The Troubled Soul

The troubled soul beneath the sad, the lost, but the stunning eyes, looking for true answers in the dark scudding sky.
The false smile, the pretend laugh and haunted vile dreams.
Abandoning hope is of course an option, flick it away like an unwelcome fly.
If only I could scratch away your pain and anger; like an itch can be resolved in a moment.
I know how it is to simply walk, or rather scuff along; a rugby scrum with black angels.
Blood red demons, and their perpetual screaming, from every available corner, from every hollow chamber of filth.
Stone steps, padded walls, high, unreachable windows. Panic stricken, manic anxiety and utter depression.
I can see how cold it is for you, despite the sweating out of scolding hatred.
Close those wonderful eyes;
take a long, deep breath,
be comforted by the thought,


the uplifting feeling,
that there could well be a light,
at the end of your suicide.

Street and people

London. Paris. Madrid. Dublin. Brighton

Lost my way from comfort

The slosh of the bottle, the clink of the glass;
the meeting of age old friends.
Our eyes rove the meandering, the rolling and the enchanting setting, from the creaking and rustic veranda.
We soak in the trees as they become silhouetted against a retreating orange sun.
The sounds of the day become the hum of the dusk.
What was once the grinding activity of mankind is now the buzzing desolation of the even greater; of what is now a comfort.
An old day.
A new night.
Hundreds of nocturnal creatures come out to haunt and play.
The clicking of insects, the baritone voice of amphibians and that knowing hoot of our Kings of the night.
The cooling moonlit breeze swishes through me carrying yesterdays ideas.
The simple polarization of it, the great love affair with day and night that can irretrievably twist my mind towards unkindly thoughts, and flood it with madness. Insanity is complete.
The selfish girl who can aid recovery; maybe a negative can create a positive.
The bullshit mind of an arrogant boy whose heart can be leadened by words of hope.
The importance of realizing it and the reality of it finally coming to light, can quite often come too late.
I used to love, now I possess an even bigger hatred.

And will I ever really learn the lesson?