Life

From the moment we are born

We're all in a race.

And the prize that we get at the end?

Its to depart this place 

To where though? I have No idea.

Heaven, if you believe

Or if you've been a bit of a shit

Hell will give you no reprieve.

But if you're like me and don't believe

That there's an almighty god

Then were do we go, what happens to us

When we're under the sod?

Was there really no point to this whole life? 

Is that really the just end?

Do we just simply stop existing

And become a long lost friend?

Life is a terminal disease

Along the course of life there'll be highs,

And some painfully crushing lows.

There'll be things you happily tell the world

And other things that no one knows

About yourself, your feelings,

Or about your inner fears.

About the times you sat alone

and shed your private tears

If you're lucky enough that you were born

Into a life that's known love and caring

Then this seemingly pointless race to the grave

Can be okay, be good, be worth sharing

Just share it with the one you love

The one who truly makes you smile.

The one who when you need a hug,

Is the first number you dial 

This life is short, of that I'm sure

There's no cure for its obvious goal

So spend as much of it as you possibly can

With the one who makes you a whole.

Because sadly, life is a terminal disease

Sub standard

Slightly damaged goods,

Shop soiled.

Not quite as described,

Embroiled 

In a world inside his head

Were nothing's as it seems

Were every waking moment

Feels like a really weird dream

A few cards short of a full deck,

And all of his cards are marked.

Not quite sure what the big plan was

When this life he embarked.

But quite sure that it wasn't this, 

This wasn't his life's goal.

To feel that every day is another

Nail right though his soul

At an age where he should be

Quite content with his lot.

He feels the seams are tearing daily 

And happy he is not

Medication takes off the edge

And most days that is fine.

And if all else fails there's oblivion 

In a bottle or two of wine.

So is this it? Is this the way

That life is supposed to be?

Or is it just that this is who

I am, is this just me?

Asleep

Not my words, the lyrics of The Smiths "Asleep"

Sing me to sleep

Sing me to sleep

I'm tired and I

I want to go to bed

Sing me to sleep

Sing me to sleep

And then leave me alone

Don't try to wake me in the morning

'Cause I will be gone

Don't feel bad for me

I want you to know

Deep in the cell of my heart

I will feel so glad to go

Sing me to sleep

Sing me to sleep

I don't want to wake up

On my own anymore

Sing to me

Sing to me

I don't want to wake up

On my own anymore

Don't feel bad for me

I want you to know

Deep in the cell of my heart

I really want to go

There is another world

There is a better world

Well, there must be

Well, there must be

Well, there must be

Well, there must be

Well...

Bye bye

Bye bye

Bye...

A potter without clay

Just when I have reached a point

At which I'm feeling stable

Life sits me down and yet again

I'm on the wobbly table!

I'm ill, there's something wrong with me.

My boss would argue though,

Apparently "it's in my head"

But it's my body and I know!

I've a hernia, that has been confirmed

But that's not why I'm ill.

There's something else I'm sure of it 

And frankly I've had my fill.

In a week where my respect,

For my boss ebbed away,

So in tandem did my mental state

Now I'm the potter with no clay.

I want to be a healthy me

Physically and mentally too

But I can't help the physical

And the mental issues have staged a coup

Pounced upon my weakness'

My pressures and ill health .

Marched back in to take the throne

Stripping me of mental wealth 

The coffers now completely empty,

My resolve stores are all bare.

And there are really few who'll notice this

Even fewer who will really care.

Sometimes I want to close my eyes

And be gone, be whisked away.

To find a peace and health to boot

Without a massive price to pay.

But I'm average, not a special man

Round every corner there's one of me.

Replaceable and dispensable 

Not remarkable, ordinary.

Trying my best to be just me

And hoping it's enough

And failing miserably realising,

That life is really tough.

My skin it seems is way too thin

And my body's laid down arms.

Decided not to defend its self

And my Self esteem self harms!

Tomorrow is another day

I hope it's better than today.

For now ill sleep, recharge the body

Hope the darkness goes away.

And hope tomorrow dawns with hope

Not dread, despair and tears

I'm ready now if god is listening,

I've been waiting nigh on 40 years.

Not my own

The writing of Patrick MacGill from 1916. Found in the pages of autobiography by Morrissey.

Over the top is cold, matey

You lie on the field alone.

Didn't I love you of old, matey

Dearer than the blood of my own.

You were my dearest chum, matey

(Gawd! But your face is white)

But now though reliefs have come, matey,

I'm goin' alone tonight.

I'd sooner the bullet was mine, matey

Goin' out on my own,

Leaving you 'ere on the line, matey

All by yourself, alone.

Chum o' mine and you're dead, matey

And this is the way we part.

The bullet went through your head, matey

But Gawd! It went through my 'eart

Clouds in my mind

The sun comes out

But in my mind the clouds are fully formed

The cold and negative way I feel 

Is a place that can't be warmed

And though I have the support

And love from people who I know care,

Sometimes I can't blow the clouds away

And the pain is hard to bear

If only I believed in me 

The way that others do.

Instead of the self doubt and crippling fear

Traits I have but which I rue

One day it's just a maybe but,

Ill look in the mirror and see, 

A confident man with self belief

Staring right back at me.

For now this mess I call my mind

And all the crap it's amassed,

I hope will find good weather soon

And the clouds will Have finally passed,

Why?

Why is it I only write
when I am feeling down?

It's never written with a smile

always a grimace or a frown

I'd love to have a creative urge

when hopelessness hadn't took hold.

and talk about the positives,

and not the negatives in bold

Why do I not talk about 

the joy that music brings?

the beauty of a chilly morning

as winter turns to spring

Why do I never just stand still

and take in all of life's beauty?

instead life is just passing by

it seems to ignore it is my duty.

There are some people in my life

who make me glad to be alive.

When i'm with them life is easy

no need to struggle or to strive

The world with them seems simple 

because then it all makes sense.

I only have to be myself, 

no front and no pretence

When i feel happy & contented,

Answers I no longer seek

and on to paper my creative juice

just doesn't want to leak

It doesn't mean I don't see the beauty

or appreciate whats good

It just seems I have more to say

when I am spilling blood.

My life compared to many I know

is rich and when i'm dead

most people will not know the pain

and the demons in my head

Those that do, a select few

I trusted enough to tell

I'm sure they didn't all understand

but they helped me to stay well.

And to those very special ones

who read these lines when I am blue,

know who I am and are always there

I couldn't function without you

So please my friends don't be too scared,

if my thoughts seem dark or on the brink.

I write them down to help me cope, 

leave them here then I can think.

The creativity I talked about

its more cleansing and it helps me

that's why I only write when i'm down

I leave things here and i'm free.