High

And I’m balling

I’m falling

Away into the sounds and clouds

To the mesh of colours

That push me this way and that

Laughing with me, at me

Me too, I’m laughing

Though I’m not sure what’s funny

Ready for the day I’m going to be born again

I’ll keep tripping over till I get that

Ships of Thought

There is a place in the rain

Where all the lost men go

With the foggy minds

The men that have lost meaning

Often out of touch with reality

A place filled with anchors and chains

To ground down their

ships of thought

In the fog

And wait for a clearer day

Without getting anymore lost

So the men wait

In the rain

For a sunny day

Biocentrism

I am the yellow moon

And the red sun

And the bright stars between that distance

The green earth

Down to the blue skies and white clouds

The colourless air

And the deep blue sea

Right deep down

To the core of the earth

I am

The musical notes

The pieces of art

And words on paper

I am science

The reason

and the logic

The Empathy

I am the bridges

And the skyscraper

I am the plane

That crashes into it

I am the terroist

That shoots innocents

I am a slave

I am made in China

I am the politician waging war

I am plague and disease

Infection and

rotting

I am death

I am sex

Alcohol

Drugs

I am a pair of eyes

I am a mind

 

 

Inspiration in the eyes of many

He rushes over the wall

Into the woodlands

Fully dressed in his rehab atire

Sunglasses masking his face

His chains still attached

 

His mind is only set on the

Pain

The attachment

The addiction

The deep, black, gaping hole that is

ever growing

Punching out all thoughts of optimism

 

His daughter, forgotten

His wife’s words stinging his mind

His friends, against him

His mum, ashamed

The thorns provoking his clammy white skin

Are no where near as painful as this

Tearing off chunks

Of what is left

Of his skinny frame

 

He is there

At the end

A garden shack

 

A heroin kit with his name on it

Followed by a shotgun, straight from above

His favourite cigerettes lie on the table

It’s as if an angel has bestowed gifts

In order to ease his passing

 

He smoked his last drag

in order to calm his mind

Cooked his heroin

Injected

 

 

Floated… Floating…

To the caves…

 

Full of sounds and smells…

So many kinds of smells…

Far away from people….

 

His subconscious slowly, gently lifted the shotgun

To the back of his mouth

Thoughts drifting like clouds

Time slowing down

Dribbling on the barrel

He pulled the trigger

 

 

Floating….

 

Far away from-uh p-people…

 

To-uh a cave-er full-oh of so…sou-und…smells…