My Black Walls. A poem.

My walls.                Are.


                                             As oil and just as wet.

Wet. From. All. The.


Aimless.                      Thoughts

                                                                                                    I throw at them.

All the pointless.                         Shit.                              That.

Leaves.                         A snail.                Trail

                                                                                                            In its wake.

That.        Wends.                            Its

Way.                             To.               The floor.

                              I keep throwing

my aimless.                   Pointless.               Thoughts

                                                        And hope that.                       One.                 Day.

They will Coalesce.                                                                             Into

Something truly


My first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online distributors. To find out more, click here.

Published by stevestillstanding

I’m a writer who loves tabletop role playing games, poetry and (you guessed it) writing. Occasionally I have something to say...

5 thoughts on “My Black Walls. A poem.

  1. There is beauty in piles of dirt actually when view long away from our usual myopic views of them being dirt…. I saw an art work made from dirt or disposed items on documentary…. It was so lovely… So my deduction, pile of dirt makes up things depending on your views on creativity….

    Your poems are usually awesome with that spark!

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: