Curiously Scribbled

We'll Be Right Emotions coarse through me intensely I can feel my soul now Shame that it's broken I associate soul with pain How strange Is perpetual pain the human condition? Is that why we shy away?  Pain sucks and we are doomed to a life of it? But emotional range goes both ways right?  Happiness begets pain You can always have it better Pain begets happiness Anything is better than this So we'll be right aye? 

The Wrong Path The point is poised ready to drop Which way will it go Before I stop This path of destruction can only get me so far Before I undo all I've done to be who I am The city closes in on you and takes your essence  Leads you to the path The room is small and sound all around No space to live It leads you to the path There's so much light but you have to find When you do there's no-one with you to enjoy But keep working because it makes life easier Or keep digging till you hit gold Keep digging till you get old And no-one can hear you cry All they hear is the same old sigh And they'll leve you to die Because you didn't spend time enjoying life.

A one night stand The tattoo on your back draws me in The shade of your skin so foreign The curve of your spine as we wind Is all I can find love in This love is enough for now but maybe tomorrow It won't be as in sets the shame My luck is beyond reason To end up here with you I wish I could find words for this fast love I know it's just for now But now is forever when you want it to be When you leave I'm elated It takes only a few moments to realise It was all so fleeting and free That we may never understand how to speak again Once you share this with someone you can't hide So they know you better than you do And you don't like yourself So of course they won't call Instead you dream of when someone will Instead you write your shame on paper

My Missing Piece I felt stable and true like a clear lake. My pieces visible floating serenely. Now I feel pulled by forces outside, tides. To and fro my pieces are tumbled.  There is no ignition point for these whirlpools. Pieces together smashed. They invade and turn clarity to a milky river, turbulent. Pieces are lost. Was this always here? This dirt and muck dragged and dredged up by the new currents. I am a freshwater lake suddenly connected to the ocean. One with the wider world. Yet those pieces that I need are floating across the world pulled by the massive force of the moon and winds and the cries. I must get used to the new rhythm of blood, white, blue, sticky hands and death.