The Scientist

"The experiment worked!" The scientist said, he looked at his fellow colleges who just nodded their heads. They did what they were told, and if the scientist was happy, so were they. That's how the system worked. And that's how it'll stay. It wasn't long before another situation arrived, all hands on deck, all sleep deprived. "It's time to get that engine rolling again!" The scientist bellowed, so loud the lab shook, and nearly broke the fragile glass below. The colleges obeyed and turned on the system, reading to observe the new mission, impossible situation rolling on the screen like a documentry film. It featured, as always, a twisted play, must like the ones you see today. But the ones you see are the ones on screen, the ones you'd pay to watch at eighteen.But this game wasn't just for fun, it was an experiment. That's what the scientist said, so that was what it was. This was the lab inside the head, of a mind that was never fed, learning for a mad cause.

Hanging on words that no longer rhyme.

So there I was.
Standing.
Just waiting.
Listening. Hoping. Longing;
For its voice to return,
To a familiar tone.
Not the angry one
That was displayed in front of me.
But all there was
Were thorny vines,
Creeping. Surrounding. Binding.
Wrapping around my insides,
Like a poisonous snake,
It’s words leaking into my veins,
Like a foul dye emptied into water.
Every new sentence
Began with an uglier word,
Distant. Cold. Heartless.
Is what they wanted to say.
But that isn’t what they said.

Stone stares with blank face,

Blackbirds tweet it's usual phrase.
No meaning in the song,
Just an intention to make the photograph
A forgotten memory.
She’s not like that, anymore. Anymore.

The Desk III - My Garden

I sit at my desk and look out through the window.
It is getting a little dusty.
Through the glass, I see the old garden I grew up with,
But the Anderson shelter is no longer at the end,
And there is another plastic greenhouse,
Rattling in the wind.
I think to myself,
If my life were a garden,
What would it be?
Would it have flowers,
And trees that blossomed,
Would it have leaves,
Left on the ground, forgotten?
Would it have an orange slide,
Or a broken swing?
Would it have a kite,
That would fly
Without string?

Generous warmth, sick heart

Cold hands hover over
An everlasting fire
and glow

Defeated is the darkness,
that surrounds the night.
destroyed by the embers
That burn bright

Yet I turn to the bars
of a prison cell
Forgetting the open door
In front of me.

I am in two worlds
My fabric has been ripped
into two pieces
Sitting in each dimension
Unware of it's other half.

A Wonderful Pair of Silver-blue Eyes

There was once a boy of fourteen,

Standing by the road

Watching leaves chase his feet,

As they ride the April wind.

For a moment, he becomes alone,

Blossom settles onto the ground,

And inside the hood of his favourite coat.

His silver-blue eyes watching the world,

From where he stood.

In the distance, the faint sound of engines

snorting fumes on the main road,

And the seagulls yelling irregular tunes

To the cloudy sky; of which was of a grey melody.

But his smile was warm,

His bright eyes forever shining,

For there was the most beautiful song,

Singing inside his heart.

The Happiness Machine

To calculate your overall happiness, you take out a few counters from The Box. Lets say... A yellow counter for happiness, and a black counter for sadness. Now depending on what kind of mood you are in, affects the currency exchange rate, but lets say you're feeling quite neutral right now, so each black counter is minus one, and each happiness counter is plus one. After picking out several counters from the box, you realise you're on a minus number. All your worries and fears have been drawn out from The Box, and they stare back at you coldly. You'll want to add more yellow counters because happiness is a good thing right? So you try and reflect upon the good things - almost desperately to get to '0' or a plus number. Sometimes this is quite difficult, and sometimes you count the black counters as minus two or three, because you feel quite sad.

But no matter your calculation, you don't have to stand by it. When have numbers or math ever served you in a light-hearted conversation with your friends, or the feeling of warmth - either from the sun or just simply from a smile? Take a break from fighting the world, and make your own personal revolution. Break free from sitting in that dark room and counting... And make your own rules to happiness.

The Desk II

I have been sitting down for a while now on my dull yellow chair, my hands stretched into a mellow chord on the keyboard in front of me, yet no music plays; the power had long since been told off. Clouds gather in the window, it's waning light highlighting particular objects on my desk such as the pile of paper to my right, and the open drawers full of clothes that hang half in, half out. I know somewhere in my room, my bin should have been emptied out weeks ago, used tissues most likely have a life of their own by now. I decide to empty the bin out tomorrow, and maybe even dust the desk too. Time had been and passed, and evidence stacks in layers within the corners and between the unreturned letters. Is this loneliness, I question myself, while realising that a significant amount of time had past since my last reflection, an old rail ticket sits in my hands. I smile to myself, perhaps somewhat insanely, and think that I am much more of a person when I am with my friends, so much so that perhaps I am less of a person when I am alone. Maybe, I have playing along for too long, that somewhere in the dust is the remains of myself. This idea is far from the belief that I am selfless, no. I am very selfish. I guess that is how I use people, I have forgotten who I am, and the only way I remember is through my friends. Fragments of myself discovered through conversation, no single friend knowing the whole 'me'. I want to laugh, this dark thought is a little bit silly, I know, I understand that well; yet some part of me seems charmed by the whole idea of losing myself, perhaps I am mad already, or I have been alone for too long there simply has never been a single 'self'. Now that sounds insane all right! I may have laughed at this point, I don't know. I doubt I'd even want a single friend to know 'all of me', so I decide that this entire trail of thought is ridiculous. I return back to reality, my arms are now spread out across the keys before me and let out a sharp wail. I must have turned the keyboard back on at some point, I turn the power off again. I have been sitting at this desk for too long.