See I belong to the semicolon generation,

A generation who bear the scars of gunfire that ricochets off of the walls of their armour,

You see we aren't battling foreign forces,

But rather the ever present black dog that lurks in the shadows of our mind,

And unlike the common cold there is no cure,

Instead our choices are therapy or pill pushing doctors on behalf of pharmecutical companies,

I was stood on the edge when I opted for the anti-depressants,

Looking back I had no choice,

For years I concealed my scars but the fact of the matter is I no longer want that life,

It is estimated that around one million Australians suffer from depression,

And yet... And yet we pretend it doesn't exist,

We pretend it is a phase,

And yet I'm bound to turn on the news to yet another kid at the end of a rope or with a river of blood coursing from their veins,

And all you have to say is "It's going to be ok",

Our brothers and sisters deserve better,

They deserve better than mind numbing, anxiety inducing medications,

They deserve better than a life spent behind closed doors being ignored,

If you agree with me raise your hands to the ceiling,

And just like paintbrushes let your fingertips paint the sky,

In hues of green and gold,

Yellow and orange,

Brighten this world for those who only see in black, white and grey,

Because... Because life is beautiful,

Brighter days will not cure us,

Nor will they eradicate the twisted thoughts that plague our nights and days,

But it will serve as a patchwork,

A patchwork to encase just as surely as chainmail our delicate hearts,

Your love will show those of us who suffer from depression that life is worth living,

If only for a minute more.

Tears splashing against my keyboard again,

The Amity Affliction blaring in my ears,

All it took this time was a glance in the mirror,

How did it come to this?

Hello little one, 

I didn't see you there, 

With your tiny little feet, 

And your tiny little toes, 

Hello little one,

I thought you ought to know,

That although you are little,

Your journeys just begun,

Hello little one,

Whose name I do not know, 

I am your Aunty Emma,

And I love you dearly so.

You were a serendipitous conclusion to a one sided love... 

Whilst he was off chasing one night stands, 

You were showing me what it meant to be submissive, 

You taught me to trust in my desires, 

Whilst he was off gallivanting with girls,

You were bending me over in the dark crevices of parks,

Whispering dirty secrets in my ear, 

Whilst he was in another city,

I became enthralled by your embrace, 

Awaiting your touch like an addict needing a hit, 

Whilst he told his friends of his conquests,

I fantasised about you marking your territory, 

Laying waste to my inhibitions,

The words "I love you" replaced with "yes sir" and "no sir". 

I was so drunk on you, that I couldn't see I was becoming instrumental in my own destruction. I let you feed on me till my blood became tangy and tainted and my bones were brittle. I crumbled at your touch until I was no more. You played me against myself and the self loathing was all consuming. You turned me into a cheap party trick thinking I wouldn't rebel. They warned me of your cunning charm and I finally see through your veil of deceit. I was so drunk on you that I let this happen and I am ashamed at myself for my naivety. But no more... You are but a bad after taste in my mouth and a faint lingering smell in the air. Soon time will leave nothing but a mere memory and that is how it needs to be. 

Poetry is an elegant yet crude road map of the human experience. Riddled with words left unsaid, tales of woe and a love so fierce it burns suns. All tied together neatly with a bow of alluring charm. Each verse encompassing the destruction and heartache of fire, the graceful finesse of water, the safety and warmth of Earth and last but not least the unpredictability of wind. Endeavouring to uncover the unbridled truth in the murky pits of a poem is futile. Poetry is a mysterious art that takes on a new form with each poet. In its simplest definition, it is a mutation subject to evolution. 

Tainted and marred by a boy with a grin,

Fraught with menacing stares he wins,

His haunted eyes caressing my form,

Casting an ominous shadow on my life,

An explosive love fought to survive,

Whispered truths lining my thighs,

He played Russian roulette with my fate,

Turns out I was his vice, 

There was nowhere to hide,

He dominated my days and destroyed my nights, 

But spelled out across the blood red skies,

The truth remained, 

"It wasn't me, it was always him".