins
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)
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)
Nothing lasts
Forever
You know
Not you
Not me
And certainly not my poetry
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)
Ramblings Of A Fragile Mind 
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