Coining

If I were to tell you I felt like a mole, Would you laugh? Let me elaborate. Today, I felt blind, like I were wandering in the darkness, and any signal fire I could have used, had been doused by this mood. Today, I felt trapped in the empty crumbling tunnels of our friendship, with nothing but the smell of damp decay surrounding me. Today, my sense of upset flared inside me – my extra strong intuition, but due to the darkness in my eyes I couldn't see and help any further. And today, I felt the walls around me come tumbling down as I finally realised that I'm sat here, alone... I'm underground and I don't know where to go.

Sometimes I believe in faeries, Then when I see them I make wishes upon spider's webs, My words settle like dew on the silk and drip drop to the undergrowth, Where flowers form and blossom. I count the petals, and rip them off, He loves me, he loves me not. And I hope against frail hope that my wishes come true, I even make wishes about wishes in the pouring rain, But the rain's okay, because the smell it leaves behind makes me believe in faeries again. So the cycle continues. But my wishes fade to autumn, Petals droop and spiders go into hiding, And my wishes lose their shine. The faeries disappear and I've stopped believing. T

I can't forgive you, For being the only thing I'll never forget. For as long as I live I'll see you behind closed eyelids, as I've already been doing for the past six years. You hurt me so much. When I hear your voice, Then turn to face nothing. It makes me choke back tears every time. Some would say it was a problem, that I need to just let go, and grow up, But you're the only problem I ever want, And it hurts. Yet I love you. I love you like I've never loved before, And I don't know if I'll ever love past you, That is if you ever fade. And for that I can never forgive you. Don't ever go.

Nothing Is Original. All ideas originate from other ideas, just as energy can never be created or destroyed, only converted to something else.

If I could show you how it's meant to be, I'd grab you by that hair of yours that you flaunt so shamelessly, and drag you into reality where everyone else seems to function perfectly, Yet you struggle to cope in reality don't you? Little Miss Perfect. It's odd how you can bend that word and make it so far from its meaning. I would show you what friend means. Friend isn't all about the taking; it's not all about you, in your clouded puddle-shallow world. You have to give as much as you take, but your rose coloured glasses don't let you see that far do they? They're thicker than lead. To most, the taste of Turkish delight becomes sickly

I beg for a good night's sleep. Pray. Plead. But my legs cramp from fatigue, as I'm knocked awake far too early for the rest of the world. And I become aggravated by my own lack of a will to dream again. My mind whirrs like the cogs of a watch, ticking in rhythm and spinning at a dazzling pace. Incorrigible images flash endlessly behind flickering eyelids, giving fuel to the fire, a fire that blazes far too bright to sleep by. Before long I fall from my mattress and with heavy eyelids continue onwards. Another restless night followed by a day that drags me by the ankles through life's trivialities. Colliding with every tiring situa

To You, What can I say? I've known you forever, but in a way, not at all. I could tell you a million reasons why we're friends, but then again I could count a million reasons why we're not. I'm sorry. For never being there. For just being a passing thought. -From Him.

I never look at my problems with Ockham's razor, So when I look up at night I see, Shooting stars, Dream makers, Breath takers, The last hope in a sea of longing for fulfilment. Call me a cynic, But I see no need for hope in dust, And burning rock, Overall from what they consist of they seem made of nightmares. I see them not as shooting, Plummeting seems more accurate, Falling through the sky, Burning with ice and fire and every last empty wish ever made. If we look at technicalities, They are not even stars, Mere meteorites, Liars even by name and nature. Though... When I consider that a little shard of space can flare

Instant Coffee. The only way I can describe the sensation is the taste of burnt toast - But as a smell, Bitter and overdone, Yet still I find myself sipping lightly at my cup. There's nothing elegant or sophisticated about it, I drink from a chipped blue mug that's seen the back of the dishwasher too many times, Washed out and faded, Yet still I twirl the cup in my hand like some snide connoisseur. Though what can I say really? The caffeine will keep me going for hours, Chirpy and chatty, Yet I can't help but wonder how I'll get the bitter aftertaste off my tongue. Maybe another cup?

Patience thinning, Walls cracking, Anger burning, Hairs splitting, Glass breaking, Hatred rising, Water boiling, Frustration brimming, Tears welling, Fists clenching, Upset pouring, Patience –  gone.