Here in the garden where the birds sing soothing songs
A tap-a-tap of rainfall drums on windows in morse code
Each drop is harsh and salty upon the lips
Split by violent words, ravines traced by gentle touch
Oh, such delicate soul, a dandelion in the breeze
Reach the end of a dark path then pirouette one eighty degrees
Each bump and scrape addressed with a scorched iodine kiss
I don’t want to die, I only want to cease to exist
Here in the field, in the battle
Where the others scream and shout
I am quiet, I am voiceless
And I am slowly catching fire
A silent blaze
Rosemary for remembrance
Pansies for thoughts
Violets withered and pressed into a book of odds and sorts
An ornamental doll
Atop the pyre
Surveys the scene in fear of the likelihood of fire
For it’s never enough to reflect the beauty of the world
To speak softly with a pen that trembles upon the page
And it’s never enough to be taciturn and thoughtful
For every sideways glance prompts me to take the plunge
Find me face down in a stream of consciousness that drowns
Reeds and thickets to drag me to a cold, uncertain bed
It’ll douse the flames
Douse the silent blaze
I’m never enough
I can never be enough
Conscientious objector
Conscript to a reality I never agreed to be a part of
The sketch book is a manifesto
Of an imprisoned mind
Scraps of thoughts unvocalised
And left to hang in time
Revel in the unconscious
Perchance to dream at night
To fall upon the canvas
And stare up at the lights
I’m not angry I’m frustrated
I’m not mad I’m just me
Drag me from the river, drag me to the waiting pyre
Scold me for my demeanour

Chastise me for my ilk
But I’m just a person, I’m just me
I’m just me
Ornamental doll
Atop the pyre
Closes it’s eyes
And dreams of birdsong
Ornamental doll
Amongst the fire
Eyes firmly closed
Drenched in birdsong