What am I doing to myself lately,
It feels like I’m punishing myself,
Yet I have done nothing wrong,
Everything feels like it’s too much,
I feel an inner struggle going on,
I’ve noticed I’m drinking too often,
Lying to myself that I’m having fun,
While knowing full well that it’s poison,
Drinking to remember, but also to forget,
This poem is a reminder for me,
To catch myself before I fall,
Time for self-care, to better myself,
Pull myself up again, out of this mire,
I feel like I am in mourning, I lament,
The world I once lived in is dying,
Fading away, soon to be forgotten, ignored,
Replaced by unknown new moments,
I just can’t seem to let go of my ghosts,
The further time moves me from them,
The more clouded my memories become,
The faces are erased and they feel so distant,
But the memories persist, like echoes,
Thorns that pierce my mind, bound to me,
Why can’t I just let it all go,
Perhaps my ego fears the truth,
That I too will fade away, forgotten in time.
Drifting
I can feel myself slowly drifting into unease,
As autumn colour broadens its embrace,
The landscape shifts, trees become skeletal,
Lawns are covered in a blanket of the fallen dead,
Cold mornings arrive, giving way to brilliant sunshine,
While cold nights invoke a fear of the coming winter,
The impending solitude and confinement weigh heavy,
Seasonal inertia creeps, with a deathlike silence,
The state of mind the ice season brings is sobering,
A time when the elderly pass, and the young suffer,
Winter brings fat billionaires, rubbing their grotesque trotters,
While all hibernate to survive, until the next change of season.
Masks and Change
Boundaries must be engaged and maintained,
A healthy human distance must be respected,
For, when lines are crossed, all can become blurred,
Where once a hive of focus and creativity existed,
A race began, where disrespect and greed took precedence,
What was once pure, became tainted and distorted,
Irrevocably transformed into something else,
We all wear masks to protect ourselves, to survive,
At work, in love, at play, and even when we are alone,
But it is vital that our original face is seen, for forgiveness,
The real us must be exposed, with all it’s scars and fragility,
When we take off that final mask each night.
White Hot Sun
I feel like I have been baked, drawn out in the summer sun,
I am flayed, filleted, butterflied meat,
Pinned in place upon scorching white sands,
My flesh dries, itching and stinking in the heat,
My mind dehydrates into a milky white emptiness,
I am hollow, invalid, void of any feeling,
I stare into the burning sun, and I become brittle,
Eventually, I am packaged, sold, and consumed,
Welcome to the new age of repugnant influencers,
Originality and creativity, is dead, fame is your new god.
Digital Emptiness
Here it is again, that shaky over charged feeling,
The rush from the poison coursing through me,
Dependence, availability, sadness,
The three ingredients that uncover hidden pains,
I’m forever spilling what I feel into a digital emptiness,
All that is lost and all that is forgotten returns,
There is nowhere to go now, I am self-ignited,
I am lost in what can be, reality has no meaning here,
The pack I carry is heavy, the cup I drink from always empty,
Some souls get better, thinner, faker, happier,
Welcome aboard, we will never make landfall,
And you will never be free from your mind.
Lost in the secrets of sleep
Stirring from sleep with a jolt,
The heart beating furiously,
The pulse pumping,
A gaze wide and confused,
Covered in cold sweat,
Things unseen move in shadow,
Inner depths cause silent screams,
No way out, there’s no way out,
Lost in dreams of death and black seas,
What secrets do closed eyes see,
More, than woken minds conceive.
In Shadows
Wounds make deals that days can’t pay,
Some smiles never shine,
The sun gives her light to others,
While in shadow, some thrive.
Pedestrian 32549
The streets are dark and desolate at this time of morning,
The cold wind whips up dust and discarded plastic,
A street pumper hovers into place, and dirty yellow hoses are ejected,
Ground bolts secure the pumper as it empties its tank,
The dirty, pale, unshaven operator puffs vape smoke,
A dim white light from inside a visor, illuminates his bearded face,
The operator stares emotionless at a passer-by,
The blue glow of the walker’s umbrella cane is distracting,
Blue light reflects in the puddles and on wet window glass,
Clad in a long unassuming black coat, the pedestrian walks on,
Passing beneath the super structure of a building, and into a lane,
Posters of desperation and entertainment combine, covering the walls,
Phosphorescent kanji graffiti adds a glowing additional layer to the path,
A narrow slit of white light, and construction waste lines the pavement,
Rain puddles, provide shimmering beauty amongst the chaos,
Sudden colourful bursts of neon advertising buzz and alternate,
Reflecting in the dark glasses and on the expressionless face,
Stepping out of the lane onto the main street, the walker waits,
As two teen punks on illuminated hover scooters zip past silently,
Crossing the street and back into the shadows, the journey soon ends,
At a large black metal door, unlike the walls, it is graffiti free,
Wind momentarily shifts the pedestrian’s coat, revealing weaponry,
Dark glasses are lifted, a red retinal scanner beam confirms entry,
A display reads, é»’ Kuro Syndicate member 32549 entry granted.
The door unlocks, opens, and a new workday begins.
*Excerpt from 'Infinite Black: A Grey New World'.
Altered State
I’m not what I once was,
I have been altered,
Moulded and repurposed,
My preparedness urge is high,
My mind is fixed on avoidance,
My car is equipped to bug out,
I have two EDC bags that I travel with,
Their purpose depends on the day,
But I never feel ready enough,
Everything hurts lately,
I’m frustrated and stressed easily,
I no longer feel I can retain enough data,
I no longer care for people,
Complete avoidance works for me,
I feel constantly fatigued,
Yet, I cannot sleep at night,
Stress, and anxiety rack my brain,
I always seem to feel on edge,
I feel defensive and negative,
My spoken words exit as a jumble,
I drop things all the time,
I’m a different me now,
I’m not what I once was,
I have been altered.
Urban Alien, The
Like a square peg in a round hole,
I’ve never really felt like I fit anywhere,
More Alien than Australian,
More an extra than a terrestrial,
I can’t connect, I can’t remember,
Life has been a parade of ghosts,
I’m out of touch, I’m out of touch,
Don’t invade my personal space,
Or encroach upon my peace of mind,
I am not your content,
I now find myself stepping away more,
Than I stepped forward before.
Dan Verkys 