Sunday Morning Breakfast

Smoky, dense fumes fill my lungs.
Fresh pig’s flesh in oil,
Desperate to escape its confines
To her kitchenware.

He’s cursing again,
Flailing around like a fish out of water.
The swine spits back defiantly.
Urges us not to move an inch.

At least he’s trying, I think.
The dirge of mourning doves is drowned out in the distance.
He’s screaming now.
My heart sinks.

Another Sunday morning breakfast,
Toasted in her absence.
Tears well up in my eyes,
Glazing my half-baked scowl.

They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day.
He fills his plate up with ketchup.
I pick my broken egg shells out.
Is it at all my fault?

I’m still young,
Don’t know what’s going on.
I ask to be excused
‘Cus I don’t have the heart to tell him I don’t like bacon.
Or the stomach to carry on with the bad news.


Photo Courtesy of

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The Cynic’s Chasm

Nighttime brings on feelings of emptiness.
As the moon rises, the renegade reprises
The weight of the woes he knows as

Some ask for salvation.
Others are tasked with rehabilitation;
Taking cues from men they never knew
And books filled up with false truth.

To each their own,
But Nietzsche speaks to me
Through his cynicism
And poems.

We cower to the weight of our sins,
Complacent to how things have always been.
In our darkest hour, we’re just angel dust in a vacuum,
Wrapped in a chasm that is unfathomable.

Daylight ensues, bringing on feelings of yearning.
As the sun rises, the student reprises
His quest for knowledge
And learning.

It sheds light on the feat of fulfillment,
E’er within our reach to lament.

To each their own,
But Nietzsche speaks to me
Through his cynicism
And the words he wrote.

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Choice to Change

When the going gets tough,
I’ve only got one choice –
To rise above the lies
And the white noise.

I’ve lived in fear every year,
Ever since I was a young boy.
But if I’m ever going to turn the page,
I’ve got to make a choice to change.

My voice might shake;
My heart violently palpitate.
But I want to be the one to say,
When the going gets tough, I’m enough;
I’m here to stay.

I’ve been a lonely heart in the crowd.
Filled with bitterness and doubt.
A troubled mind with an axe to grind.
It’s tough to be kind when you’re feeling left behind.

And so I say,
I’ve a decision to make.
I’ll try to take the high road;
Only God knows what’s at stake.

I’ve only got one choice –
If I’m ever going to quash the rage,
I’ve got to use my voice
And make a choice to change.


Photo by Sean Mundy

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Every Hour Can’t Be Happy Hour (2014)

4 PM hits,
Another hollow bottle in my midst.
Finally, the world revolves around me,
And I feel free.
But now I can’t see past the bottom of my glass,
And I feel incomplete.

One misstep and I’ve fallen from grace,
Reality shatters; shards encumber my fate.
A whiplash of glass cuts me open,
Spilling my dreams and my Jim Beam.

Everyone knows it’s to the bars I go
To drown my sorrows.
Tell me if you like what you see,
In our society, there’s no room for inadequacy.
Only Jim understands me.

One more drink,
Yeah, it’s not over ’til I’m stone cold sober.
Don’t care what you think,
Don’t care what you say,
This is my passion play.

I’m doing great, feigning alcoholic lucidity.
Every hour’s a chance to celebrate my affinity.
So come on Jim, and fill me up.
I won’t stop ’til I’ve had enough
And seen the sun come up.

If every hour can’t be happy hour,
I’m only fooling myself.
So pass me another glass and
Take another bottle down
From the top shelf.


I ❤ Alcohol by Knightraven

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David Robert Jones

Nothing but light emerged from the depths.
Sprites arose with care, but anyone could die
Endeavouring the obsidian lagoon.
We chased the esoteric token of the Sacred Scripture,
And scaled the façades of our youth.

The kin of tramps;
Trapped in a vicious cycle for millennia.
Akin to the Knight of Cups,
Black lightning sets over the earliest of affairs.
The handsome frame of a man like the sun is staggering.

I see Orion,
Hear rain whistling from a neon sky;
Spinning gold from a lifeline of stars.
I call out for guidance, pacing everything to the end of time,
But I’m falling.

Until everything is angel dust,
And unconditional love
Is all we’re comprised of.


Bow Shock Collision by Nickmista

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Battle Cry

I am an idealist through and through.
I am not ruled by my past or my short-comings.
I am all that is in spite of them.
I am the life that flows through my veins.
I persist even when it would be favourable to fade into the white noise.
I resound like the relentless thump of a pounding heart.
I will not be silenced. I demand to be heard.
I am a warrior.
This is my battle cry.


Artist Unknown

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Casting Call (2015)

Sometimes it’s too hard
To play my part.
It used to feel so easy
Being me; bordering obscenity.

But what good is a clown’s laughter,
If he can never be taken seriously?

I feel so small
Trying to get it all right.
In my tired mind,
Nothing is what it seems.

The years they fly by,
But the moments stand the test of time.

I can’t help being gun shy
No matter how well I rehearse.
There’s no script to guide me;
No inspirational bible verse.

I feel so lonesome
On the hunt for perfection.

It’s like no matter how fast I run,
I’m always two steps back
Fearing rejection.

I need a breather to believe that it’s all
Still within my reach.
Maybe it’s time I start
Practicing what I preach.

Send me a sign before my heart is marred
And I’m eternally scarred.
‘Cus sometimes it’s too hard to play my part.
And in the back, the laugh track is on repeat.


Towards the Sun by Théo Gosselin

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