20something n going no where

Wishes of the young always take flight
Through a cloudless sky, ample and bright
But age and living will cloud the mind
The quest for more, which we’ll never find
Like when the day is no longer young
Advertisement billboards block the sun
And the scene is set, artificial night
Where no wind can give our wishes flight

I have a massive and slightly obsessive urge. I want this so bad it hurts and my stomach feels indecisive...heavy, yet hollow and empty. I want to leave the house, through the front door, wearing my dressing gown with the hood up. I want to walk through the dark streets in my area, casting shadows when I pass a street light. I want to be introverted, in a trance, almost to a point where it would seem like a challenge to be dragged back to the harshness of reality. I want to do this, placing one foot in front of the other in a robotic, monotonous motion whilst I let my feelings swarm over me, cloud my eyes and sink my lips. I want passers by to mumble quietly to their companions that I 'don’t look so good'. I want to shuffle away to a place where I spent joyful younger years. I want to get in the middle of my chosen place, let the memories wash over me and shudder with violent spasms of nostalgia. I want to feel all the uncertainty and indecisiveness climbing up towards the surface. I want to feel it, like a lump rising, gathering pace, growing like a snowball rolling, making my face twitch. I want to release it with every fibre of my being. Oh, sweet cathartic joy! I want it to tear my throat and make my voice hoarse. I want it to burst blood vessels as I throw it forward with every furious ounce of energy I have. I want to scream so loud with anguish that my younger self hears the warning and the dread of uncertainty in the air. I want my piercing howl to raise the, fair hairs on the back of his young neck. I want to do this until I am down on my knees, crying with the effort. I don’t want to be frowned upon, or thought mad, for doing this. I don't want to be sectioned and drugged until all of the surrounding grey concrete and cold blue steel becomes acceptable again. It isn't right. I vaguely remember colours, smells and elements. I think I remember misty winter mornings, the gentle crunch of frost under boot as I run to school, skidding in the patches of ice. I distantly remember lush, green spring mornings, where the dew from the vibrant grass would seep into my shoe, pass swiftly through my sock and soak my foot. The scent of a heavy shower looming nearer and daffodils and daisy's all around. This was life, there was colour. I want to scream until my guts flow out of my mouth and I spew bodily paint over the concrete and cold steel. My prison is my canvas. This whole city is my prison. Penned in by greys and blues. A man-made, overcast, grey sky. The elite do this because the sun causes irrational emotion, they want our senses to be neutralised. If the environment surrounding us fails to do this they bring the drugs. They come at night. Cloaked in black, needles drawn. Injecting grey fluid into our red bloodstream. No colour is allowed anywhere! But I harbour a secret; I cling to it at all hours of the meaningless day and lay awake in the night nurturing it. The drugs are becoming less effective. Each time I am drugged its effects are leaving me quicker and quicker. The greys and blues are cracking...but so am I. It's a race against time. I have to find a way out before I am taken. That’s what it’s called people 'disappear', which is something they do when they show too much emotion. I'm on a knife edge. I want to scream, but I must remain silent. I yearn to rip down the grey structures and tear through the blue steel, but I must remain dormant. A sleeping volcano waiting to scream. I will erupt, I will spill red liquid over this city and I will dance in the lifeblood spilt.

It was inevitable that it would end up this way. When the economy crashed our way of life crashed with it. Jobs became an immense rarity and people would do anything to get one. The way mantis babies will eat each other if food supply is low. When people realised that there wasn’t enough jobs the riots started. They were small at first, but eventually thousands of people would be involved in each riot. Then came the white horseman of the apocalypse…disease. He rode in on his demonic steed leaving a deadly trail of influenza that there were no vaccines for. Millions of people were dead and dying, and then it happened…the truth came out. An insider who was working for the banking cartel admitted to helping engineer the influenza. It was grown in labs, by men in white coats…the white horseman. They infected as many as they possibly could. Our water supply was riddled with the disease, airplanes dropped it onto cities from above, it was released through air conditioning and the worst, most hideous crime of all…it was sold to the public in the belief that it was a vaccine. People had to pay to receive what they thought was there salvation, it turned out that they were been injected with the disease. All of this was done behind the governments back and when they tried to stop it its own armies turned on them. In every country in the world the governments and monarchies were killed off. It was the world banks who paid the soldiers….and like everything else in the old days, money talked. Those that survived tried to fight, but the soldiers dressed in black were superior, both in tactics and in technologies. People were rounded up in the middle of the night, put on buses, transferred to trains and then moved to ‘camps’. We, the survivors, remained in these camps for years, only being let out when it was our time to work. The work we did was to help build the bankers new worlds for them. The grey/blue cities we were stuck in. We were forced to build our own prisons. No one knew who the bankers were, where lived, what they looked like…anything. They weren’t the vain leaders of political parties and monarchs that people were used to. They stayed in the shadows, they spoke to us through speaker systems and their word was law. People tried to fight back, to escape, some people tried to look for shreds of humanity in the soldiers, this was futile…status steals peoples souls more so than money. The soldiers drank in their power and quenched their parched throats. For too long the public had hated soldiers for fighting unjust wars, this was their revenge. Those who fought died. Their screams were our bible and our religion was acceptance.

I have a massive and slightly obssessive urge. I want this so bad it hurts and my stomach feels indecisive...heavy, yet hollow and empty. I want to leave the house, through the front door, wearing my dressing gown with the hood up. I want to walk through the dark streets in my area, casting shadows when i pass a street light. I want to be introverted, in a trance, almost to a point where it would seem like a challenge to be dragged back to the harshness of reality. I want to do this, placing one foot in front of the other in a robotic, monotonous motion whilst i let my feelings swarm over me, cloud my eyes and sink my lips. I want passers by to mumble quietly to their companions that i 'dont look so good'. I want to shuffle away to a place where i spent joyful youngers years. I want to get in the middle of my chosen place, let the memories wash over me and shudder with violent spasms of nostalgia. I want to feel all the uncertainty and indecisiveness climbing up towards the surface. I want to feel it, like a lump rising, gathering pace, growing like a snowball rolling, making my face twitch. I want to release it with every fibre of my being, cathartic joy! I want it to tear my throat and make my voice hoarse. I want it to burst blood vessels as i throw it forward with every furious ounce of energy i have. I want to scream so loud with anguish that my younger self hears the warning and the dread of uncertainty in the air. I want to do this until i am down on my knees, crying with the effort. I dont want to be frowned upon, or thought mad, for doing this.

This first year of uni has flown by! It feels strange packing up my room, lots of souveniers from an action packed and emotional first year! An amazing year to be honest, feels sad to be leaving my room. Especially knowing that someone else will be enjoying it next year, i will have to come back and see who the new person is

Sick with nostalgia I vomit the past
Sifting through memories I desire to last
But sensing freedom they flee in the night
on the wings of moths they seek out the light
spreading like locusts as moses foretold
they block out my sun and leave my life cold
As i scurry away, under a rock
a new face moves in, where i horded my stock.

And as she turned out the light, she had no choice but to fill the dawn with the dull ache of reality. Now i crawl from my lair, put out my feelers, long for the past and grasp for the future. Though like mist at dawn it creeps through my fingers, so i sit with my head buried in work.

Lost and lazy, stargazer.
Sits on a shelf
green with envy
of the bygone self.

Lost and lazy stargazer
sits on the shelf
green with envy
of the bygone self

London was burning, in a bygone time
Not so now, the flood is here
A city swimming, drenched in crime
...and the weak drown in fear.

Discontent creeps in, alongside mistrust
Cos when the top rains down
the sturdy framework, begins to rust
A penny for a frown...

...the bankers would scream, this was their decree
so Guy Fawkes please return
The bankers mantra's shared by the MP
...so old Guy, let it burn!

Hard of hearing, with failing eyes
& numb throughout my temper flies
with flailing wings it hits the floor
left behind. I crawl for the door
but once escaped & once set free
back insides where i long to be
broken judgement and clouded mind
a once great deal left unsigned
words not spoken, feelings kept in
brings the silence, that heavy din
of a far off laugh heard before
from that old room
across the corridor.

Once upon a time there was a great wolf, who lived in the city. He was very successful, very strong, very clever and very rich. All of these things are important because living in the big, wild and untamed city can be extremely dangerous at times. He was regarded by most other wolves as the most successful in the city and they regarded him with eyes of green! He was looked upon by most of the girls with eyes that were hungry.
But this did not bother the wolf; he only had eyes for one girl. The wolf didn’t know her name, so he just called her Little Red Hood (on account of the red sports coat she always wore, with the hood up). The great wolf knew that Little Red Hood had to walk through a very wild and untamed area of the city at night to visit her Grandma; this was the key to his plan. He thought that because he was so big and strong that the girl would want him to walk her to Grandma’s so that she felt safe. With this in mind he strolled up to the girl on the threshold of the ghetto and said: “I’ve watched you before and I know you have to walk through a very dangerous place, would you like me to accompany you?”
The girl looked astounded “Bugger off! You pervert! Why have you been watching me?” She replied, for she was a modern girl and well aware of dangers and how to combat them. And after saying this she began walking off.
Now it was the wolf’s turn to be astounded, he stood gaping as she walked off. After a few steps the girl turned around and looked at him, he thought that maybe all hope was not lost. This however was proven to be false as the girl shouted a warning: “And be careful on your way back Mr Wolf, down that path there is drug addicts who have dirty needles and down the other path there is a gang with knives. Choose carefully.”
The wolf, heart broken and in no mood for dangerous adventures had called a taxi to take him home. Already his broken heart had cost him, and it was going to cost him a lot more too. Every night for a week he went back to the same spot on the threshold and never once did he get to cross the threshold with her. After 7 days of trying he was driven to despair! He started missing work because he didn’t want to get out of bed, he stopped eating because he was always love sick, he stopped exercising because he had no motivation and he stopped thinking because it hurt so much to think. A woman in love with him had once remarked to him: “What nice nails you have!”
“All the better to grasp opportunities with.” He replied. His nails were now dirty and weak.
“What big shoulders you have!”
“Indeed, they can carry the weight of the world with ease.” They were now struggling to carry the weight of his downcast head.
“What calculating eyes you have!”
“They help me see opportunities.” They now saw nothing due to been constantly clouded over and filled with tears.
“What big nostrils you have!”
“The better to smell the success with.” Now all they smelt was his own body odour due to not showering. And all that those big ears were hearing now was power ballads. The wolf was indeed broken. On the 30th day of been heart broken he was fired from work, on the 31st he was evicted from his penthouse and on the 32nd day of heart ache he finally got to cross the threshold. Though not with Little Red Riding Hood, he crossed it on his own as he had to live on the streets in the ghetto for the rest of his days.
He eventually got over his broken heart, but never regained his place and status in society; the city is a very unforgiving place after all.

Studied the environment lately and it just makes me desire a life in the country even more so, and also to travel the world, to see amazing sights before they are torn and ripped and turned into buildings. 'Great' cities, such as London. Culture but no heart, activity with no excitement and interaction with no passion.

Mother Earth

Cars, as tears, make haste to trace
Roads, as wrinkles, which line thy face
and men, with crosses, anger thee
crediting god, for your beauty
and they close your legs to us all
make us pay to answer your call
you are tamed, shamed and made to whore
where bouncers in green guard your door
your bright hair, in which we'd play
aged so sudden, turned to grey
cement and concrete reach the sky,
as nameless grey suits heave a sigh
and your sweet, fresh, natural breath
turns to smog, a stifling death.