By VaadMyst Morning oozes with pus — I lie crippled by weakness, Twisting in bed, crying amid dead dreams. Under depression’s whisper, dawn proclaims despair, From the filth of being — poison seeps into my blood. Time doesn’t heal. The past still rots inside, Under the shroud of loneliness, my strength dried out, feeding necrosis. The awareness of joyless life grows like mold, And depression’s whisper is sung by a ghostly choir. Crows scream, taking off in a devilish swarm, I

By The Mystical Bard of Eire Three score and ten! They say that is about what we get. I wonder about that sometimes. Who will follow in my footsteps? Everyone I have known seems to have gone away. Faded into the silence. It seems the silence is the only one who has stayed with me. But the silence is a great listener. Always there with me, hanging on each word I say. Never judgemental, just perhaps a little cold at times. And never seems to have any opinions. Sometimes I screa

By Alessandro Merendino I shiver by the South Quay Footbridge as if sucked into the dark river. Small ripples lap my shins. Jump! It says I could step into the gelid Thames a little boat with a weak lantern patrols the Wharf; its beam searches for me. I wink. I shiver by the river. The pounding in my lungs keeps time with gulls and sirens; ventilation fans roar. It makes me sick. Jump! It says Can I touch the oil-slick water? just for a moment i smell the sheer drop just for