It's about time you left.

Why are we here? he asked the sky, but if God replied it was only to point him in the direction of his dealer. A poem about life, death and the purgatory in between. A prize if you can guess who inspired it. Perhaps.

On autumn, and not believing in China. edited 2/3/08

why is it that even though she was far from perfect, you still gave her everything? (Sorry for the posting spree at the moment, I'll stop spamming the place soon...)

I know it's late, and you're tired, and I'm not pretty...

Sadly, not as fictional as I'd like it to be. Excuse the title; I'm fully aware it's pretty dreadful. Poem's alright though...

Yes, I -did- promise not to go on any more of these rants. But this new chapter shall be my last. Honest. "We are individual"...

when the sun comes up, it might get a bit warmer. (based in jagged fact; probably not the only piece on the subject you'll be seeing from me)

"He tasted like porcelain and cigarettes, sinful and sweet and oh-so-fucking-perfect." Adam and Micah's relationship has never ventured beyond the bounds of just-good-friends, until one half-sober dream threatens to change things forever...[m/m]

"If I go crazy, then will you still call me Superman" (3 Doors Down - Kryptonite) Superman remembers the good old days, his shiny cape and straight white teeth...

"It's Thursday night and I told my parents I was staying at a friends, but we crept out here instead, and no I don't regret a thing..." Con/crit much needed on this one, I think; a short piece about, well, 'libertining'...

"The worst weekend of your life, at the mercy of duct tape and razorblades" (Kurt Cobain) He's empty, unhappy, and he doesn't know quite why. Maybe the strange watcher in the club holds the answer? - Edited version.

It was murder, but he died anyway.

although looking back it was more like late afternoon, Sunday... Similar to June in that it is an attempt to create that lazy summer mood, because I adore lazy summer days.

"We smelt of lipgloss and flowers." An attempt to capture a mood, rather than an event. Feedback would be much appreciated. Does it conjure up the mood, or does it just fizzle out?

we've got some serious growing up to do

"This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper," - T.S. Eliot.

Either a cutting satire on the necessity of human psychology to follow a trend...or just something rather silly I wrote at one o'clock in the morning, which references modern music far too much. Which is it? You decide...

Because sometimes, lies are precious. And sometimes, they're necessary.

A while ago, I challenged a friend to write something beginning with the lines "Up my dosage, would ya/nothing's right around here..." This is my contribution to said challenge. On the theme of "This town is dead." If of course that is a theme. Should be,

Twelve poems. (latest two - A Modern Poet? and Not My Shade Of Grey) Experimentation, basically, with different forms (or lack thereof). Feedback iis much appreciated - what works, what doesn't?

Same sort of style as my last, but this time it makes more immediate sense. "You stabbed at the heavens with your index finger, showing me dog-dragon-lion in the cloud chameleon."

"A year and a half of small-town nights..." Short, rather experimental piece about living in a small town. It's untitled for a reason, not just because I couldn't think of a name...and it quotes Chumbawamba!

"No-one can tell, but under her false nails, her own are bitten down to the quick with frustration and nerves." Short drabble. You shouldn't set too much store by outward appearances.

Meet Count Campula, the world's gayest vampire, Prince Narcissus, his vain ex-boyfriend, Arnold, the perpetually-embarrassed manservant, and many more weird and wonderful characters...Chapter II Now Up...

Her name was Andrea, but she liked her friends to call her Andy, because she thought it made her excitingly androgynous. (Redrafted! What fun...)

Shout it from the rooftops: emo poems are baaaad! Possibly not the subtlest piece of satire, but it adequately expresses my feelings.

The sort of thing you write in coffee shops, still wearing your scarf, to try and sound a little bit Bohemian. My attempt at a very poetic form of short prose: let me know what you think, please - is it worth adopting as a style?

Collection of drabble-length vignettes based around metaphorical looks into city-dwellers lives. There are three: Ragged Angel, Faded Rose and Broken Flame.

Made up from a collection of song lyrics. Kind of interesting in a highly-experimental sort of way. Feedback would be highly appreciated.

"Oh, how I loathe Maths in October - it makes me wish I wasn't sober" An ode to all things mathematical. Sort of.

"It's too early to be awake, but too late to be asleep, as Nick wanders through the down-lighted, deserted streets". He's losing his faith in the concrete city...but he can't find a way out...

A very silly poem about a potato. And how it symbolises the gradual decay of life...or not. Co-written (if that term can be applied to this) with Empty Jigsaw and Eye of the Needle, who are going to kill me for posting this...

"Just another bathroom-fuck bitch..." One way of incorporating the phrase "What a terrible human thing to have done". Still experimenting with that phrase, so it may pop up somewhere else before I'm finished with it.

"Hot day melts like chalk on the concrete" True, if nothing else.

Nothing to do with my username. Everything to do with Pete Doherty, and a certain campaign suggested by the Gorillaz...

Your favourite guitarist, the one that means the most to you. The one person who manages to write songs that get you, every time...

The man in white with bloodstained gloves smiles at you...

We are living in the wristband age, in which our morals are bought and sold and our good causes are thought up in boardrooms.

"You loved me to pieces...I've fallen apart" Very dark, but I'm quite proud of the central metaphor...

This is my homage to the good times. We never remember the good times; we always seem to dwell on the tears...

When you've cried over spilt milk and spilt blood, and laughed over much of the same...When you know there should be a hereafter, and God's nothing more than a name...

"What happens to you when you work nine-to-five, and by seven you wish you were dead" Questions...What happened?

"My little junky icon, his eyes are stained with tears...and when he looks into the distance, it's not comfort that he hears"

"Glory in an unmarked grave, and how did it come to this" My thoughts on seeing the WW1 trenches and cemeteries near Ypres.

"Fallen for a neon daydream, coalescing time and space" I'm not entirely sure how to describe this. But it's interesting...

"My salvation, my sin" Being everything isn't always a good thing...

You think she's just a slut, but maybe there's something else beneath...This is written in a very different style to anything else I've written, so I'd appreciate feedback...

"I caught a bus. I didn't even look at the destination on the front of it; I just had to get out. To where, it didn't matter. Which was how I ended up here." Edited! Oh yes.

"You gave me freedom at a price/Another neon sacrifice" This came out a lot darker than I intended. But I'm quite proud of the metaphors...R+R please

"My broken whore, angel of sin- a dark poem written when I heard a phrase which stuck in my head and depressed me all day. Very dark.

Solemn one-by-one we sweep Into the sombre hall...

A short piece from the POV of a soldier during the First World War. Please read, I'm proud of it!

A poem about being ignored by people in charge. Here, it's school. But really it could be anywhere. Read and review, please.

Just a little poem about walking along the beach in the evening and seeing what the day has left behind.