2024 Knocked on My Door and some poems for friends
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2024 Knocked on my Door 2023 Came and went Spent In Glasgow’s Deep lament A boy in red From Inverness He said Beckoning again For another attempt at betterment Flowing from my arms, to my legs and then back to my head A rollercoaster has been thread Into my skeleton and cerebellum Coasting rigidly Overriding my reasoning Prancing down my spinal cord Eliciting sensory overload Next to my tight, lonely soul What is better? How can I be better? My structure’s impoverished A fast handiwork construction Running on a drip of digital detritus Fed through tubes and synapses I’m a technicolour tent A carnival of nootropic contempt Bustling and bristling Then smouldering pathetically My chronology merely increasing There's a clock is ticking Deep inside Withering eyes, muscles, mind Doors closing Avenues narrowing Crushing and smothering Brittle bones down a pin-head hole I’m dying It’s fascinating The ease of simply existing The tightening noose of ageing It’s the feeling Which reminds me of just how fleeting This all is
2024 Knocked on My Door and some poems for friends
2024 Knocked on My Door and some poems for…
2024 Knocked on My Door and some poems for friends
2024 Knocked on my Door 2023 Came and went Spent In Glasgow’s Deep lament A boy in red From Inverness He said Beckoning again For another attempt at betterment Flowing from my arms, to my legs and then back to my head A rollercoaster has been thread Into my skeleton and cerebellum Coasting rigidly Overriding my reasoning Prancing down my spinal cord Eliciting sensory overload Next to my tight, lonely soul What is better? How can I be better? My structure’s impoverished A fast handiwork construction Running on a drip of digital detritus Fed through tubes and synapses I’m a technicolour tent A carnival of nootropic contempt Bustling and bristling Then smouldering pathetically My chronology merely increasing There's a clock is ticking Deep inside Withering eyes, muscles, mind Doors closing Avenues narrowing Crushing and smothering Brittle bones down a pin-head hole I’m dying It’s fascinating The ease of simply existing The tightening noose of ageing It’s the feeling Which reminds me of just how fleeting This all is