Forgotten

Eventually
The day will come
When
You are thought of
For the last time

When
All evidence
Of your existence
Has vanished

When
Even your descendants
Have forgotten
Your name

When
Every atom
Of your body
Has been recycled

Then
All that will persist
Of you
Will be the subtle impact
Of your brief touch
Upon the collective consciousness
Of humanity

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

How Is It?

How is it
That all I get
For all my time
Is so little money?

---

This poem is from the book Wage Slave, The Unpaid Overtime Edition

Maybe

If I sit here
Long enough
Maybe
I’ll have the strength
To stand

---

This poem is from the book Wage Slave, The Unpaid Overtime Edition

Sorry My Boy

Sorry my boy
I’ve got something to do
And unfortunately
It doesn’t involve you

Sorry my boy
I don’t have the time to chat
I’m too busy
But you know that

Sorry my boy
I can’t play right now
There is too much on
I’ve done as much as my schedule will allow

Hey my boy
I’m finally free
Want to hang out
Just you and me?

Sorry my dad
I’ve got too much on
With my work and my mates
My time is all gone

---

This poem is from the book Wage Slave, The Unpaid Overtime Edition

capitalistic desire

here’s to the capitalistic desire
to sacrifice our lives
in order to have the
most fancy coffin
just to flex on
our friends
that we didn’t have time for
and to afford a headstone
chiselled with a quote
espousing the value
of hard work
and dedication
to something beyond ourselves
that no one will read

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

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This Day Is About To End

This day is about to end
It’s almost time to do it again
To pretend you’ve got reasons to attend
To trade time for the stuff you can spend
Five days then a weekend
Repeated without the chance to ascend
No chance to transcend
No bonus dividend
No time to mend the relationship with a friend
Just a life you barely comprehend
Attempting not to offend
Attempting not to condescend
Working on autopilot until you expend
Look at that, it’s year’s-end
Nothing of worth penned
Nothing of worth to recommend
Just an overspend on the new trend
A backbend in lieu of a godsend
How will you fend
When you have no meaning to contend
No higher force on which to depend?
I don’t mean to offend
But this day is about to end
And unless you want to do it all again
There’s some things that you should attend

---

This poem is from the book Wage Slave, The Unpaid Overtime Edition

Abyss

Slowly
Gently
I realise
I am falling
Into the abyss
That I created

Why can’t you hear my silent screaming?

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

A System Of Inequality

We live
In a system
Of inequality

So utterly brainwashed
Into believing our failures
Stem from inability
To operate within the system
Not the system itself

But what choice do we have?

Who are we
To question
The very system
That raised us?
That fed us?
That educated us?

How can we possibly
Step outside
The paradigm
Of our reality?

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

A Moment That Will Never Come

It feels like
I’ve been preparing
My entire life
For a moment that will never come 

My body is tense
My mind is sharp
Yet I have nothing to do
With such focus

There is no enemy to fight
No emergency to survive
No monumental struggle to overcome
Nothing other than this day
And the next and the one after that

What glory is there to be found
In the daily grind?

How can I be proud of defeating
The mere anxiety of surviving the moment?

. . .

I crave catastrophe
And ache for the apocalypse

Not as a nihilist
But as a person without purpose

There’s little joy to be found in a job
Creating just to consume
Producing just to procreate
Done daily until death

I am a man without meaning
Readying myself for revelation

When survival isn’t assured life is serious
The useless artefacts will fall away
What actually matters will materialise
Focus will be forced towards functionality
Distracting decadences will be discarded
Leaving nothing but the struggle of life

Perhaps then I’ll find real purpose
Maybe existence will feel equanimous

. . .

How privileged
Am I
To lament
The ease of my life

I am blessed
To have never seen war
Or suffering

I am blessed
Yet that blessing
Feels like a curse of meaning

Without an enemy to fight
Without an obstacle to overcome
All this feels dulled
Life feels like a shadow
A mockery of everything I was promised

Thus I create my own demons
Faceless oppressors
That cannot be seen
Or overcome

Then I cry about my problems
Like they actually exist
Writing angsty poems
From a place of privilege

. . .

As a child
I learnt
Vigilance

To survive
I slept light
A knife under my pillow
Waiting for an attack

That attack never came
But I still sleep light
And have made my body into a weapon

I am still vigilant
Waiting for the attack
That will never come

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken

Sacrifices

I wonder if
On the day I finally
‘Make it’
I will regret
The sacrifices
It took
To get there

---

This poem is from the book A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken