“When you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you”- Nietzsche

I sit on the edge for a while,
Feet dangling over,
The darkness slowly wisping round my ankles,
Tendrils of black smoke,
Reaching up at me,
Dragging me towards the abyss,
No strength to pull me in
Yet still a tether to the murky depths.

My childlike curiosity draws me in,
I lean in further,
And gaze into the depths,
All that lies before me is an endless black sea,
I quiver,
So overwhelmed by the enormity.

I can feel the darkness eating away at me,
I weep,
And that feeling,
That temptation rises,
Closely followed by fear fear,
Dread bubbles up from my stomach,
Bringing with it bile and further torment.

For I know what happens next,
And I know I can do nothing to stop it.

No longer willing to struggle,
I give in,
And as I drift over into weightlessness,
For a second,
I am happy,

For although I may have lost,
The struggle is finally over.


“When you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you”- Nietzsche

Subject Choice

I wonder sometimes,

About these poems I write,

I worry who reads them,

And that someone just might,

Come to realise,

They’re the subject of one,

That thought’s a bit scary,

And not at all fun,

For this reason I rarely,

Write about friends,

And instead just write poems,

With quite messy ends.



Subject Choice


Today I feel like shit,
And well,
That’s just the truth of it.
There’s too much happening,
I find I have become,
A spectator,
To my own,
Ridiculous life.

I look back down at myself,
And find it hard not to laugh,
You couldn’t write this crap.
These things don’t happen to me,
They belong in movies,
My life should be calm,
I have actively avoided drama,
I am always considerate,
With impeccable Karma.

Yes I am emotionally stunted;
I can’t communicate,
When things happen,
I simply ruminate.
I don’t just bottle things up,
I press them,
And let them ferment.
My own vintage,
Of anxiety wine,
Subtle hints of depression,
Delicious with self-loathing.

And these lies,
That come easier than the truth,
Especially to myself.
I can’t see the answers,
I won’t allow it,
It’ll hurt,
So I’ll just pretend.
I’ll only chose
To make no choice,
Instead of risking,
Getting hurt,
Or getting it wrong.

God forbid,
I show,
A spec,
Of vulnerability.
Or let people know
That I might actually,
Have the ability,
To show emotion.

What a suggestion!

To be honest,
It bloody terrifies me,
The idea of showing,
But I guess now,
I’ll have to try,
I got myself into this,
In this bed I must lie.

Or actually,
Who gives a fuck.
Maybe tomorrow,
I’ll have better luck.