This Isn’t Home

Knotted tightly in my psyche is a feral call:
a plea to return to an unvisited place
where unfamiliar arms can bring rest.
Routine saps the life from my soul - 
within safety it writhes in silent agony
Lacking nourishment unknown - unnamed.
Hunger looks inward to survive famine. 
Ravenous claws stripping only prime cuts -
psychological filet, served bloody and rare. 

I will be the last to walk away from me. 
The world unrecognisably cold and damp
under the footsteps of a more fulfilling life

Lost Reason

Simplicity: a joy that's been lost,
Processes interrupt its ease,
Disturbs its function.
Simplicity: something I currently crave,
People, tasks, processes, all prevent this,
Make my life more difficult.

Success: something I haven't already achieved,
But am now prevented from achieving further,
By those who decide my life blindly.
Success: the necessary  goal of my life,
That despite all my hard work,
Others strive to prevent.

Reason: the motivation to fight until now,
The point of working so hard,
The future I want to attain.
Reason: the drive I've now lost,
The point clouded in beatings.
But one day I'll find it again.

Painful Shore

The water trembles between my toes,
But the tide is yet to move,
Comforting solace repels the waves.
Sun holding itself from truth.

The sand here burns, melts away breath,
Chastising the silence, making it screech and bend.

But the water is cooling.
The tide is calming.
The waves bring comfort.
The sun still holds the truth.

The day time twists, pulling tightly,
Taking the last part of itself to keep for sure.

But the water has gone.
No tide exists, no waves.
The sun has set.

No Looking Back

The roads are winding,
Green fields are forever passing by,
The highest buildings-
Tickling across the skyline.
No. Looking. Back.

New faces meeting kindly,
Old faces repressed and forgotten,
Habits lost with the new face,
Feelings fade in each new place.
No. Looking. Back.

No-one knows, no-one ever will,
It's our secret to keep,
I won't tell and I know you can't,
We'll both take it to our graves.
No. Looking. Back.

Time ran out, sand blew off.
The sun still burns my eyes,
The warmth that wraps you,
Wraps her tightly too.
No. Looking. Back.