So so far away

The world pivots on dreams, and dreams are scattered specs of desire that once held form.
When one day the world crumbles, I will save its name, keep it in a bundle and hold it up for fame.
If one day the world shall crumble, I will too obey, do everything I could, but still die with it, someway.
I wish I were a serpent, a smiley sneaky thing, moving towards dreaming, and spit all mine to it.
And then the world won’t crumble, because my dreams would stay, removed from me with passion, to hold up the home we made.

Insert notes.

Insert notes.

Insert notes.

Morning day dreams and brain puss night screams. A poem about repetition.

I remember the days when I worked so hard that every night upon sleeping I felt as though i was laying the weight of ten bricks on my pillow. My brain had turned solid, stifled by the information I screwed into its once fleshy, open pores.


One time I felt as though my brain had turned into a brick, I worked it so hard.


I worked so hard that my head grew heavy.


I could barely lift my head I was so tired.


“Aw man, that’s nothing. I swear down I couldn’t even lift my head off my  desk working on that shit.”


I feel exhausted.


I work too hard.


My head hurts from overworking.


I don’t work anymore, but boy, when I did I worked hard.


Work? No way, I burnt myself out with that thing.


I’m on vacation.


I’m desperate for a break.


I’m frustrated that I’m burnt out. I want my work to mean something so badly, but I just can’t carry on.


I’m out of ideas, and I hate myself for it –


But this one time, I worked so hard…


If I Were A Dead Man, I’d Swim In The Sand

Stripped from the waist down we’re rolling,

Tumbling like Jack, falling like Bill,

Land with a bump and a few scratches, but still –

You bleed a fortune into your hands.


If tomorrow was a wastebasket,

I think I’d wish for snow, some way to keep it all, in a massive snow-globe.


If tomorrow weren’t our future, I’d drink apple cider till my lips burst like berries.


When tomorrow does come, I hope it comes cloudy,

Lacking all the things that would give present clarity.


When tomorrow does come, I’d want to escape it

With red cherry shoes, and strings of red tape.


It’s almost Halloween.  My absolute favourite holiday – God, I love the night.

No one really celebrates Halloween in London. Unless it’s just me that’s not invited to the parties… Here’s a short story . I’ll continue it every Thursday till the 31st.

A Story, My Sweet


Life. Death. Can someone hand me a reason? You answer with another question. How boring. How draining. You know what that feels like don’t you, honey. That draining feeling? I know you remember. Your eyes look beautiful tonight by the way. That’s right, doll. Beautiful. Why don’t you step inside? Ignore those times when your sweetheart broke off one too many pieces. The time your son stained a few more shirts than what was considered normal. I was always normal. Always the one who could see through people, just a little too well for their liking, that’s all. But will you be my friend? Will you hold back your screams when I tell you, show you my secrets? They’re really not that bad. Come on, don’t be scared. Step into my world, love, and I will show you all of my wonders.