Lost in the Desert

(Tom Pearce, Photographed by: Yours Truly)

Curiosity gets the better of us, a barbed fence away and we’re hand in hand running out in the open, 

Plains melting into the rockformations, feet melting into the plains.

Bees nests, prickly grass, snake holes, and not much else for miles,

Untouched by greed and unnecessary cruelty,

True civilization.

At the Sea

(Yours Truly, Photographed by: Tom Pearce)

Watch me tightrope walking,

Far above the great abyss,

One with all and nothingness.

Juggling the knives left in my side for sport,

Sun rising like blood pressure, ’til it’s boiling hot,

Readymade excuses, laid out all for naught.

Come have another gin,

Dance, dance, dance on the edge with me,

Clinging to the last of civility.

Revolt (Prelude)


The news dulls my senses, drinking whiskey like it’s 1920

Morning light shines in on bare walls, two years and still no art up

Love crazed/cold heart, how can both reside in the same body?

Selfish lack of thought, but don’t whine about it baby

Bombs dropped for peace, yet refugees kept out, stonewalled?

All in all, rather be six feet under than continue to suffer

The time to resist is always now

Moudre

What is time? Ticking away at your insides,

never thought you’d be blood, sweat and tears deep,

pouring your youth away in the mill, and to what end?

everyday still struggling.

Better build a quick defense, better plan your next five years,

(I’ve got a love I’m going to marry, a little bit of money saved, and that’s it)

the bare truth is nerves of steel don’t get you everything,

sometimes even when you do all you can, you still lose,

(so lose with grace and rise with grit)

but what then, when the thunderous applause of your converted disbelievers don’t make you smile?

humanity is ravenous! humanity is a pity!

What is time? When a paradise is a sick day and a few miles away.

never thought you’d make it this far, but you have,

(take a breath, take to what you know best)

hold steady, mind clear, eyes focused.

(Dés)accord

All I can write are love songs,

Nothing’s perfect, things still feel worthless some moments, but I’m writing love songs,

Money down the drain and bills remain, yet does it matter if we’re kissing in the spring?

I hate it, but you fill my head with rhyming melodies,

Even when I’m annoyed, or feeling blue,

An embrace and I’m swimming in metaphors and major keys –

So I take a half an hour alone to stew, ’til I’m enraptured once again by you.