
Would you turn this up to eleven?

Would you turn this up to eleven?
My words can’t defend me anymore
I lie here just hurting
Kill yourself,
The voices tell me from within
I can’t remember…
When did this battle begin?
I've been touching wood a lot
because of recent vivid dreams
watched that dead baby's body rot
the world unravel at the seams
London's waiting up ahead
tapping at her watch
A story in 500-word chapters. All is not well in the afterlife.
After leaving Meradith's home, Jay and Ben had
ridden Rainbow and Bracken like the wind...
_________________________________________________
There’s an old saying somewhere that goes something along the lines of;
“When you’ve done washing the dishes, put them somewhere safe to dry.”
Speed poem about the rubbish in Brighton this June
give me a story
to tell that won't become a part
of me
It's easier said than done,
It's the way my brain is wired.
A little thing can set it off,
Like being a bit too tired.
When I was growing up in the sixties we lived in North London and one of the things I really loved to do was to go swimming.
Catching pink butterflies on a cold winter day.
Walking to far into the grey you’ve lost your way.
They searched and called out for you.
“Please, Master Thorne relax. You will be summoned shortly”
Jim Dawson's dream job comes at last.
(about)