Inner Monologue

He's so far away So far.. he might as well be God. Apparently ubiquitous, but demonstrably aloof and nebulous. What the fuck do you want? Do you even want? Are you even in there? Are you even here? As you sit across the kitchen table behind the Sunday Times newspaper (stop sipping the coffee like … Continue reading Inner Monologue



Feed me my cracked heart I scoffed the soot, I drank it all Churned it all. Burned like ash, Breathed like earth, Cracked like hearth. Peeling. Hollow. Find me, A sharpened knife A daggered grave, An endless grief. Straining. Hollow.