The Grind.

I lost myself.

To the daily grind.

Not the one of work,

But the one in my mind.

With thoughts in circles

And loops

And knots.

When my psyche gets going

It’s hard to stop.

I hate myself,

I swear that it’s true.

I hate everyone.

I even hate you.

But such strong hate,

Just can’t be sustained.

And thus you see me,

Going insane.

I’m moving through life

In this darkened cavity

Where my heart and my brain

And my soul ought to be.

But they’ve disappeared

To me this is clear,

My confidence replaced

By bitterness and fear.

I’m swinging and swaying

And dancing in the air.

Finally I’m free

Without a care.

When you look to me next.

I will not be there.

Maybe I’ll see you

Some time again.

Maybe next time

I’ll just use the pen.




I have struggled with depression and anxiety for almost as long as I can remember. I’m just starting to learn how to just get on with everything and just persevere and not let it stop me achieving goals. Life’s tough, that’s fine though. Anyway;


A Black Dog named Schmidt.

He follows me ’round.

No matter where I go

He can be found.

I always take him,

Wherever I am.

I just can’t shake him.

He yaps and barks,

And nips at my heels.

Bad memories he brings

On dusty old reels.

The thing about Schmidt

Is he’s not to be cured

I just have to learn

To live with the bastard.





The life of a woman

Battered and bruised

The life of my mother,

Too often used.

A life only lived

Halfway to the full.

A woman defeated

By lethargy’s pull.

But the job she has done

In raising her sons

To shape the men

That we have become.

It must be respected,

Full credit is due,

For a lesser person

Would not have pulled through

So thankyou Mum

I truly am proud

To be your son.




Wisdom 1

The wise have fought
And they have lost.
The wise, like you,
Have paid the cost.
The wise have fear
In darkest night,
The wise have too
Succumbed to fright.
The wise have weakness,
Like anyone else
The wise lose faith,
Within themselves
The wise too, have imperfection
The wise also crave affection.
The wise have argued
When they’ve been wrong,
What makes them wise
Is not what they’ve done.
But what they learn
That spurs them on.
Knowledge comes not
From being right,
But learning from friend
And foe alike.
Wisdom is born from
Pain and struggle,
From knowing you can’t
Just solve the puzzle.




Smoke and Mirrors

Sense, and making it

A splendid idea

But the point you’re making

It’s not very clear.


With the passing of time

I see in our culture

A steep decline

Opinions: popular

Don’t reflect mine.

With what they say

I can’t agree

Where they are coming from

I just can’t see.

So much action

Set in motion

By greed.


So what sense i make

Becomes a mistake

In a world full of take

and take

and take



Stomachs more than full.

No shame.

Life’s a game.


A thin premise of vulgarity

Your take

Astounds me.

A word can repulse

An image can offend

But it’s all smoke and mirrors

In the end.

What about lost lives

What about the heinous pride

What about the people

What about the youth

What about their parents

What about the truth?




Too Much to Say

This is my first post.
I am a 22 year old male.
I am too often finding myself to be lost within my mind. A whirlwind of thoughts and ideas crash around between my ears, and I am creating this blog to give myself an outlet to put my opinions out into the world in a reasonably unobtrusive way.
Poems will most likely make up the majority of what I post, but there will be other articles as well I suppose if I can fend off my lethargy for long enough to write them.

Laying in wait

with too much to say

And no way to escape

inside my brain.

To lay a thought down

With no one around

And scream to them all

Not making a sound.

We run and we fall

Keeping up with this world.

Who would pick us up,

when we are too far ahead.

All else on this earth

have been left for dead.