The Sum Of Our Lives

What is the absolute point of living?

We forget.

Everything goes blurry around the edges.

What if this idea of the ‘purpose’ is just a myth to keep us going?

You know? That idea, that we can do something. That there is a purpose for us here on this earth? That we can make a difference?

What if the reality, is that we cry, eat, s***, and ****, get bald, get old, and die.

Life is fleeting. 

Its sad.

And sometimes, maybe, its just purposeless.

Im sure a poet or a writer has written about this feeling. In fact I’m certain it even has a name.

So if life is just a mess of half remembered moments, what about making those moments count?

What about getting your head out of that book, your eyes away from that TV series, and ….make some memorable moments. Its all you have.

That time we spend wasting away time, it fades away. The time, fades away.

What if time was an illusion.

A big trick.

Sad ain’t it?



You don’t understand

This pain

Its a drug I can’t explain.

Webs Of Disdain

The keening of her broken heart pierces his soul and infects his mind.
Seeping, creeping; Black perfumed poison.
Bejewelled eight-legged widows,
Chattering in dismay.

Like A Fish Out Of Water

Restlessness gnaws at the tendrils of my consciousness.
Pulling me askew.
I trip along.
A kaleidoscope of jumbled, hazy, half eaten dreams.
Why am I struggling to breathe?
I know I don’t belong here.
Squirming, slipping, gasping.
Searing red pain.
Why does this feel so wrong?
My smile is plastic.
My heart, moulded in stone.
Anxiety dips mottled, gnarled fingers in my mind.
Swirling my thoughts as a witch her cauldron.
Helplessness holds me hostage.
With bonds of brimstone and steel.
Gasping for release.
Allah, take my hand…


I’m tired.

Because my life is hurting.

I’m hurting.

Because my heart is bleeding.

Gushing, pouring, seeping, streaming.


Pulses of warm, fragrant, liquid life.

My heart is emptied.

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