Waiting for You

This world wasn’t meant for the weak, but am I really that strong?

I see you in another land with a pink smile and shining eyes, but is that really you in there?

Sitting in my room with mould on the walls and a cold chill that seeps through, I’m reminded of poverty.

Yet, when I look out the window I see the highlands calling. The streams and mountains call from somewhere ancient to tell me it will be alright.

As I look at the mirror black, I see a face I barely recognise staring back;
yet there’s familiarity in those eyes and in those lips.

Undecided yet hopeful, I run outside and towards the hills.

It’s not awful to run, but the sky is so beautiful and grey today.

I wonder when you’ll find me standing by a bin in some random street waiting to touch you again.

Thinking of You

You said my name each time I came back to you. I always came back to you, but you always tried to save me.
Now, as the pristine sun sets on 2018, I’m reminded of your words.
I’m reminded of my own name, which I dare not speak or utter.
Should I be myself, or is it just a word?
I’m sure you would know, but your in the clouds and I’m down here calling to you.

Ourselves

A crisp lightness fills the spaces and brings a glimpse of spring to the winter day. I have nothing but you and my pain, which sets my mind racing.

A flimsy love between two independent souls, both longing for the rain to wash their sadness clean; two souls haunted by fear of failure, of not being the favoured child, of living with selves harder on themselves than any other person.

If money was not required in this capitalistic hell, we would be free to be ourselves.

I’m on the train now going to ruin my life again, but I have you through the ages; you and me against the world, ready to live once again.