Set Free

Save myself by creating heartbreak
Ending affection for ending sake
Not personal, a quick draw decision
Wouldn’t of lasted, said my premonition
Of a close soul breaking my heart
To escape I quickly force it apart
Convinced my dark vision is true
Before it’s me I’ll end it with you
Romance is dead but the pain lives
Couldn’t control the doubt love gives,
living life with stop and starts
Short lived dates and broken hearts

The one set loose will find a match
To with feelings, there is no catch
No pits of empty days or sorrow
No happy one day, down tomorrow
By then the jealously creeps to bite
Thinking about them close at night
With an anxious mind it’s hard to confide
The insecurity locked inside

Can’t commit to time or to lust
Defences are high in the aspect of trust
Testing to see who will try and return
Loneliness the only lesson to learn
Always looking for that one salvation
Who saves me from my false self-preservation

Bones

Crack an egg with flippant innocence
Yolk pours out as blood
Run towards a hopeful resurgence
End face down, into the mud

Crawl to find a crowded peace
Drag breakages up so steep
Cries of help welcomed and received
Who cares who sees you weep.

Split second collapse takes the wind
Falling down upon the sword
Disfigurement will never rescind
Never perfect, always flawed

Once I sat and thought alone
Fears dormant in the head, never spoken
Now I view my offset bone
Terrified, it’s not just my mind that’s broken.

Fallen

When sat alone
With the weight of blood
Panicked in solitude
Restricted from external wounds
Do we cry,
Or lie down upon the sympathy?
Voicing the same tale
To heighten ears
Imagining on empathic fears
Which soon dies
From curious eyes.
The scars of eternity sparks interest
To unknown generations
Seeking if the whispers are truth.
They are, if not worse,
Bones were cracked
Shock crushed the breath,
The story revealed forever wrapped in light
Never disclosing
How close we were to death.

My Generation

Between the lines the whispers seek solice
Gratitude of time to be heard,
Only believers feel the undercurrent,
A background humm instigating alternatives
Revealing variations of living,
Walking to rather then standing still,

As a species we live sad
Of the impending eventuality who awaits us,
Our conscious pulls to fearing wait of death,
Dragging down certain minds
Forcing own hands
Bringing forward their premature demise,
Listen to the unconscious reasoning
That deduces this gift should be praised,

We have no say in birth or death
Our only control succeeds as we grow
A Choice to dictate character with emotion,
The advice buried in our soul lays active
Expanding the mind reveals the signs,
Live life blinded in black and white
Or thrive in the wonderment that breathes,
Between the lines.

Paradise

Squint the eyes so this contrast won’t last

Open your soul to accept the wonder full force

Reflections are distorted when viewed from darkness

In this case ripple the surroundings

Sort through the findings

That float to the surface

Reach out, eyes closed letting the feel guide you

Grab the gift and safely pull it to your chest

Breathe and let the heart solve the rest.

The Flood

OCD is in the top ten most debilitating illnesses in the world. It dictates manipulates and seduces you to think you’re saving a life, doing good and being healthy.

Truth, it’s killing the sanity of the host. Feeding its vanity that it’s valued and needed with every compulsion. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Don’t underestimate how it affects someone. It consumes the soul, an actual living hell being acted out day by day.

It exaggerates life for the host to act out it’s pleasures.

It controls and scares you into believing it’s reality. When the anxiety of an obsession hits, it’s like a flood to the head…

The Flood.

Back and forth in doorways
Three o’clock deep in the night
In and out my body swayed
Not sleeping to I felt just right
Turning lights on and off
Turning taps so much tighter
Wearing six tops in summer
Staring at a torch, turning it brighter
Under all these layers this is me
I’m no different, I just have OCD

Not stepping on the carpet
Paining myself and cutting my hair
Putting clothes on again and again
The same ones for a week, I have to wear
Light switches too and thro’
Washing rehashed and flung about
Walking backwards on the football field
I’m saving the world ain’t no doubt
Under all these layers this is me
I’m no different I just have OCD

Not able to read or write normal
Repeating words and crossing off
Having compulsions in school exams
Having to blink, having to cough
The school tie was pulled up tight
Along with the top button on my shirt
Couldn’t breath and sweated badly
Doesn’t make sense, it really hurt

A Life dictated by numbers
With fear, dread and impending doom
Imagination susposed to be a gift
But for me more like a living tomb

No-one ever asked, people’s reality different to mine
Became an expert in hiding, so bittersweet divine
Stuck in an endless, ignorant cycle of fright
Cant love, leave,or live until the feeling feels just right.

Angels

Spiralling out of control towards armless hands of bones. Flexing finger tips grab to bore at my flesh.

A sunken fever brings false saviours. Hope built and collapsed in flashes of imagery, used to pollute the faith.

Out of nowhere I am caught. Is this reality or another method of torture? Part of the punishment of this realm. No this dream’s real, I am touched by substance wiping my brow, mowing away levels of uncertainty.

I am higher now, feeling cooler above the clouds. A burnt smell furrows my nostrils. Panic sets in as I scour my surroundings. It’s not me but my protector whose caught by the flames. Wings are singed, though the descent upwards doesn’t waver.

The climax wakes me cold.                      As my mind blinks to work through reality, a figure in front of me bows, and evaporates from existence. There was no expression, but this essence produced no fear. Now i know blind faith is real, as Angels have no face, just a presence of hope.