Wanted to use this title for a poem for the past few days... finally found one to work it into. Meh.
Enjoy, or something like that.
"can't be helped"
think...
but nothing seems to heal me
sink....
can i kill these hands that feel me
destroy...
every thing that means a thing to me
pain...
from which you cannot free... me
i guess
i guess it can't be helped
i guess...
[a million miles
below this secret sea
they're selling my soul
and my memory for free
and you can't do anything
but watch it drown me
don't you know helplessness
is just useless misery]
i guess
i guess i can't be helped
i guess, i guess...
i guess
i guess i need to save myself..
but i'm drowning
yeah
i guess it can't be helped
know...
but knowledge leads to hate
feel...
these feelings will not dissipate
need...
only loss can i anticipate
fading...
in my decaying state
i guess
i said it can't be helped
i guess...
[if we're a game
is this my losing streak
what is my pain
yeah, what hurt this week
if we're all bones
am i the creak
and when i open my mouth
why can't i speak
if we're a spy
then i'm the leak]
i guess
i guess sometimes i just can't be helped
i guess, i guess...
i guess
sometimes i need to help myself...
but i'm failing
yeah
i guess it just can't be helped
think...
but thinking leads to doubt here
sink...
drowning in this fear.. of fear... of fear...
destroy...
i want no comfort near..
pain...
pain, pain... the only thing sincere
i guess
i guess it really can't be helped
i guess
[tell me why
you want to survive..
if this is the way
you're going to life your life..
tell me why
you want this to continue..
you like this pain,
now don't you?]
i guess
sometimes i really can't be helped
i guess, i guess...
i guess
sometimes... we learn to rebuild ourselves..
but i've FAILED
i've failed you, and i've failed myself
yeah
i've failed, i'm falling, flailing..
i guess i can't be helped
reach out..
when nothing means a thing...
reach out..
your hands to hold my nothing..
reach out..
i could drown without your help
reach out..
but i can't save myself
reach out..
but i can't take your hand
reach out...
can't you understand..
[i'm the thin red line
between a cut and a gash
i'm the difference between
a cigarette and an ash
i'm the second between
the kamikaze and the crash
i'm beginning to understand
my self at last
i guess this can't be helped]
i really can't be helped..
sometimes it can't be helped..
i guess
i guess it really can't be helped...
i guess, i guess
i better help myself.
Friday, 10 April 2015
Thursday, 9 April 2015
Its funny when the window's
broken on the spine,
and snowflakes twirling
about my head,
with static of the radio
burning in my ears,
whispers floating through
where footsteps are tread,
I break down into calligraphy,
whirling and spinning about
as if dancing to a mad symphony,
tracing fingers flying through the air,
writing laserpoint words that disappear,
and as fingernails slice the layered ice
separation makes me blind and scared
hopping through from time and space,
dimension dooring all over the place,
stepping through holes cut from the whole,
doorways, passages, and rabbit holes,
sent to investigate, discover, and explore,
the window dressing in that department store,
wasn't really worth more than a copper piece,
so the ferret backs out in reverse,
accompanied by an intermittent beep,
hopping that mad little hop of excitement
reserved for exploring places heretofore
left undisturbed and unexplored,
once again through the dimension door,
hopping, twirling, madly swirling,
dancing a jig, and ready for more!
broken on the spine,
and snowflakes twirling
about my head,
with static of the radio
burning in my ears,
whispers floating through
where footsteps are tread,
I break down into calligraphy,
whirling and spinning about
as if dancing to a mad symphony,
tracing fingers flying through the air,
writing laserpoint words that disappear,
and as fingernails slice the layered ice
separation makes me blind and scared
hopping through from time and space,
dimension dooring all over the place,
stepping through holes cut from the whole,
doorways, passages, and rabbit holes,
sent to investigate, discover, and explore,
the window dressing in that department store,
wasn't really worth more than a copper piece,
so the ferret backs out in reverse,
accompanied by an intermittent beep,
hopping that mad little hop of excitement
reserved for exploring places heretofore
left undisturbed and unexplored,
once again through the dimension door,
hopping, twirling, madly swirling,
dancing a jig, and ready for more!
I've observed all this verse,
Ymir is tracking down.
Going from bad to worse,
But this one wears the crown!
A grubby group of chaps,
with psychopaths replete!
The oddest place, perhaps,
for POETS to compete!?
And yet we have 'em all,
from Warriors to to Boffins.
And Battlemechs and Dogs
And Reapers kind in coffins!
A truly diverse grouping,
in microverse complete.
All joined together, hoping,
That Fallout 2's as neat!
And now this rhyme is done,
before my mind is squashed.
So far it has been fun,
Being one of the "Unwashed"!
Wednesday, 8 April 2015
The computer whirrs contentedly,
As the cars travel down our street,
Tyres hurling dripping insults at each other,
When perchance they meet.
The rain has eased off a little,
The trees they sigh and moan,
The smell of freshly delivered pizza,
Wafts through our treasured home.
The party down the road has started,
The radio has begun to blast,
It won't get rowdy without more alcohol,
And until midnight has slunk past.
The house contains an eerie silence,
A calm before the storm,
For when SEH wakes again,
So will the dervish storm.
I wait in anticipation for 7:30,
Bourbon my favoured drink,
For I need all the mental lubrication,
To allow me scope to think.
For at 7:30 comes the mental challenge,
My intelligence shall be tested,
As I writhe in the hallowed pursuit,
I will need to be well rested.
For at 7:30 I need to be alert,
As you shall surely see,
For at 7:30 I must be ab;e to concentrate,
On the football on TV.
Cheers from the land of Oz
As the cars travel down our street,
Tyres hurling dripping insults at each other,
When perchance they meet.
The rain has eased off a little,
The trees they sigh and moan,
The smell of freshly delivered pizza,
Wafts through our treasured home.
The party down the road has started,
The radio has begun to blast,
It won't get rowdy without more alcohol,
And until midnight has slunk past.
The house contains an eerie silence,
A calm before the storm,
For when SEH wakes again,
So will the dervish storm.
I wait in anticipation for 7:30,
Bourbon my favoured drink,
For I need all the mental lubrication,
To allow me scope to think.
For at 7:30 comes the mental challenge,
My intelligence shall be tested,
As I writhe in the hallowed pursuit,
I will need to be well rested.
For at 7:30 I need to be alert,
As you shall surely see,
For at 7:30 I must be ab;e to concentrate,
On the football on TV.
Cheers from the land of Oz
"counter productive puddles"
Just came out... dunno where it came from though.
"counter productive puddles"
chocolate soda
what's that
you said
i've been so far gone now
lately
i haven't been filling
my glasses past the line
cuz i'm too afraid
too afraid i'll spill
oh,
tie me to this life
or lay my head on the
counter productive puddles
nothing can come
of nothing
lately
i've been trying to stand,
understand things
that exist only within me
and the sick sweet syrup
at the bottom of a dream
of a life lived long lived life
of a scream
or the side of a glass
of chocolate soda
yes,
you said
it is all confusion to me.
"counter productive puddles"
chocolate soda
what's that
you said
i've been so far gone now
lately
i haven't been filling
my glasses past the line
cuz i'm too afraid
too afraid i'll spill
oh,
tie me to this life
or lay my head on the
counter productive puddles
nothing can come
of nothing
lately
i've been trying to stand,
understand things
that exist only within me
and the sick sweet syrup
at the bottom of a dream
of a life lived long lived life
of a scream
or the side of a glass
of chocolate soda
yes,
you said
it is all confusion to me.
"the cynic with the bloody hands"
Wasn't going to post cuz i know there's an overflow of poems on the board right now, but oell. I've just been in a really poor mindset today, and here's what's come out. Not really fond of it but... maybe one of the most brutally honest piece i've ever written. Comments/etc appreciated.
"the cynic with the bloody hands"
I tell you i believe in so little
so little good in the world
so little beauty
that comes without pain
so little truth that does not
scream in vain
well, let me tell you
what i still believe in.
I still believe in nightmares
and in facing the appropriate
direction while sleeping
i believe in the inability of
existence of a sanctity of family,
i believe in the betrayal of innocence,
i believe that in a perfect world
innocence might still exist,
i believe in the child in the closet still
screaming though her captor
is years gone down the road
will never grow up, trapped in the self stasis of self hatred
I still believe that anxiety can kill
for every beat my heart skips i lose
10 seconds of my life
i believe that this sickness rising in me
will haunt me forever,
and i can't get to a black or a white,
i believe in eternal shades of grey
i believe in the ease with which one blames
oneself before blaming someone who
should have loved you and did not
i believe that all people are secret monsters
and that i am one of them
i believe in the fever which tears at my skin
and the tears which corrode my eyes
and i believe in the destructiveness of the memory of
a tainted child's cries,
the scars other people give us and the scars we give ourselves,
those that can be seen and those who are kept eternally hidden
rotting scraps of decayed innocence.
These things are what i believe in,
what i've been shown of life
you can't expect me to overcome this all
in the blink of an eye
I can't help but try and protect now
the most precious things of mine
and if i said i ever thought i'd recover
i think that'd i'd be lying
if you want to love me,
you've got to understand the waste in my head,
you've got to see the agony that i've lived by
have to know some how that it
isn't that i don't trust you it's that
i don't trust life.
i believe that these wounds festering in me
may never heal again
but if you want, i'll still let you
hold my bloody hand.
"the cynic with the bloody hands"
I tell you i believe in so little
so little good in the world
so little beauty
that comes without pain
so little truth that does not
scream in vain
well, let me tell you
what i still believe in.
I still believe in nightmares
and in facing the appropriate
direction while sleeping
i believe in the inability of
existence of a sanctity of family,
i believe in the betrayal of innocence,
i believe that in a perfect world
innocence might still exist,
i believe in the child in the closet still
screaming though her captor
is years gone down the road
will never grow up, trapped in the self stasis of self hatred
I still believe that anxiety can kill
for every beat my heart skips i lose
10 seconds of my life
i believe that this sickness rising in me
will haunt me forever,
and i can't get to a black or a white,
i believe in eternal shades of grey
i believe in the ease with which one blames
oneself before blaming someone who
should have loved you and did not
i believe that all people are secret monsters
and that i am one of them
i believe in the fever which tears at my skin
and the tears which corrode my eyes
and i believe in the destructiveness of the memory of
a tainted child's cries,
the scars other people give us and the scars we give ourselves,
those that can be seen and those who are kept eternally hidden
rotting scraps of decayed innocence.
These things are what i believe in,
what i've been shown of life
you can't expect me to overcome this all
in the blink of an eye
I can't help but try and protect now
the most precious things of mine
and if i said i ever thought i'd recover
i think that'd i'd be lying
if you want to love me,
you've got to understand the waste in my head,
you've got to see the agony that i've lived by
have to know some how that it
isn't that i don't trust you it's that
i don't trust life.
i believe that these wounds festering in me
may never heal again
but if you want, i'll still let you
hold my bloody hand.
Tuesday, 7 April 2015
My life is one of frantic energy,
And as I go rushing past,
I often eflect upon my existence,
And that it's fading fast.
My time at school seems to grow shorter,
Though there I spend so many hours,
To do that job effectively,
I need to have super powers.
Then, due to my procrastination,
I didn't study at all,
Instead I chose to do other things,
So I was due for a fall.
I had twenty weeks to do the work,
But that was not for me,
Instead I pretended it was not there,
And did it in just three.
Then, there's the demands of being a Dad,
And being a husband too,
But our house isn't really just a house,
It's more like a kind of zoo.
For, Charlie is also the busy type,
And SEH contributes too,
With such craziness a way of life,
Through our lives time flew.
I often feel as if I'm running around,
With my hair on fire,
And wonder about life when I die,
Whether I go lower or higher.
In heaven I'm sure I'd be too busy,
All the new angels to educate,
Then there's all that harp playing to do,
I'd be busy, you'd appreciate.
But more surely I'm off to Hell,
And the Bastard Bar,
It might me a bit more uncomfortable,
But more interesting by far.
And you Bastards will keep me busy,
Pouring your favoured drinks,
I think I'll have to bite the bullet,
And hire help - it stinks!
For, that will eat into the profits,
But me this does not scare,
I'll just put my feet up and have an ale,
For by then I just won't care.
Cheers from the land of Oz
And as I go rushing past,
I often eflect upon my existence,
And that it's fading fast.
My time at school seems to grow shorter,
Though there I spend so many hours,
To do that job effectively,
I need to have super powers.
Then, due to my procrastination,
I didn't study at all,
Instead I chose to do other things,
So I was due for a fall.
I had twenty weeks to do the work,
But that was not for me,
Instead I pretended it was not there,
And did it in just three.
Then, there's the demands of being a Dad,
And being a husband too,
But our house isn't really just a house,
It's more like a kind of zoo.
For, Charlie is also the busy type,
And SEH contributes too,
With such craziness a way of life,
Through our lives time flew.
I often feel as if I'm running around,
With my hair on fire,
And wonder about life when I die,
Whether I go lower or higher.
In heaven I'm sure I'd be too busy,
All the new angels to educate,
Then there's all that harp playing to do,
I'd be busy, you'd appreciate.
But more surely I'm off to Hell,
And the Bastard Bar,
It might me a bit more uncomfortable,
But more interesting by far.
And you Bastards will keep me busy,
Pouring your favoured drinks,
I think I'll have to bite the bullet,
And hire help - it stinks!
For, that will eat into the profits,
But me this does not scare,
I'll just put my feet up and have an ale,
For by then I just won't care.
Cheers from the land of Oz
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