Tuesday, February 1, 2011


You brought me into this world,
and you showed me your love,
you are my mother.

My dearest friend since birth,
you kept me safe,
and I transpired through the years with an underlying sense of security.

As I move about the world, each day
your with me,
your arms wrapped around me,
like a seatbelt,
equipped with maternal instinct instead of strap and buckle.

I love you Mum.

A writer

If you are a writer, than I am a writer,
You say artist, I say naive youth,

Creativity sparks survival,
creates patience and love when there is none;
it is our means for expression -
no matter what artform.

A contradicted mind is an unstable one,
which in turn creates frustratingly creative trails of thought.

But do not confuse...
the naive youth with the insane,
because while they may appear the same on the surface,
they are quite - seriously different.

So categorise me?
I truly dont know.
I feel one,
but do others feel another?

I am a writer, I fit the definition,
this is my expression,
this is what I must embrace.

Ask Why

We all dream, of a better future, fantastical times,
Our search for reason leaves us questioning our beliefs,
Do we search for truth, or fall short, and become satisfied with a commodity -
a culture, religion, gang or cult.

Is it our human instinct to crave a higher power,
are we in need of some moral hierarchy,
or is this how we have been bred?

Governments and religion live and breathe via us,
they set laws, ideals, morals and punishment,
we follow them because we are scared,
ill-motivated and lazy,
stupid and blind
-we dont react, we simply inhale.

We need to have belief, and we feel comfortable within control,
we are a society drained of creative thought,
we listen to what we are told,
and see what we are shown.

Only the minority; looks further,
forms opinions,
and searches for more
- we are not a group, cult, or culture
we are just people,
who took a moment to wonder,
and ask why.

Mindless Chatter

When you turn your head and see nothing but a pathetic excuse for a human being,
do you run?
Should we all run in hope for a better reality?

In this civilisation, this highly evolutionised society of ours,
can we ever really be free?
We give ourselves purpose,
but for the most of us,
we will never really be anything.

We are all ugly.

Saying the word 'world' makes one want to top themselves,
because really - our world is nothing;
a bunch of groupies following around governments.

Everyone knows we have fucked up - and everyone includes myself.

Depression; people cant get out of bed in the morning,
cant stand the sight of themselves,
they hurt themselves,
they tie nooses around their necks,
they jump,
they bleed,
they know they have, the world has - all made mistakes.

Its all pretty fucked up.

'Fuck Up' sounds so blunt and crass but in my delirious,
depressive state its the first thing that my hand moves to write.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.