Abandoned Years and Lost Futures

Vivid dreams of days long past, bringing me to tears

Memories of carefree play, bursting with good cheer

Memories of myself, always standing to the side

Lost opportunities

Lost my inner child

Declining to take part

Now I’m all alone with my closely guarded heart

Jaded and Weightless

Howling familiarity

Every day plays out the same

I’ve spent a lifetime transposing pain to page

Dropping deep into myself

The yawning abyss

Inflicting wounds, pressing bruises, then telling what I felt

Hope for anything at all

Looking forward to impact

I’ve lost the thrill of the fall

Tidal Thoughts

These fleeting moments of ambition, bubbling to the surface before bursting. I try my best to nurture them. Long, sleepless nights, spent at my bedside, head cradled in hands. Tumultuous depths, disturbances, then placid once again. Reflection comes back into view. Temporary clarity, then chaos renewed. Is this progress? Is this regression? I wonder in endless tides, rising and falling, often caught in shallow pools. Vain attempts at ruling these small worlds within worlds.


Expectations low

Just as I hold my head

Empty hands in fists

Never held outstretched


Guiding every step

Perceived and played a fool

Pretending that I am



Expectations low

I know that some things aren’t for changing

Self Help?

Self help books are getting aggressive. Just saw one called “Unf**k Yourself”. That doesn’t even make sense. Is it a book for people who get told off a lot? The other one was called “Hardcore Self Help: F**k Anxiety”, which seems a bit intense for anyone with anxiety issues. Maybe I’ll write a self help book called “F**k You and Your P**sy As* Depression”.  It would save lives…. or result in a string of suicides. These things are coin toss.

Falling From New Heights

A precipice so tall
Heart stalls before the bottom
Repetitious falls don’t always leave you stronger
Somber tones of black and blue
A leap of faith with hope it takes me somewhere close to you
The truth is, I oft fall short
My body bruised and broken
I start to contort
Ribs clawing at the lungs
Folding in upon myself
The impact always comes
No matter how I brace
Gravity always seems to put me in my place

Zirconium Man

I’m a man that’s beautiful in the way of zirconium
Not nearly so charming when you look closer…

Intentions just as pure
Yet not what you expected
My imperfect allure is often rejected
Nothing cures the way of this stone
Flaws more apparent the more that you know
Like flowers of blue that poison the mind
I’m best left alone in the dirt with my kind

– Zirconium Man


Sure, I rarely show it through frowns or heavy eyes

I often wear a smile

Master of disguise

Lies to keep away

Fighting this depression and self directed rage

Page after page after page after page

I can’t hold it any longer and my grin begins to fade

In the face of repetition

Weathered like a mountain where the wind and rain is ceaseless