Raincloud

After two nights out of his own bed, the young boy could be forgiven for falling asleep almost instantly, the very thing could be considered the appropriate act to follow his bedside light's extinguishment, and yet he lies, eyes wide and alert. He tried hard in the evening, and succeeded but for the consumption one Cadburys Hero, to steer himself from doing anything which would later prevent his eyelids from shutting when he was supposed to shut them.

The rain pounds the window outside, a sound he listens to closely as the rhythm might send him into a state of drowsiness too deep to recover from until 6:23am, the time of his alarm for school. He sighs once, twice, thrice, until his breathing becomes easy and measured, the sense of awareness becoming more remote as he gradually, and eventually descends into a dream which he will never remember...

(Sorry, got bored and sleepy, the boy is me and I am trying to find what he is finding. Goodnight!)

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Morning Glory

For a brief, blissful moment as I lie in bed, I truly believe the mattress to be my own. I squeeze my eyelids in an attempt to bring sleep back to my body, but the light which burns through them is just too loud to be ignored. Begrudgingly I allow the muscles on my face to relax and the room comes into sight through a blurry crack and it doesn't take long to realize that the chipped red paint n the wall which is inches from my face is far from the sky blue wallpaper of my own room.

Out of Juice

For once in my life the unthinkable has occurred: the battery in my iPod has been reduced to zero, and I am trapped on this sweltering excuse for a bus being forced to listen to the idle chitchat of local Ned population. I suppose it is my own fault for not sticking the bloody thing on charge, but all this "manually manage music" thing to prevent my computer crashing every single time I plug it in is really messing with my of system of leaving it for ten hours for it to sync itself automatically.

The sickly smell of freshly caught fish fills my nostrils as I try to block out the stories told by the people it disgusts me to call my peers, cringing as I hear about various gropings and the passing around of STI's between their friends. I sigh, thinking how I could have been saved from these horrifying images which now plague my gentle mind, if only I were from somewhere else, unable to understand their thick Methil accents.

I am only able to survive the last stretch of the journey alongside these people who believe that the firth of forth is a site or volcanos and insist upon mutilating some of my favourite songs with their whiny voices, with the knowledge that the most beautiful girl I know will be awaiting me as I get off.

Five more minutes until freedom.

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I've lost my compass, can I borrow that map?

There are a multitude of things in the world which make me happy, and I often dwell upon them in the hope that I can hold on to the elation they fill me with, but inevitably I fan never hold on to them for very long. I have tried to enjoy the beach and the vastness of the ocean as it blends into the horizon, but on any summers day I can only draw happiness for so long before doubts creep into the corners of my mind

In a world filled so infinitely with people how can I ever hope to achieve anything of significance? Surely it is impossible to make an impact on something so wide and I should just focus on my immediate future and surroundings. Alas, I cannot see it this way. I over think to the point where I lose my way, as I have suddenly done now.

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Falling

I
Am
Not
What
I
Am,
Nor
What
I

Think

I
Should
Be,
And
Soon
I
End
Up
Crashing
Down,
Without
A
Hand
To
Catch
Me
.
.
.
.
.

.

?

Blurred Vision

Ode to drinking

"I know not where I'm going,
Nor the place from which I left,
My memory has been ransacked,
In the cruelest possible theft.

His first act was to feed me,
A liquor so divine,
And then he reached inside the clock,
To turn the hands of time.

Minutes felt like seconds,
And seconds felt like days,
At once he had succeeded
To put me in a daze.

I know not what has happened,
But it did not go as planned,
And now I stumble frantically,
With blood upon my hands.

I feel no cuts or bruises,
Just the knowledge I should run,
But I know that I am spinning,
In a world that no one spun.

And he is left inside me,
The thief trying to break free,
I clutch my chest and start to wretch,
As the poison tries to flee.

I know I won't remember,
I hope I never will,
But one thing that I do know,
Is that I'll never let it spill.

Not a drop shall touch my throat again,
Now I know it's plan,
I don't want to feel like this,
I no longer think I can.

So let this be a warning,
That booze will draw its sword,
At first it lets you play with it,
But it will maim you afterward.

I know not where I'm going,
The place I left is out of sight,
But I know I'll never drink again,
Until tomorrow night."

Again, a bit scattered, but I'm hungover and I wrote half of this walking about Sainsburies, so frankly I don't care - except maybe the penultimate stanza, that one is making me queasy and my rhyming of days with daze, but it's all I got!

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A Place to Hide

(A short story by me, age 14 - ignore spelling/grammar errors!)

   My name is Abel, and I am twelve years old, living in Kraków, Poland. My life used to be normal and simplistic, but as of late, life has become somewhat frightening. It all began about two weeks ago when my family were forced to leave our home by the German soldiers, who had control over our country, and put in cramped housing in a small part of the capital, living with thousands of other people. We barely have space to live.

   On the first day of our arrival into our new ‘home’ we were made to go through a sorting desk to see where we would live. We stood in a queue for several hours, waiting until we would reach the desk where our fate would be decided.

Searching for the Hows and Whys...

Introduction

My mind is quickly flowing,
Through the holes which line its edge,
Leaving nothing but the rhythm,
Through which daily I must dredge.

My quest for something more than
What makes up my boring life,
The search to find fulfillment,
To escape this jacket in which I writhe.

I know it may sound angsty
But for once I feel I must,
I need to find a way to speak,
A way which garners trust.

I long to tell my stories,
What goes on in my head,
Find a voice to express myself,
And leave me not un-bled.

I need to spill my secrets,
Things which I must hide,
The parts of this which leave me,
Stuck inside my mind.

Prick your ears and hear me roar,
Or my world will go unseen,
And I will drown and leave you,
With thoughts of what could have been.

You could be my lifeboat,
Protect me from the storm,
I need someone to save me,
From the person I was born.

I ask you not for money,
Nor for too much time,
Just an ear lent to my ramblings,
A tiny little sign,

That why I do is not in vain,
I am not left to rot,
I want to leave impression,
To never be forgot."

I wrote this right now whilst sitting in a café, so hold that in consideration as you read my poem. It is rough and I wrote it quickly, but I hope you get my point.

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