Searching for answers through these pages of binary,
While my troubles become blurred with help of the winery.
But now my glass is empty and so are my hopes,
In moments like these I don’t know how anyone copes.
My loneliness is amplified with each stroke of the board.
The silence is deafening and can’t be ignored.
It all feels dramatic and I hate that about this.
I hide all the photos so I don’t reminisce.
Though my lips are sealed, my fingers are frantic;
Overthinking my actions and all the semantics.
So maybe it’s time I let these pixels rest,
Put a cork in it and hope for the best.
That’s not dust on the needle, this record is broken,
A repetitive loop of words already spoken.
St- st- stuck on the same old tune,
Echoing off the walls of this weathered tomb.
Carved in the rock are old lessons from friends,
Advice from the wiser in the hopes that I’ll mend.
Whitewashed with stubbornness, faded with age,
Clouded by the haze of my own silent rage.
Their logic seems sound when scrawled on the stone,
Yet the vinyl still clicks with that same whining tone.
The cave feels crowded with this incessant sound,
My mind gasping for air, begging not to be drowned.
I see a speck of sunlight guiding away from the echo,
Suffocating spaces pushing me to escape and just let go.
But my concrete feet fight frayed habits to stay,
Stuck in this cycle of my own groundhog day.
I can hear the birds chirping, counteracting my song,
A beat that’s been listed at number 1 for far too long.
How can I relax when my own mind lies to me?
Concocting a fiction that fuels this anxiety.
I know I shouldn’t panic, I should just stay calm,
But my brain still dances in the realms of self-harm.
A hummingbird heartbeat partnered with stilted breath,
Led by clustered emotions performing their own quick step.
My logic perches on a pedestal, just out of reach,
Staring down at me as I bumble through stuttered speech.
Trying to call out for some peace, call out for some help,
Wishing my lips could form the words my thoughts felt.
For now I’ll just sit, learning the rhythm, adding some rhyme,
Until this beat slows down and I can call my mind mine.
What has felt like an entire lifetime, has only been six years.
So with smiles and little ditties I hide away the tears.
Remembering all the good times, all the jokes and all the laughs,
We’ve skated down the corridors, we’ve screamed loud in the streets
We’ve broken into staffrooms and stolen all their treats.
But now it’s at an end and I’ll miss you (that’s no lie)
Just think of this as a chapter’s end and not as a sad goodbye.
I know a broken little robot that people dismiss as busted,
They criticise her functions and say she’s knackered, old and rusted.
They whisper about her circuit board and her aging cogs that squeak.
Her shiny cheeks do blush with rust as they spot her oil leaks.
But this doesn’t mean she’s over, it doesn’t mean she’s done,
As soon as she has her new wheels fitted, she’ll be off and on the run!
She’ll zoom right out that door without a thought of looking back,
Except with her newly fitted laser going zap, zap, zap, zap, zap!
I once knew a man, lost and with no real direction
Despite endless hours of mind numbing reflection.
So he typed up a list of all his talents and skills
To find a new job with some fun and some thrills.
Office-work was dull and numbers were boring
Not even financial databases could keep him from snoring.
He wanted adventure, something more than just ‘fine’
So he pulled out his face mask and became a master of crime!
He dabbled with burglary and breaking in to nice cars
Before a badly planned bank job, left him behind bars.
Now he’s left shackled, with his new friend Bubba
Who likes to stroke his soft hair and call him his Luvva…
She watches the minutes go passing by
As she leads them in with her click-clacking lie
They all think she’s lost in productive thought
But they’d soon think different if she got caught
Because hidden on her screen is just nonsense and fluff
A myriad of websites full of non-work related stuff
With furniture shopping and retriever puppies for sale
And maybe the occasional message from her favourite male
Still, there’s not long until she can stop with this show
At the tick of the clock there’s only 433 hours to go!
Her words were a medley of rambles and confusion.
She thought they made sense but it was all a delusion.
A lexicon of nonsense that tried to pretend to be sane,
but nothing could hide the crash– Bang– POP in her brain.
Many have tried but most have failed
to follow her illogical logical trail.
Sometimes it can be wordy and sometimes it might not,
it could go on for ages or it could suddenly —