Life

Life in Stasis

Breathe in

Breathe out

Repeat

Wake up, wash, dress
Put on somebody else’s face
smile
don’t forget this
It’s important to show
you’re OK

Breathe in

Breathe out

Repeat

Work
Scrape the dirt from your nails
Stand up straight
smile
don’t forget this
is your necessity

Breathe out

Breathe in

Repeat

Walk, run
Catch a bus, the tube
try not to touch
or smile
don’t forget this
isn’t a game
It’s life

Breathe out

Try not to breathe in

Repeat

Eat,
Clean the dishes
take a bath, relax
smile
don’t forget this
is your time
then sleep


Repeat

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Finding the way

I realise that my latest writing has seemed a little on the darker side so I wanted to bump one up that shows I’m still in a hopeful mood really … mostly 😉

Crossing the threshold

You trespass, on the edge of my borders
Tiptoe through the barricades
And hover at the frame

After patting down the dirt
Covering your tracks
In fear of being discovered

I find you, alarmed
A hare, dazed in the headlights
Frozen, but for the consistent twitch

In the distance sirens wail out a warning
The gate gapes wide in the wind
Yet still we persist

In that moment existence is shattered
I welcome the oncoming storm.

The Only Option

She went to a dark place.

She went there alone.

To hide beneath the dusty shores, wade through murky undergrowth and delve into the icy lakes of solitude. She went there alone. Wrapped herself in a heavy tarpaulin of sunbleached skin, worn with age yet heavy enough to secure her down, in the pools, of despair , that she found – alone.

After trawling through the deserts of time, her hand outstretched for aid, that was never found. No water of rejuvenation trickled through her salt cracked lips, her weary bones found no comfort in the angles of the rocks of contemplation. After a time, she learned to counter the winds of fortune, turn away from the blasts: her spine bare for the impact.

If you look to the marks on the soles of her feet , blackened by ashes, solidified by infliction: know that these are not the marks of her failure, but reminders of her strength. Mottled with scars of endurance: she is a marked woman yet not beaten.

She does not submit, she will not yield.

She went to a dark place

She was alone.

 

Living without passion

..

Without conflict could we still survive, would we still want to live in our ever revolving faceless world of placation? Would we miss having fire in our bellies? Miss having passion and love and anger? Without emotion are we even really living or merely existing?

If you were able to live forever without the fresh breeze on your face, or the spray of the waves of the sea falling in mists on your skin, or without ever hearing the rising call of the lark or feel the warmth on the skin of your cheek: would this be living?