Borderline Personality: 2 for 1

Please, let me help,

Darling, stop your tears,

I’ll bandage your knee,

Don’t think of your fears.

I feel your pain and want it to stop.

Let me take your weight,

My shoulders miss it,

We must be fate!


Please, go away,

God, I know what you think,

I’ll let your wounds weep

Like I will, after I drink.

I am hurting but just don’t care.

Let me flip a table,

Break your fucking legs,

Yes, You say, Unstable!


Oh my god,

What have I done

I love you my dear

You are the only one.

Please let me fix it,

Don’t leave me alone

This guilt I feel,

So familiar, but recently unknown.


Ha, you laugh at me

But I know you are leaving,

I see it in your eyes,

As I spit curses, chest heaving.

I will never be enough,

Whatever you pretend,

You must have problems

But this probably isn’t the end.


What the hell,

I’m so confused,

These bombs come and go

Leaving me bruised.

I’m hurting you,

I’m living wrong.

I’ve been so confused

For far too long.

I can’t say without guilt

Or explain not in vain

The way two minds

Share my one brain!


Estranged Heart

A marked people

By the feeling inside

Nothing showing

But a an urge to hide

To tell apart those

Estranged hearts.


A kind people

Friends of pain

Jealously keep it

Oh, and rain

For themselves, those

Estranged hearts.


A bitter people

Seeing day by day

What they deny

Their souls, a truthful say

For half honest, those

Estranged hearts.


A deadly people

Unto themselves

Not good enough, so

Leave love on the shelves.

And walk empty handed

Those estranged hearts.

Do You Write?

Hi guys,

I am really wanting to support upcoming writers like myself so if you have any poetry or short stories on you blogs comment below and I’ll check it out and give some feedback! I often find there is so much talent that just doesn’t get the recognition it deserves because it’s hard to get noticed! So put yourself out there, time to do some self advertising!

Lots of love and respect


Who Are You Really?

When the mornings black,

When your heroes fall

When there’s no one left to back

That’s when you find out how small

You really are.


When the day is bright,

When your name rises,

When there’s love through the night

That’s when you find out how big

You really are.


When the dark is surrounding,

When your friends have left,

When the past is always hounding

That’s when you find out who

You really are!

We are all Different


Self assured

Talking too much

With not enough to say

He loves everyday

Helps every stray

Gives so much

It’s his passion

Let him stay




Caring too much

Pretending not to care at all

Everyone seems a fool

She knows she’s not cool

Seeing no point

Its her life

Let her rule.




Quite happy

More than a little bored

She has her hoard

earns decent reward

She’s at peace

It’s her routine

Let her be lord




Fighting different battles

Life: An intricate dance

Of abusing their chance

Pass one another, no glance

They’re lost

Unlead, help

Them from their trance!

An Old Story

The landscape was rustic, brown and shimmering in the heat. The horizon a smudged collision of faint brown and faint blue. Somehow the sun gave the whole scene light without being brighter than a small candle. Nothing stood out in this desolate place. A place of muted colours and skeletal ruins suffering the brush of a breeze, chuckling constantly with self appreciation, and always, always at your expense.

Somewhere between horizons was a place just like the rest. So similar in fact to every other place in sight that you might not have known you had arrived, unless, that is, you happened upon this place the very same day as one Thomas Riley, And that, my friends, is what happened to me.

After wandering the desert for a long morning (due to a reason I am much too ashamed to share) I was all but ready to sit down and rest my weary bones. I had gone for hours, striding, then walking, then wandering through places that looked so like one another I thought myself quite mad. The hill’s circling in the distance changed not at all leading me to the conclusion I had been traversing in damned loops! Had I been prepared for this journey of mine I may not have been in such a situation, but as it was my water skin was only at half and I had no idea in which direction my destination lay. In all manner of speaking I was lost and in terrible danger of staying that way! I had begun to despair, cursing unforgivably those that lead me to be here, when there he was! A tall figure emerging from the haze. His dark skin and and long coat rippled in such a way I was now certain my sanity had been long lost. It seemed though but a trick of the noon heat for as he loped towards me his outline became solid. On second thoughts, solid may not be the right word to use for the depiction of such a frail man. He looked an old man, a grey beard, sunken eyes and hollow cheeks conspired to give this image. But through the ease of his untroubled gait I found myself in doubt that he could really be more than a little older than my very self. Either way he seemed on such a mission to intercept my slow and meandering path, I stopped, that he may close the space in less time. He did not slow until he was so near as to be touched if I had but reached out a hand.

I did just that, offering friendship. “Henry Ortega, my good man.”

He replied in kind, with a firm grip and a nod, removing his straw hat. “Thomas Riley, it’s surely a pleasure.” He had such a strong American drawl i just knew upon the instant he was native to this land. He must have been thinking along similar lines for, rolling each word over his tongue he proclaimed “you’re not from around here, are you sir?”

“No, I am not,” I sighed “and you, sir?”

“I most definitely am.” Although his manor of speaking came across as very abrupt i could infer from his gaze he meant me no harm. Mr Riley had kind eyes, the type that suggested not only safety and warmth but a cavernous depth of knowledge also. I believe in a way though, it was his smile lines, and the way they creased his skin as if they were comfortable and well used that convinced me most of his good intentions.

Either way Mr Riley and I talked for a great deal of time about nothing at all, just exchanging pleasantries and opinions on the weather and such nonsense. I will admit it was a great relief to share the forsaken emptiness with another soul, even an American one. Then, out of the blue he asked this: “Mr Ortega, may i ask if you believe in fate?”

I was surprised. Where had that come from? I pulled my brows together and bit my lip, it was not a question i would take lightly out here in the nowhere lands.

“Well Mr Riley, if I am to be honest as I aim to be in life, I would have to say no.” Here I paused but he seemed to await further explanation, I abided “You see I like to believe that if fate was to be a ‘thing’ it would work on the basis of a good begets a good fate, evil begets an evil fate. I did trust in this system and that of God through my youth, but now, (oh how it saddens me to admit it) I have no strong faith in either.” I bit my lip once again, troubled by how to explain to another that which I had seen. “My dear friend it may seem a harsh judgement, but I have seen good men suffer evil things, and evil men reap rewards fit for a king. I can not have faith in a system where there is no right or wrong thing to lead one to a good life.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, but Thomas Riley was thinking deeply about what I had said and for that I was grateful.

Somehow he managed to speak with even less pace “Last month my little girl was shot by cowboys in this very desert. Yesterday I was told by an old woman that if I wished to find her body, I must wander the same desert until I came across a thing that does not belong there. And here I am a walking a random path when I come across you – an English gentleman, clearly at contrast with your surroundings, no offense meant.” He inclined his head to me.

“None taken” I muttered, considering his tale. “You believed this woman enough to come here?” There were many long pauses throughout this conversation, as both of us opted to consider what we would say before we let it be passed through judgement.

“I want to find my daughter, Mr Ortega and if fate is gonna beat the odds then I will put my faith in it. Frankly sir when I saw you my heart soared like an angel, is this not the prophecy coming true? Contradict me if I am wrong sir, but you don’t belong here and I found you as I was told I would.”

“That is true my fellow, and although I remain skeptical, I hope with my whole heart that your daughter is found.” It was the truth, and my heart was heavy with upset for this man. To have his hopes raised so greatly only to surely be disappointed, what good did this woman think she was doing him?

Here I was again, watching a good man dealt a rotten hand at life. The sight brought tears to my eyes: the empty sand plain filled, a hopeful soul down on his knees, dry hands barely scratching at dirt, the sun glaring down burning and burning, and the wind laughing at hope as if it was the piteous antics of a child.

I let my tears water the ground, following them down. If this man was to dig in search of his daughter’s body, then i would dig by his side.

Noon had long past when I finally sat back upon my haunches. We had dug deep and far, with no sign of anything. Mr Riley was still at it, frantically throwing sand over his head. Burdened with a leaden heart and aching with regret I laid a hand upon his shoulder, “Come now Thomas, you’re not helping yourself anymore.” he shook me off but then crumpled to the floor, distress reaping sorrowful streaks down his dusty face. My hand steady on his arm in what I hoped was a comforting manner, he wept into bleakness but even so holding a shred of himself back so to not become the bleakness as I felt I had. A deal of time of ran through my dusty fingers before Mr Riley quieted. I let him compose himself, looking out over the plain. Although coming across this man had been, for lack of better words, an interesting experience I had now began to wonder what would happen to me. Despite this brief distraction, I was still lost, albeit with another. As I considered the empty land and my empty future, I was troubled by a thought: had this man lost his faith in fate? Although I did not believe myself, I knew what a horrible thing it was to give up hope of a higher purpose. A man recently suffered so much could break if he but lost one more thing. I wished not to sound triumphant but could not withhold my curiosity.

“Sir, how fair you?”

“Mr Ortega, I have just lost the final chance at finding my daughter. How do you think I fair, sir?”

I apologized profusely, and he nodded “That was not right of me to snap at you like that, my fellow”

“No, it was my fault. I am unpractised at the art of sensitivity.” I paused before proceeding cautiously, “Perhaps again I may be insensitive and ask what has been bothering my mind?”

He nodded, resignation written all over his face. “It’s just I was wondering how the happenings of this day have affected your belief in fate?”

“Ha!” He barked a laugh. Then after a intake of breath he asked of me a strange question: “Do you have water in that flask of yours, Mr Ortega?”

“Just below half a flask, but I must ask, of what relevance is it?” But I was ignored,

“And do you, sir, know in which way lies town?”

“No. How could any man? It has but tantamount of difference.” Here he started to laugh, first a chuckle then almost to hysterics. Even so he managed to say to me this in his strong drawling accent: “You are alone, in a foreign desert, you have little water, presumably no food and definitely no idea of how to survive, and you ask me if I believe in fate?”

I was extremely bemused, “Well, yes?” I replied.

“My poor fellow, i may not have found my daughter but I found a good man who had accepted his premature death in this desert, the type of man the world could seemly do with for a while longer and I am going to give him food and water and show him the way to my home town. Out here in all this desert I found you, I’ll help you, I’ll save you. You ask me whether I believe in fate,” he pulled out a water flask and handed it to me, “This, is fate.”

With that he turned and left in his wake a hillock of dust and dirt. Oh and myself, a little shocked, open mouthed. A mouth which now turns to smile as I canter to catch him. I have a second chance, I can move on from my stupid mistake, it will not leave me shrivelled prune in the sand. It will not leave me dead. I ease to a walk beside Mr Thomas Riley, and we share a slight smile. He has found fate, and I hope.

Faith: Blind or Bold?

There are some of us that laugh

At those who blindly have faith.

Over dinner table conversations

Claiming to speak on reality’s behalf


We question ‘till they cannot answer

Acting entitled to this cruelty

Because we have proof, evidence.

They take it with the grace of a dancer,


Or not. Either way, we act wrong

Not stopping to consider

The high ground we walk on

Is false, that maybe they too are strong.


They have no proof of god, right?

Then what courage must it take,

To trust in something you cannot see

To find, in an empty void, light.


Would you jump from a roof,

Not knowing if the mat below

Would catch you, or if it was even there?

Hold that courage up against our proof.

Smile and Share

This is world is not nice.

It’s here to weed out weak.

We are little boats in stormy sea’s

Dolphins in desserts bleak.

Fighting many monsters,

Green, blue, big and small,

Some can be seem, but most not.

But we have a choice, us fools,

Don’t settle for your lot.

Plant seeds, grow trees,

Be an oasis for the lost.

Share your flowers and voice,

Kindness has little cost.

Don’t worry about your future,

Or be bitter about your past,

Be the light of each day

And you’ll create something that will last!