Sunday 1 August 1999


Sitting here listening to "Bread and Jam for Frances" by Switchblade Symphony I have felt the urge to write some poetry for the first time in ages...  Haven't got anything polished, but here are some fragments...

Emptiness is all I feel
Why must I be so alone?
Is it me?

This emptiness blackens my soul
Soon to be void, an empty hole
The blackness spreads
And I know not how to halt the advance
Before I am a mere husk
Blindly going through habitual motions
In an imitation of life

My heart is numb
Except for the dull, throbbing ache of loneliness

What is there to keep me here?
Who is there that cares?
Why do I keep going?
Please tell me the point.


I think I shall sleep now - not because I am tired, but because it will grant me a few hours of sweet oblivion.