Math was always hard for me I lay in bed Counting counting counting Always found it hard Tonight especially reasons, reasons, resons 1 to stay 100 to leave No, recount 0 stay 1000 leave Recount, recount, Recount Leave No recount 0 : 10000 Leave Leave leave leave Math was always hard for me

​

A thought inspired by talk of wishin' and hopin'...

Depression was it's own weather...

There's no place to avoid the rain that falls down from each cheek. No place to avoid the hail being thrown onto the roof of my mind.

In any bed I lie, it often turns into snow. I linger and cling to my right hand in hopes to find warmth in another however,it's only a constant reminder the bed I lie on is colder than ice.

It's often I wake up hoping the sun won't shine so bright on me. It almost feels targeted. Why is everyone able to walk so freely while I'm shackled by the restlessness of my body. Having to perform for the sunshine is a vain attempt to be noticed.

This might be the reason I prefer when the day is near it's end. It not only gives me a reason to feel the way I do but helps me realize how tired I'm allowed to be.

I am an INFP, and people have been suggesting to me throughout my life that I should write. So, I have taken up this challenge of late, and now have two books; both with large font editions available through Kindle and, or Amazon. The one below is available as an ebook for free Sept. 3, 2023. If you are curious about what this INFP is thinking and feeling you can check it out for free, tomorrow.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CGM8MH3B

Content Within: Whilst Watching Worlds Burn… Large Font Edition

This is my latest effort, the ebook is available for free on Sept. 3 , 2023. It is a collection of poems, prose, rambles, thoughts, ideas, dreams, etc. It comes from the perspective of the everyman. I have laboured (labored) all my life. The poems, etc. touch on nature, life, death, existence; or the lack thereof, society, freedom, privacy, love, corporate greed and control, conspiracy theories, etc. Should you pick it up, I hope you enjoy it and thank you in advance for supporting my writing journey. https://www.amazon.com/stores/David-Mark-Kirkwood/author/B0BPR8BRKZ is my author page. You can read samples from the book there.

It couldn’t come fast enough
To wrap me up inside a darkened love
To give my body to the cosmos above
And manifest from crow to dove

October weather make me better
Make this corpse a lot more deader
Write it down into a letter
Take me back to the center
Of the cosmic shelter

Your eyes swim in front of me I dream about the green opals to see For retinas so generous you have small fingers Dilated and open you love to sleep and linger For every part of my own you don’t have equal shares You belong afar off elsewhere Classic black internal twisted wire no don’t say that Tedious and time consuming to have a rhyme or reason for assumingChoking on the woozy spat I lied and faked it no not that another thing to say urgh yuk..splat

I came here to visit us... our deadened grave Now a decrepit stone like stave To say hello to our ancestors of the present..way past a few years ago when I was a-wandering the desert Choking on the woozy spat I lied and faked it no not that another thing to say urgh yuk..splat If you hear me scream in the night Come up and join me in the fuses of the light Captured and yet still so very free I stutter no one can see I got my comeuppance. Indeed it belonged to my father the crash and the slow torture Is that a life: this flatline mortuary?

It is you, my love. You who I have longed for, who I have so eagerly sought after through the eyes of every disgraceful lover of late.

Many inexhaustible nights spent in utter despair, as agony became I. Resiliently fighting for a beloved who ever so callously expressed a burning lust for all but myself.

Seemingly endless cycles of self-loathing, I effortlessly began to consume myself; as likened to an Ouroboros. Relentlessly, I sought after unfamiliar ways to perceive this heartache, for agony became I.

And even Agony herself reached her breaking point, for through her eyes, her world shown nothing but bitterness beneath that red veil of searing envy.

Her heart became hardened with hatred as she fearlessly pursued the end of it all. And nonetheless, to no avail, for vitality had won the war. My wishes were meant to be granted, and my tears did not fall in vain.

Inconceivable; to know you is to know perfection.  I could watch you for a lifetime, for I see endless waves of bliss through your deep ocean eyes. Your warm smile melts my heart into the palm of my hands and this, I offer unto you.

Hold me, nobody else will suffice. For you, my love, have bestowed to me euphoria beyond my comprehension of which I, up until late, had understood to be leagues away from my grasp.

Fears cast aside, permit me to reside within the walls of your heart, that I may tenderly sustain it forevermore.

May I endlessly remain transfixed on you, my love. I shall hold your utmost desires close to my heart, may my every action convey neverending gratification unto you.

You are my home.

No, you were my home. Eviction is served, I am left hollowed from none other than my own decisions. And as the fantasy that I created with you begins to distort and melt, I vow to find myself within it. The unrelenting misery of it all cannot be avoided, I will embrace it with open arms.

I will learn from this, I will grow, I will overcome.

(tw: religious trauma- vague recall of SA, abuse, etc.)

I am dirty with sin

Or this is what I believe

I know the message might sound scary

I'm not even religious but i've been told my whole life I am unclean

A mistake caused by many eternal ones before me

But truly what is a sin in the end anyway?

Is it to turn against the highlights of morality-

Or to turn against the interpretations of one's religions fine print?

Or is it hatred or anger or sadness?

Is it to boast or to complain?

Is it to go against how one was raised?

Well I feel that I might fit that description far beyond its ambiguous nature.

I see life in black and white- with the occasional splash of color

But never too colorful.

The clouds I used to paint next to the corner sun in my finger paintings

Have betrayed me and covered my peripherals

A metaphorical tunnel vision that I can't seem to shake

I believe that God must be left-handed as the pen he wrote my life story with seems to have smudged along the pages and left parts ineligible to me- unable to grasp

I often use humor to cover up my trauma- I’ll laugh off the pain because when you can't remember half of it your pain might as well be a joke.

Sometimes I'll call my fears dark humor because it helps cover up the reality of one's true mortality- the fact that there is nothing to stop the inevitably of one's death and nothing to truly predict what comes after.

I See the faces of those who hurt me in the gaps between crowds

In cities and in cafes and in the windows of cars they never drove.

And as I go home to scrub my skin for hours to get rid of it, I can't shake the feeling off me

I no longer own my body- and I can never fully restore that morality.

As hands encompass my waist and pull me close again within the confines of my mind

I feel everything against my skin, and I scream with no resounding noise released from my lungs

I hear the voices of my past screaming for me to come back and I can never deny the offer

One's abuser's open hand looks a lot lighter when the world around it is turned dark.

Like a siren in the depths of the ocean

Or a predator hiding deep in the night.

In the muted glow of the moonlit night, Through the windows shone a glimmer of light. Blowing the drapes like the cloak of death, The whispering wind solemnly wept.

As he stood by the bed and gazed at the figure, That lay on the bed, crumpled like a paper. Was it moments or ages he couldn’t say, How long he had been gazing at the man in that way.

Like the candle flame flickering in the wind, A memory, on the edge was hovering within. Of pain n despair and utter helplessness, Of something dark n heavy, full of restlessness.

But vague it was like his own self, Undefined, shapeless but still itself. There was a pull binding him to the man, Slowly fading and fading, out it went.

He shimmered in the moonlight for a furtive moment, As memories flashed by his eyes like a comet. Familiar all that a lifetime ago just was, Felt as though like a strangers dream it was.

And like a dream, by the bed he was floating, Yet untouched by the wind which was blowing. He felt no cold no breeze no pain, As if like a little child ,before sleep, tucked in.

As his attention and existence both seemed to wane, A single feeling that hung back was pain. In the eerie glow of the moon could be seen, On the mantle,an empty bottle of pills and a crumpled note within.

And in the muted glow of the moonlit night, Through the windows shone a glimmer of light. Blowing the drapes like the cloak of death, The whispering wind solemnly wept

Little Girl

Hello again, I see you haven't moved, Did you sleep well? I'm glad you found some clothes, I'm sorry about earlier, I just lost my cool, Just started swinging, But your fine, Right?

Please respond, It's quite rude to ignore an adult, Little girls like you should be careful, There's some really dangerous people out there, Do you have a family? Hey, Can you hear me? Little girl please respond, Alright fine, See you tomorrow,

Little girl, I unlocked the door, You could leave, Why do you just sit there? You don't move, Don't you want a shower? Little girl I'm talking to you, I said I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hit you, Please wake up, Alright fine, I'll talk to you tomorrow,

Hello little girl, It's been 2 weeks now, How have you been? Anything exciting happen? You seem to be quiet inactive, Maybe you would like to talk? No? Alright… I love you,

Hello little girl, Today's a good day, The police finally stopped bothering me, Apparently a small girl went missing, I didn't have anything to do with it, I'm a nice person, After all I'm taking care of you, Your a really good listener, Talk to you tomorrow,

Hey little girl, I think I'm in love, Her name is beautiful, She called me crazy, But that's okay, I can take care of her too, Like I did with you, You can be our daughter, This room must get boring, Are you not bored? I swear sometimes I feel like I'm talking to myself, Talk to you tomorrow,

Little girl… This isn't good, The police are back, The woman… She told on me, They are trying to take me away, I'm going to fight, I have a gun, Little girl, I love you, Talk to you soon, I promise,

Body identified, 12 year old girl, Estimated time of death, 3 months ago, Sorry we couldn't get here sooner, Rest in peace little girl…

I've looked for a rainbow And I've seen the colors in your hairs, Now they're not much like a rainbow But I'm sure all the colors are there

Billy filth

and the ream cream team dreamers

is a good name for a band

a musical band

I like it

I like the sound of it

Billy Filth

but what about

Peter Spine

Peter Spine

and the crime time mind shine

brine rhymers

are they any good

will they do

and now and again

Montmorency Song

Montmorency Song

Monty

and the not long dong schlong

bong honkers

are they quite bonkers

or is it a clue

with all these bands

these cute bands out there

getting fashionably apprised

is a morality due.

How I wish you could see it, love.

The statues in my wildest dreams—

forever frozen in fairies' pearls,

melted by tears and winter's whirls.

​

How I wish to feel your soul.

I gather your teeth in my eye

and calcify them with my mind.

It's you I wish to chisel me out;

in marble prison, I can shout,

"why must sculptors elude my find?"

"Must my life trot this route?"

​

How I wish to feel so free,

to centralize flesh to clarity,

but perfection died in that gallery,

and as the warmth of breath stained my neck,

cleansed I was by morning's light;

unable to forget.

Some say, some stay, some remain silent, Some play, some play cool, some never understand, Some don't speak at all, some never stop uttering Some misjudge, some hate, Some burn, some break, Some of you still believe in rumors, Some bitches, some snakes, I got experience instead of best memories I got trust issues instead of learning how to have faith, Some pretend to be friend, Some still bitches, some still snakes!

Delicious spring arrives in a haze.
I do not feel the warmth of seasons anymore.

Winter has passed.

I have laughed again and again at the ridiculousness of time passing.

Like the long evaporated snow,
My soul shall always exist.

I wake up and do nothing
All day lying in a pile of shadows
cast by the bookshelves I have surrounded myself with.

Hearing the fervor of the clock on my wall
banging relentlessly at the doors of time
that are opening
little by little
the silver curtain of doom behind.

Reading fantasies all day in this heap of mangled shadows,
I indulge in reveries of the sort even a schoolboy would be ashamed of,
but that the world deems as acceptable, commendable, pure, intellectual...
and a thousand other lofty praises carved on unlost pages. All a farce.
It is dishonest to pretend to be in love with one's shyness.

Pass me by, sweet water's tide,

like the day from which I hide.

Sweet water-like foam in my eyes,

shield my face from passersby.

Leisure surely follows

but always seems to remind.

Oh, sweet water's tide,

drift me away from this morose ride.

Soft winds beckon the grain;

they bow to Jacob's sun,

and soon, I'll be another one

as I drag my fingers through the dirt,

and hum a mash of far-gone tunes,

I restlessly start to hover and fly,

with winds that lift me up and away,

and scrape my skin into runes.

I orbit kaleidoscope's caravan,

waving faces, I begin to recognize;

the sun leaves the plane of lies

once dredged from astronomic dustpan,

disappearing under Aphrodite's shimmering blanket,

returning again, rebirthed, at morning's rise.

Stop it, please.

It's too much noise;

the drummer mocks canals,

and the sun makes my cerebellum sneeze

Snap it, my notochord.

There's fewer koi

as I grow older.

They turn coelacanth;

my world is colder.

Turn back, Tock.

Where is Milo?

The universe sits still

in the doldrums;

my boat is at rest

in a silo;

my hair turned gray

as I took Captain Nemo

Out to R'lyeh.

​

All is captured

in a marble;

I leave them around;

I pick and choose which to have raptured;

the sun strips the paint,

so I bless another one—

glass and bread crumbs.

​

My immortality shivers

each and every forgotten day.

I lie waiting to be found

as the sun scares my life away.

Scorching on the porch, midday storm,

she sings cardigans,

again, believe me.

Attachment grows,

detachment knows,

she knows, yes,

tender tendrils

seem to come undone,

the end of all, purple sun,

left ripping shingles

off the roof,

birds careen to ground,

the dinner bowl's left aloof.

So, round again,

carousel.

Pass me by, honk your horn,

there I lie, bound and dying,

torn by buzzards

in an arid field of corn.