Son-of-Sorrow

In need of vice and relaxation Fumbling for Zippo and pack Finally produced from my pocket A cigarette taken from its shiny home Warning signs emblazoned all over Placards of impending consequence A flick of the wrist and stroke of thumb Well rehearsed and unthinking Flame bursts from steel and flint Cigarette alight and smoke inhaled The first draw always the deepest Exhale and feelings become relaxed Watching the smoke rise from my mouth Those toxic fumes, how prettily they dance Killing me softly one breath at a time Leaf, paper, filter and burning tip Ingredients for a life of dependency This one is my last, it always is...

They say he who has the gold makes the rules. Money is power, the rich are powerful. The rich and powerful make the rules. The rules are made so the rich stay rich, ensuring those with power stay powerful. The poor will remain poor and powerless. The rules are the laws. The laws keep everything in order the rich rich, and the poor poor. Therefore it is the duty of the poor, to bend the rules and break the laws, not out of disregard, but to redress the balance. The rules and laws are made by the rich to repress the poor, to maintain the status quo, inequality. Anarchy is order. Rebellion is balance. Lawlessness is equality.

We the masters of our own destiny are so powerless at the beginning. When we are born we are brought, against our will, into existence. One we have no influence over, delivered at a certain time, in a certain place, to certain parents none of which we choose. We are then smothered, molly coddled and imposed upon by others through childhood into our latter teens and even early twenties. By now we are already somebody. We have been predetermined by our upbringing, predefined by our parents, their views, beliefs and attitudes, friends, social and cultural norms, fashions, TV, marketing, politics and education have all guided us, without our cons

I feel like my whole life I have been trapped in a greyscale world of mundanity and boredom. I was an infant stuck in a room with only a door, a window I was too small to see out of and a few trinkets and toys. Enough to distract me and keep me in a state of inaction, all I needed to waste a life. Outside of this room lies my potential and all that I can become. Up until recently I had sat idly in this room playing with my toys, empty and unfulfilled. I was waiting for the door to open of its own accord and shower me with all that I thought I deserved. Alas it never did nor did it so much as give the impression that it ever would. Regardless

Character is forged in the furnace of adversity.

Sweet lethargy takes over, warm water fills the body to the brim With it the calm content of a tired mind easing into rest Slowing changing down through the gears of everyday life An odd paradox as bigger cogs are set in motion, bypassing the mundane Thoughts meander slowly, softly, seamlessly from one into another Away from the ordinary and into the deep, sinking peacefully, no need to swim Nothing can cause worry in this state, no problem is too big, no detail too small To stay in this dreary coma forever would be a delightful daydream This curious state, a place where time multiplies, almost infinite Inside a pleasant forever buried neck d

The past a canvas of depression, the future a palette of anxiety. Together they paint a life of despair.

If your life does indeed flash before your eyes just before you die, are you at this very moment dying and what you are now in fact experiencing is a replay of a life already lived?

I’ve built a nest out of our memories and I lie there gathering a blanket of dust, thinking of you.

Life is random from birth to death we are plagued by its disjointed logic. Yet as humans we seek order, understanding and mastery. We do this with organisation and repetition, all in the vain hope of taming the universe, yearning to make the sun a candle. In doing so the flame of life is doused, its sharp edges blunted and the excitement dulled and diluted. We have taken the best from it, reducing it to a mundane froth which we can suck through a straw. Its vitality, passion and bright heat lost in the safety of the lukewarm, familiar and routine, in these values we seek comfort. Our fear of the unknown, the uncontrollable, the inevitable, of