"Home silent and dark save the spark of mute TV and me, alone, not yet cold. Amongst a mould of decayed sins begins, life again; pen fighting, writing each sigh as the seconds die. The thought emerges, it grows, it surges around my head until I’ve said what buckles breath and mirrors death. So, darkly diminished and all but finished, my spirit’s confusion fights this bleak conclusion. Can’t go forward, nor back."
Cleft Sticks, a poem I wrote because I like writing poems. If you'd like to read more of this sort of stuff, please just email me.
The Coffee Fund
I make naff all money from this stupid lifestyle, hence this virtual beggar-on-the-blog appeal. If you like the work showcased on this site, please consider helping it continue by supporting the chronic caffeine addiction that keeps me writing. Such assistance will lead me - merrily buzzing - away from real life for just that little bit longer, which is indeed all that I ever really wanted. Thanks!