"I’m sick of trying, but it seems there’s no cure."

fortyeight (10 words )

how to be a writer (or poet)

be sad
smoke
be sad some more
drink whatever alcohol at 6am
put words together.
done.

you’re welcome.

cotton

Wispy white
clouds laid across
the scarlet rivers
so tight,
reminding my
mind of what
it suffered through
the other night.


Cracks strewn
throughout
the broken ground
where the rivers
runs so strong,
leave me
wondering
where it all
went terribly wrong.


When the August sun
fades away,
the rivers
will run dry.
After that,
all that’ll stay
are the arid
riverbeds,
where souls go
to die.


We’ll cement the cracks up
and forget about
the rivers that
run in their place.
In time, I’m sure,
they’ll run again,
after all,
it’s this “man’s”
only fate.


- fortyeight

strangers

When I was younger,
my Mom always told me
never to talk to strangers.


Maybe that’s why it’s so hard
to make new friends.


See, we’re constantly
reminded of the dangers
that’ll bring our lives to an end,
but most of us don’t live enough
to experience any.


You’re told not to stand
on the edge of buildings
that are tall.
Not to play with
sharp things like
knives and such.
Not to go near stray dogs,
homeless people,
or anything at all.
Not to stay up late,
drink soda,
or curse too much.


You’ll end up with
a fear of heights,
things that cut,
a man with a sign,
a wandering mutt,
midnights,
Coca-Cola
and “fuck.”


I have not one of
these fears.


I’ve stood on a building’s ledge,
cut myself with a knife’s edge,
given money to the broke,
given a filthy dog a good stroke,
too late, I have stayed up,
had my fair share of 7-Up
and said the word “cunt.”
(A sharp word indeed,
but i’m quite blunt.)


And i’m still here -
though I talk
far too much.
I show myself
too often.
Ask almost anyone -
they can judge.


I’ll bleed out onto paper
and shove it down their throat,
despite the fact that
most don’t care what I wrote.
I’ll shout it from my
tiny heaven, way up in the clouds.
I’ll make sure that they hear me.
After all, I can be quite loud.


I’ll show them what I’m made of,
whether they like it or not.
They might not stick around afterwards,
but hey, it’s worth a shot.
I’ll tell them everything,
show them the very depths of Hell.
With my broken emotions,
I’ll make sure to repel.


I’ll talk until there’s no one here,
until i’m all alone,
until I finally have a fear
and my heart turns to stone.


I’ll probably move people away,
until there’s no remainder.
On second thought, boys and girls,
please don’t talk to strangers.


- fortyeight

Written whilst 48 sleeps, by Adrian.

Rhymes rhyme rhymes
unnecessary
lines lines lines
he puts pen to paper
a keyboard gladiator
a genius procrastinator
with too much
time time time
Rhymes rhyme rhymes
2 digits he resigns.


a free spirit
a wingless swiftness
a gust of success
a gentle transgress,
an attempt to confess
all of his stress and
a journey of worry
all through stories
and myths
as he sits
at his thrown
a last hurrah
all this is a show
at least its medieval
a feeble young mind
an artist with no easel
a boy who’s peaceful
also my equal
all of this upheaval
for nothing more
but his people.

For their will be a sequel 

truly something more devious
and evil,
possibly lethal
a burst of adrenaline
left with a skeleton.
It’s just a comparison
a swinging pendulum
Just as time
All can be stable.

too late

When the sunrise comes
and shines through
my window,
when the birds start
chirping a melody,
it’s then that I know
i’m up too late.



When the rays
penetrate
the cloth,
when the sounds
vibrate
my ears,
i’m up too late.



When my throat aches
from breathing
smoke,
when my lungs
choke
just the same
as I do,
i’m up too late.



When the vodka burns
my tongue
and the clock
tells me I’ve been
up too long;
the bastard,
how dare he.



When the same clock
tells me we haven’t
talked in hours;
the bastard.
When my eyelashes
meet despite
my power,
I’m up too late.



When I’m tired
and my mind’s
finally gone,
when I want
nothing more
than for me and
my bed to become one,
I’m up too late.



When I know I won’t
be able to fall
asleep,
when no help
comes from
sacrificing sheep,
I’m not up late enough.



When my eyes
resist closing
shut,
when my dreams
insist on turning
dark,
I’m not up late enough.



When exhaustion
is my only
hope,
when I lay
in bed lonely
and cope
with tiredness,
I’m not up late enough.



When insomnia
takes over my night
and causes me
nothing else
but strife,
as it does
so often,
there’s no such thing
as ‘too late.’



When sleep
becomes my only
escape
because my mind
runs free when
it’s awake,
there’s no such thing
as ‘too late.’



When I’m left
laying
in my bed,
wanting only
to rest my
screaming head,
I know it’s all
too late.





- 48

put it into words

I wonder why
what doesn’t kill me
isn’t trying harder.
After all,
I’ve been acting
weaker;
feeling
smaller;
laying awake in bed,
wanting nothing more
than to call her.
Checking to see
if she’s actually
texted me;
as if my life depended on it.


And
i’ve been dreaming,
mostly of her;
that much I know.
Even though,
when I open my eyes
it just turns to a blur.
I’ve been trying
to put this all
into words:
what I feel for her.
It’s an order so tall,
it’s a little absurd.


Some say that
3 is all it takes.
But, they’re lying.
I say those 3 
so often it makes
it seem
i’m oversimplifying.


Some say that
a love letter
is the right course of action.
But, they’re wrong.
It’s a novelty,
an emotional fraction,
you see and to me,
something i’ve known
all along.


So I won’t
write a letter
or say those 3
when I want
to let her
know.
In my eyes,
when you want to say
'I love you,'
a poem’s the way to go.


But maybe that’s just me.


- fortyeight

drink up

I’m often asked
why it is I drink
so much at such
a young age.


I drink to forget.
I drink to numb.
I drink with a cigarette.
I drink to become
someone else.


I don’t like who I am
so I drink.


I drink to calm it all.
I drink to find peace.
I drink to stop myself
from climbing up the walls.


I drink to remember
what it’s like to feel.
I drink to destroy.
I drink to lower my barriers,
as hard as steel.


I don’t like who I am
so I drink.


I drink to overcome.
I drink to see the real me.
I drink to make it easier,
as I persevere this
perilous journey.


I drink because I’m terrified.
I drink because I’m scared.
I drink to make sure people
around me actually care.


I don’t like who I am
so I drink.


I drink because
I can’t fight anymore.
I drink because
I’m exhausted.


I drink because
it’s the easy way out.
I drink because
I have doubts
about who I am
without
it.


I don’t like who I am
so I drink.


I don’t like who I am
and I’m scared.


I drink because
it’s easier
than ending it.


There’s your answer.
One you didn’t have to
search for at the bottom
of a lonely bottle.


I hope you’re happy with it.

War

Welcome to the battlefield.


This is where mortar shells
drop around the clock.
Where missiles fall all across
your apartment block.


Where hearts are broken
every single day,
with every hurtful word
you think or say.


Where your mind cracks
from the immense pressure,
yet being with her brings
nothing more than pleasure.


Where beautiful minds
become shattered psyches.
Where one of the two
turns awfully whiny.


Where insults are traded
back and forth.
Where love truthfully
runs it’s course.


Where egos are killed
and emotions, destroyed.
Where, at the end,
of love, your life is devoid.


Where you fear for your love
and everything you’ve worked for.
Where you hope, after it all,
she doesn’t walk out the door.


Where your emotions come to life,
even when you keep them down.
Where you try to keep the smile
on top of your everlasting frown.


When you want to make peace,
but it’s near impossible.
When you just want to stop,
but your problems seem unsolvable.


When you just want
to love her.
And you want it to
be alright again.


Where the bombs drop.


And you lose it all.

"Must Do" List. (a.k.a "the 20 things for a better life")

- I’ve been feeling down a lot lately, so I felt like writing down 20 things I need (hence the “Must Do” in the title) to do on a piece of paper and taping it to my wall. 

Putting it up on here because a friend recently told me that if i’m going to share myself with a website, I might as well share my true self.

Here’s the list, 
as always,
fortyeight.

  1. Try your hardest to be happy.
  2. Don’t rely solely on others for happiness.
  3. Be strong. Really bloody strong.
  4. Stop being such a whiny, apologetic and pathetic arsehole. You know it’s not who you were or want to be.
  5. Be honest. To everyone. It’s tough, but necessary.
  6. Above all, and this might sound like a contradiction, be yourself. Never feel bad for being yourself.
  7. Write. At least 2 - 3 times a week.
  8. Learn to let things go.
  9. Show your true emotions, but only at the right times. We don’t want people thinking you’re a fucking nutcase when you get a little sulky.
  10. You want to say or ask something? Go ahead. Stop biting your tongue and speak your goddamn mind when you want to.
  11. (My girlfriend’s name) might be the most significant part of your world right now, but she isn’t your entire world. Keep in mind, she’s her own person and needs her space.
  12. Stop grasping onto the little things that fuel your emotions from time to time. They don’t matter, so don’t mind them.
  13. Always treat (my girlfriend’s name) right.
  14. STOP SAYING “SORRY.” From now on, it’s only in your vocabulary if you somehow kill someone’s cat or fuck up. Your “fuck-up” also has to be at the same level as “dead cat, whoops,” though.
  15. Be a cunt. Jesus, it’s not that hard. And yes; to everyone.
  16. See above. Stop caring about dumb shit. You do it too much.
  17. Whenever you’re angry, lip syncing to angry rap songs in the mirror really helps, as you know.
  18. Try to talk to people that care about you when it comes to your problems. As you’ve seen in the past, this is very difficult yet important.
  19. If you don’t have a genuine smile on your face in public, learn to start putting a fake one on. Nobody likes the sad arsehole that brings the mood down.
  20. Do all of this. Try to, at least. I mean, it’s a fairly extensive list. 

"Good fucking shit."