Bad Trade

I’ve rolled the dice countless times

Gambled with the light

Left my future up to chance

Let many pass me by

I’ve wasted days of youth

Grew up far too quick

Learned lessons about life, and what it means to live or take it

I’m debased, remade as something less

New perspectives bring no peace

Only deepening regrets


Humanity in Actions

“Suffering on a smaller scale is still suffering”
The thought didn’t cross my mind until an hour had passed
The moth still skittered and slid across the laminate, unable to fly
Its’ broken wing and battered body wouldn’t allow it
Beat after beat, those wings never ceased
The pain must have been unbearable
But who am I to end suffering?
Some compassionate reaper, or a child with a god complex?
I suppose the latter could apply in both cases
In the end, I took its’ life for a second time
First being the moment I swatted it from the sky
Destroyed its’ life without a thought
Curious that I could so carelessly cause suffering, yet hesitate to end it
I suppose that makes me far from compassionate, and much closer to death
Suiting for one who lives life like a spendthrift

One Last Dream of Mallory

Six years of silence looms over me

Obelisk of regret

Blotting out the sun

Standing on my chest

Pressed against my heart

Struggling with the burden

Loss of self respect

Ashamed at the hurting

Was it worth it?

Not one single bit

Two thousand days wasted

A future traded for a fix


Well, it seems I’ve let my health slip too far into decline once again. There’s a fair chance this will be my final entry, yet I find there’s little I have left to say. I suppose after the amount of deeply introspective poetry I’ve written, most of the bases have been covered. I’ve loved and lost, lived and genuinely died, I’ve given, and sadly taken a life, and had second, third, even fourth chances to make things right. I want for little at this point in my short, but full existence. Naturally, I hold a wealth of regret that I’m sure to take to my grave, but the past can’t be changed. As I previously mentioned, there really isn’t much to say, other than to thank anyone who has ever taken the time to read one of my rambles, whether or not it was a poem. Know that my words carry the truth and essence of who I really am.

With love,

Justin Arthur Clapp – Lloyd

The Diner in The Trees

I wish to fade to black

Awake to find it was a dream

Each new day begins, leaving more space in-between

Where I am, where I want to be

Turning the clocks back is not enough for me

I plead to turn back all the years

Return to a time when she was mine and I was hers

Each memory, a burr in my eye

A pain that I deserve for my part played in the lie

Her heart screamed for frequency

I took to drugs, silence and secrecy

Burning lightbulbs and bridges

Three years passed

Through the haze, I listed

When I regained sense

She appeared, but just for a moment

The favour returned

Four more years passed

I remain with the hurt

Changes Unseen

I’ve been a false idol

Cult like allure


My time for their world

Those strange days of youth

Weak in the flesh

Words put to good use

The bond, quick to form

Letters to soothe

Patience to break the storm

Tore out my heart along the way

Realized what I’d become, never noticing the change

Oceans of bitter tears at the parting

I let it go to static

White noise and callous nothing

Alone now, on in years

Thought things were better off this way

No one left to hurt, nothing left to fear

No one to lead on, dreaming dreams of what can’t be

The dead end string of broken hearts, ending here with me

Thin Memories

Lost in shades of dreams of days that never came to be

Memories fade and colours start to bleed


Falling through the cracks

Imaginings of futures, all turning into past

Present unfulfilled

Resemblance minimal to the boy who sought the world