I’m tired. And my drifting aimless gaze settles on a distant mist-like haze that wells up continuously inside, like savage, misplaced pride, and makes me drop like a stone into waters unknown. Lost on cruel tides that wend the capitulating ocean to its end. So tired. If only sleep could solve this quandary, instead of leaving me on the periphery of a world that spins aimlessly, through head space and trickery, and leaves me wanting nothing less. And nothing more. Just tired. Time to leave this place. Steve is a literal starving artist. Please keep the dream of poetry alive … Continue reading Tired. A poem.

I’m let down, again. Every letdown compiling like a coded compunction, in synapses despoiled by repetition and disfunction. Swarmed and overloaded, categorised and goaded. Too many times to make sense of it all. Letdown, like so many times before. Who has any tears left to cry? And why bother to even try. Continue reading Let down. A poem.