all of the regrets all still there
never without them behind my eyes
i have regretted everything i have ever done
the good the bad the indifferent
the positive the negative the fundamental
stabbing me in the face every time
the flickers of things
an ever present uncertainty of my choices
it’s the generalised anxiety disorder
but cloudy thoughts blur the logic
i still can’t figure out
if i’ve ever done the right thing

rethink/move forward

made up of parts of everything
only to belong to nothing
a life spent in the cracks of the world
the days are bleeding out
these days into
need to take stock and the stick
taking myself way too seriously
stop looking inwards
let the light in and out
and the dark

the second history

well aren’t i ridiculous
to act the way i do
against you

punching out in directions
breaking the broken
shifting in and through
hard rip into all of it

to do it my own way
pushing to make
dominance in reverse

slurping sounds
as it releases
reel to end
be kind rewind

wind it all up
catalogue it
placed in an archive


revisit to remember
why it was

tape 2
a fresh start
without your bullshit
a new time

Being Other

Feeling overwhelmingly other,
being one of the others.
where are all the other others?
Lost in every metropolis,
drowning in the majority,
the majority of the minority
that the majority
thinks us and wants us to be.
A spectrum obscured,
disguised by the loudest of us,
falling between cracks
in representation.
Lost without reference points,
falling out of pigeon holes,
too much for some,
too little for others.

The Rolling Heart

My heart has hit the floor and it’s rolling,
violent waves inside moving forward and back,
my little dread filled ocean of red.

It is sinking within itself over and over,
reaching the bottom to float to the top,
to sink again while it escapes me.

If only it would break but for now it just cracks,
hair line fractures on its cold dead walls,
mapping its way over its veins.

Wishing it would just come home and flutter,
to quiver with excitement once more,
tickled from below by butterflies.


This convalescence is false,
a lie within pills and time,
the faux-promise dispensed.

Deconstruction held distant,
patched up and sent away,
return for more glue and tape.

Talks needed and not given,
foundations left here to rot,
a house of cards built on top.

Quick fix to a growing problem,
wider and deeper, more filler,
digging deeper within the soul.

This convalescence is false,
a lie within pills and time.
Smile, the world is watching.