A rebel without a clue.

Those forgotten happy thoughts And those elusive happy dreams That is the way out of this - I heard you say Or so it simply seems For those who can never see it I feel Glued to a simple seldom questioned singular thought. Alone? But I like alone: I think this yet reverse it often. Seams split and unpacking at extremes, truthfully. Can I tell? Why can't you taste this sourness? The body occupies a strip of land at the end of time, battered Assaulted without hesitation nor finger precious lingering This is 2014 so all falls foul and we are deeply mired souls Nightmares do guide; coming along this hideous way Death soon will lead me beyond the hatred in man. To think I actually thought I'd run away? But to find the truth ... And then return to rebuild Eden to discover only lies Antagonism of my self is the only result found Distraction doesn't come unstuck from the page Flames should burn it black and finally. Broken isn't...

Broken am I? Thinking not I ... Blank is last - Zero, I am. Not ready for what is next. Fear, so therefore can't leave. Waiting with loose bolt This final thing, anthing, A hand shakes and nerves hasten I can not do; more and more fail. No more chance; Is this the meaning of knowing? I flapped my wings too close This time with such descent Burned it beyond connecting true How nothing thou art, being! Why am I suicidal yesterday, today and tomorrow Eleven bells: are those deep breaths? Shallower now No joy for me means Inside a mist stretches my head A thick fog reaching over my thoughts. Dreams only disappear with a Cold cloaked foe leaning me Flat.

by Daniel J. Sherburn Written in May 2011. Part 1. Growing Monkey puzzle trees right, left and left again A solitary weeping willow Arranged like one hand caressing  the Eastgate/Quarryhill round-a-bout; Disused where once there were springs, fountains and a petrol pump. Travelling back towards Wetherby My mind has become unravelled Mind and I must venture there soon. A bus route forsaken dump Rambling bland 'To Let' bulldozed wastelands, Low rise warehousing with its padlocked shutters A Nissan flagship and another dozen flurried showrooms Stand shoulder to shoulder Out of place in a cheap rent part of Leeds. Where the very nature itself springs from the roofs of too often forgotten Victoriana: Tailors', Machinists' and Pressers' Trade Union on Cross Stamford Street. Coming loudly behind me on the bus The sound of second hand "r 'n' b", the damned Dumb and chav-youth music of distinction, Surpris...