Well hell, there's a need to overdo it with painkillers and spiritual self-harm, till even the Grim Reaper knows I'm too far gone. Things change? I bet you've heard that one before? Christ I've said it too many times before, let's see if it sticks. A loved one told me, 'running' helps with your depression. It … Continue reading Watching Bojack Horseman on anti-depressants
(Or) so say they say
it isn't a particularly nice world or time; I'm exhausted and hopeless after a six-year long battle with severe depression, anxiety and suicidal thoughts. It's easy to say it's been a long one. I'm too lazy to write a suicide note, and as far as I know this isn't it, for months I've struggled to … Continue reading (Or) so say they say
(Or) so say they say…
it ain't a particularly nice world or time; I'm exhausted and hopeless after a six-year long battle with severe depression, anxiety and suicidal thoughts. It's easy to say it's been a long one. 10 plus weeks ago (around the time kids see ghosts came out) I tried to kill myself. I survived. anyone in their … Continue reading (Or) so say they say…
Poem: Cliche Psychoanalytical diatribe #18
Eat me, because I'm being swallowed Let me rot, because I don't want to bloom Endless references to death in everything i do every move i make an attempt to reflect death honing in on me Sleeping till noon, but waking at 3am sweating from nightmares of my own death. the image of driving a … Continue reading Poem: Cliche Psychoanalytical diatribe #18
Escaping soullessness
I read a Guardian article not so long ago that branded us the 'Stitled Generation' it was a definition that to so many others meant nothing; yet for me, hit me like a cinderblock. With the title still swirling around in my head now. And ironically, I'm meant to be the guy, who doesn't believe … Continue reading Escaping soullessness
A note (written whilst listening to Frank Ocean’s Blonde)
i'm not out here trying to create art; all I'm trying to do is create something Honest. i am trying to create something that is a reflection of who am i, Where i am and Where the world is (in my eyes). art is just another label, like lesbian, gay and straight (to name a … Continue reading A note (written whilst listening to Frank Ocean’s Blonde)
Untitled (or) Leaving myself
Months ago, if you'd have asked, I would have probably said I was happy. Unconventional, yes, but happy nonetheless. Fast forward to today (4/12/17), all of that carefully curated happiness has rotted away. The dream is dead, and hope is a cold corpse. Now it's just me, a cold room, 7am wake-ups, and a notification-less … Continue reading Untitled (or) Leaving myself
life’s not cool
i’m currently in boxers and a flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up. My friends are asleep on the couch. the cauldron is empty. halloween was a mess. I’m typing these words on my phone: from binge watching the second season of Stranger things (fairly decent sophomore season) to bumping into girls in short black dresses … Continue reading life’s not cool
Her and the subsequent confusion
Been up to a lot this year; talked long with an ex(es), family tragedy and fell for someone. Now it's July, and all that's faded. Now I'm left listening to Conor Oberst's Ruminations. Knowing if I'd of stayed responding to her messages I'd of burnt out. Now maybe loneliness is my worst nightmare. Maybe in … Continue reading Her and the subsequent confusion
The carefree, godless, hopeless drifter muses once again
Currently I’m decaying in the lovely state of Florida on a relaxing break from the dreary remnants of shitty north western Britain. The Floridian sun fruitlessly trying to scorch my pale skin and my hair growing long and unkempt. I’m filling the days alone listening to Leonard Cohen, Nick Drake and Father John Misty on […]
