The echoing voices are like lucid dreams
Swans in the lake in the background
This time last year I was reading a book in a park
With no compass, sipping on liquid
Within feet of a fillip
The sweat was like a homeless poison
Seeping into the elm and the pulp of the garden
Now I can feel the cabin fever my body is fighting the feeling
I\'m like an aeroplane heading in a straight direction
I\'ve planted the seed, the cycle continues
Like a definite appetite
I\'m going over Mecca, over the cistern with an alias
Over the shrubs and the informal horde
I am as quiet as snow
Primeval, bracing for a soft impact
I\'ve let myself off the leash, the moon has absconded
I\'ve seen a week\'s worth of regret accumulated
In one little moment
A year after I met paranoia
I counted the ugly ducklings, escaped Alcatraz
Died in the darling shark-infested sea like Frank Lee
Had gathered the THC, relaxed like it was Miami
I could go on and on like a threesome
I\'m lukewarm and soaring
In my bedroom, in tune, I may fare better
On the sunny side of life I twist,
I\'ve been left exposed
It had gotten to the point I didn\'t want to write poems
I know how hard it is to share my feelings
I know how hard it is to pour out my emotions
I feel like an ocean, a hundred years of hoping
There is no remedy for the sadness I feel
I\'m in knotted masses
A greenhorn, in a room with a nice view
I can\'t stop thinking about you
When I get the summertime blues
I feel lost and I don\'t know what to do
I don\'t know what to do I don\'t know what to do
Trapped in a room with a nice view
I stare at my shoes, bright stars with no mouths
Full of grief and anguish and bleak thoughts
I sell my love stories to that Old Nick
The bastard in the night
I could sit after every incident
It all seems connected in my head
It makes sense like the sweet bells or the daffodils
Golden and crisp mornings
My frosty breath lingers as the middle splits
I have been reoccuring in spells
The deep blue washes ashore like a whale
I see ivory and pearls and a beaded necklace
Prostrate leaves on the trees
Headless, reckless, feckless, useless
The wind knocked me senseless
I was like a statue, freckles, unpolished dots, dots, dots
I felt the upsurging heat like a fire in a liver
I was riddled in doubt
I had my eyes held on the naysayer
The spots recrudesce, moonstruck
Red in colour, the naysayer is a busy wasp
Bleeding red, infectious
Coiled up in anger and frustration
I sulk like it\'s Halloween
Five foot odd, wearing nostalgia
On a jaunt to Heaven
I dance, japonica, on the clouds
I wander as lonely as a Jungle Book
Cooked up a storm
Nothing changes the value judgement
I walk out of my reputation
Like a H
Simmering like a coffee
The music sheet reads, \"Pizzicatto\"
I can only pluck my feathers
All I\'ve ever known is to sin
I\'m the shrinking violet
Next to the hamlet
No rain has fallen in weeks
I can\'t believe it has been weeks
I was jocund, in a bonanza
I restlessly cried
Why? Why? Why?
I cried why like an Abracadabra
The darkness was tailored
As dark as a basement
I remember it like diamonds
A mane or a chin groove
The paper is showing its age
Jackanapes
The metropolis is chequered
Read a fortune-teller
A fraud, a Jesuit, a dweller
The true Jonah
I disport oneself in torture
Disparate to pleasure, tingling
The loins, dissident to anything I do
Four gibbous moons possess my soul
Like a dirge playing on a grammophone
The Erse erodes, I deciphered the codes
The crypt opened to my surprise
Inside was empty like a big fat balloon
I had found the free space, the milky way
I walk the ghat in the Himalaya ranges
Our blood exchanges
I am bombarded with facts and science
I feel so idly disparaged
On Fridays I dissimulate
I am made-up in my drug fuelled world
Even though my lust for love ponders, fifty-fifty
I get that, I get that, I\'ve dispatched everything germane to the past
I want to start fresh, I\'ve tipped the fedora
My snake tongue speaks in riddles
The sad feeling is just like an owl hooting
Like it\'s a new vogue, something I should know about
I get my fix on a shoestring
I put the pen down on the paper and breathe
Viva poetry! The great king
I love all things sugar, butter, syrup, milk, silk
It\'s as if I\'m a laughing child, young and wild
Running faster towards the summit
With unrealistic expectations
I hear echoing voices.