We were swimming in a stream in June over there

we were listening to ninety’s tunes and my hair

was getting wet and you had lost your shoes

and I knew that we could drown and

I'm sorry I wasted your time

sing me a rhyme

I'm clinging to flowers, they're breaking up

into your familiar perfume

I'm losing sight - I'm losing you

Don’t go - I'm sorry I ruined our time

I'm sorry that I lost my mind

#lovepoem #sad #sadpoem

come round and stay a while

we can joke about the old times

the memories we made

the stories we created

were only in my imagination

were you even there?

were you ever real?

how could a dream dare to steal

my heart from my caged soul

dying to escape

to run to you

to embrace you

you were always real

you are still here, and i still slowdance with you every night

whilst i check my phone to see the void where your name should be

and i hold the air in front of me tight

and picture you there.

#sadpoem #ghost #sad #love #lovepoem

Did it stutter? I can’t seem to write anymore but I know I need to put words across the screen to fulfil something. There’s something brewing, something big. I have something to say. Something to tell you all. I have to say it but I don’t know how. Words. Music. Poetry. Art. Don’t get me started on abstract shit that nobody considers to be art, but the mindless ramblings of a self-destroying depressant entering the body for a third time, third time lucky, third times the charm- don’t wake me up yet – im still having a nice dream about all the possibilities of what could go wrong – somehow I feel safer here in the closets of my mind, the walls bleed a strange dye that stains my eyes with woe. Oh no, don’t take that bucket of blood away from me, im still trying to figure out how I can use this pain. This tangible side a of a not-so-broken record. Shit – it hasn’t even been played yet, but one day it will be old, gathering dust in the attic of self-submission, the roof will fall in and crush the not-yet-rubble of the not-yet fire that will burn from the corners of my sheets, where I can wake up and draw the line in the sand, and tell you that sleep no matter concerns me – dreams no longer haunt me – that I can sing a new song. But first I have to figure out how to mould this pain into something new, something clean, something dirty, something – I mean – what I am trying to say – I mean what I said – I mean what I mean, but that never mattered to mr clean, who doesn’t want us to explore the wilderness, to hear a tree fall, but not make a sound. When will art be considered me not making a sound? When will I consider art to be just a bunch of flowers, moulded from a tree, moulded from my dreams that I still seek to escape from.

the moon and the willow tree commence their nightly dance

a ritual too clean, for bloodshot eyes to steal a glance

'come with me darling, i think i'm falling'

the willow sings her favourite song again

'make me the backdrop for all your memories'

the moon whispers into the darkness

where somewhere, a lonely star is weeping

the loss of a mother stains their hearts

and the flickering light in a dim-lit candle

singals the end of life, till death do us part

'hold me in your gaze'

the willow tree starts her chorus

'let me into your maze'

the moon seeps through the leaves of the willow

and two lovers share a kiss

somewhere in the meadow

a night begins, that one daren't miss.

Sorry

comes to mind with no cause

stimulated by a droning ambience

which rocks me to sleep

my own personal lullaby

to tempt me to weep

about my biggest regrets

in the dreams that I get

which deny me my rest

Sorry

for something I guess

it’s time to digress

from apologetic whispers

which serenade only ghosts

and shadows

-My pointless address

I’ll try to be topical

Pretend that I’ve lost it all

In -

a hazy daydream

won’t faze me

I’m too lazy to try

to see why we cry

in our fictional nightmares

played -

out in our heads

we think too much about what’s said

not done, undone, I’m done

with being dragged through the dirt

But first

Let me wake up from this daydream

everything makes me think of you

and everyone wears your face

every word is written in your handwriting

every melody in your voice

i could write a thousand lyrics

i could sing a hundred songs

and still despite everything

i’m convinced you could never do me wrong

floating alone

in space unknown

dislodge my breathing apparatus

disconnect my heart

from my head

when all i see around me is nothing

is everything to me

i still remember what you said

that we’d be together for eternity

but out in space

you’re not there

and that was when i noticed

the tear in my suit

and then my eyes followed suit.

bored as fuck

i always see it the same way

because everyday is a game

shit out of luck

only thing i know is my name

and make

and model

my shoes

are clean, unseen

the news

is on again, at number ten

a madman sells us down the river for a blue passport and a flag that means nothing

a buzz from the tele

grain and dream juice being transmitted into my young eyes

unexposed by the torrid tribulations of love

a tape in the video player to record tonight’s showing of the 68 comeback special

if i can dream about the first time i heard those words

i would never wake up