Submissions by JamieCummins

the carpet in my room is blue,
it turns into a sea
the whiteness of my ceiling stares
a worried look at me.

and all the while - while waves arrive
and wash up on my feet
a burning light is shining bright
and burns a hole in me.

and then I look into the hole
the hole that's in my head
to see my ceiling open up
exposing me to air.

I breathe a breath long needed;
embrace the open air.

The plastic bag
Around my brain
Ripped open
From despair.

I hide behind the inky walls of my pen's creations. Where, I don't know.

Blood spots, ink blots
The pen writes in the blood of the brain, thin like a red worker ant's wiry legs, which are crippled from the strain of the weight of the leaves of life on the ant's back.

But the ant works on, and so does my pen, as I sit and wait and write, leaving microscopic momentos for ants who will never hear them, nor understand the bloody pages.

And so I hide behind my walls of opaque words and thoughts
and the metaphysical barrier of the pen which saves me from the...

I stared into a grey morbid sky,
fixated on stars and nebulae
cosmic artwork on a pitch canvas.
There was a darkness devouring it, engulfing creations.

Few bright supernovae penetrated this death, like eyes of a mollusc smothered in filthy dark oil from a wrecked tanker. I am a wrecked thinker.

Space exploration gave hope, light, destination. I have travelled through space, and where are the miracles I promised myself, the cure for hunger? Hunger is dead.
I am dead, covered in a cold, damp blanket of starless night.
The stars are dead. The eyes have...