I see everything. For I am trapped in an invisible box, like a mime, whilst my peers pass by and look on ambivalently. Bemused at first, I watch them too. Time passes quickly in this nether realm, and soon, with only their progress to entertain me, juxtaposed with my immobility, I am no longer amused. In fact, I am moved by a jealousy too powerful for words. All-consuming. I pound soundlessly on the glass, but to no avail. Dull thuds which reverberate through the walls around me. Cracks finally appear. My heart swells. They fade, and vanish. I slump down against the side. It is mocking me.
If my sentence is observation
My prison; suspended animation
I’ll drape cloak over my cage
and shut my eyes in quiet rage
until progress finds me; excavation
I think maybe it’s a hallucination,
this transparent mummification
Alas pinches, they still hurt
and pinches are given as burns
in this exile, this hibernation
I wish I wasn’t so goddamn jealous…
And I wish I could just wordlessly transmit a great number of certain facts about me to every cool new person I meet, so I could avoid the rigmarole of having to explain it all to them in due time and move on to the fun that happens after that waste of time, that period of endless back-and-forth.
I wish I didn’t miss things. I wish I didn’t miss people.
I really should give up on meeting new people right now.
Just focus on making myself less of who I am now and more of who I want to be.
The awesome is fading in the face of advancing life.
A life in poetry, said but breathlessly
Identity drowned in wanton expression
Impassioned ambition viewed restlessly
This is a boy, and caress-less be he,
whose comfort is reality repression
His life measured to distressed degree
A tidal wave consumes with depression
To be always defiantly, proudly wrong
to win, but quietly, no pretense strong
Yet ramblingly, would, must, evoke
a sorrowed haze, a frightful rage
ego now this throughly bespoke
Choosing instead to lose with style
I beg your admiration for my trial
In words of folly and said sincere
Change is healing but found in fear
‘tis true, I imitate an artist’s wit
I sold my soul for, down the line
a second chance to part with it
In my holy prison I’m held divine
till I steal away in my larking fit
There can surely be no easy doubt
of my dark tryst; a hallowed bout
with creative demons and Hell’s tricks
I cast out reflections of art; you feed
off the nectar of the shimmer
Of hope there is no glimmer
I weave beautiful words out of greed
I cherish my mistakes,
hate my friends and
seek approval from my enemies
// I find kinship with the flame.
I fantasize, throw out branches, anchors and probing vines into the void, but I inevitably enter dark, frightening new lands as the journey progresses. I can see only as far as my inadequacies illuminate.
// The light is fading - it flares with each new prospect, I must gravitate to them or succumb to the darkness.
This is a poem I wrote during the hellish torment that was College, on my iPhone, usually whilst waiting for class to start and looking over the desperately douchey motherfuckers I was to share my prison with. So, it is appropriately dark and moody - almost embarrassingly so now but only in hindsight, at the time, such angst was certainly warranted. It does kind of read like something you would expect screamed during a heavy metal song.
Anyway enjoy some old poetry, circa late 2010.
Welcome to my humble writing blog. There's a lot to see here, if you care to see it. Enjoy your stay!
FEATURED WORK:
An Ode to an Abdicated Muse - A poem demonstrating my infatuation's huge capacity for aesthetic appreciation
A Sniper's Perch [REDUX] - A short story narrating the mechanical executions and detached ponderings and reflections of a lone Russian sniper during the brutal climax of WWII
The Last Bard’s Tale [REDUX]
An Epic Poetry series (in progress)
         Part One
You'll find Alexandria when the Dawn Commeth
A short story told from the perspective of a man facing his fast-approaching death. The narrative follows the struggles of two starcrossed lovers kept apart by wicked divine intervention.
         Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
         The Poem
         The Story