(and yes, that’s what you are)
don’t let life get you down.

Put on a smile and
replace that defunct frown.

I’d love to write
another poem
about a depressing night,
but the problem
is that I can’t.

To put it simply,
I’m happy.
At least that’s
what I think.

Life’s being easy
on me for now.
And yet,
I still drink.

To be honest,
dear “reader”,
and I don’t know why
i’m telling you this:

I no longer feel
that I need a therapist.

Life is good,
yet it affects
my writing.

That niggling thought
is always on my mind,
constantly biting.

I want to be a writer,
but I’m no longer sad.

I’ll still write,
trust me,
but it might be bad.

The most I’ve written,
at least in the recent past,
has been while
I’ve been drinking
from a bottomless glass.

I don’t really feel anymore,
and I don’t know why.

Let’s hope it lasts.

Always and forever,

 - fortyeight

a drunken goodnight

3:22 AM 

Drunk off of love,
being an asshole,
and alcohol.

Cigarette smoke
slowly but surely
my desperate lungs.

The music’s sweet,
dulcet tones,
invade my ears
and shake my bones.

My bed calls out;
waiting for me.
I have no choice,
I let it be.

It’s time to dive
into my lonely dreams
and tear them to pieces;
rip them apart at the seams. 

I wish you all a goodnight.

I hope it’s better than mine.

- fortyeight.

A Westbound Train

I’ve been travelling West
for far too long,
trying my very best
at getting home.

I’ve been travelling West,
for the past few years.
Trying my hardest
to see you again.

I’ve been gone for a while,
but I’ll see you soon.
Your face, your eyes, your smile.
I’ve dreamt of it forever.

I’ve been gone for a while
and now I’m travelling West,
on these rails for hundreds of miles,
but soon my journey’ll be at it’s end.

I came out East long ago.
Finding happiness was difficult,
more than you’ll ever know.
The stars had stopped shining for me.

I came out East long ago
because I couldn’t stay there any longer.
The scars, they might now show,
but they’re all still here.

I’m headed West now.
I can’t wait to come back.
I’ve survived, no idea how.
I try not to question it.

I’m headed West now,
been lost for far too long.
I’ll never go back East, that I can vow,
especially with you here.

Atop this Westbound train, I sit,
dreaming dreams of you.
I can see the stars again and i’ll admit,
I’d forgotten they existed.

Atop this Westbound train, I sit,
looking up at the Northern Lights.
My life was in ruins, but I’ll forget it,
because I have you here.

You’re my stars,
my guiding light.
You take away the pain of scars
and help me through the night.
I love you.

- fortyeight

( inspired by Rob Scallon’s wonderful song, A Westbound Train. Check it out here :  - - - and my beautiful girlfriend. c: )

shooting stars

I saw them under moonlight
for the very first time.
I witnessed their magic
and it was sublime.

they ran past my eyes
and set my pupils ablaze.
my irises clouded over at the sight
of the clear sky filled with their bright rays.

a sky so empty,
yet so full of light.
black dotted with streaking yellow
drowning out the spot of lonely white.

they left behind them
a faint trail of stardust.
all they wanted was to stay
so they reached out for the moon with lust.

Upon their fading memory,
I made a single wish and yet,
it never came true
because i can still remember
and never forget.


My sweet little girl,
go to sleep.
You can say hello to the world
tomorrow, when the sun awakens
from its short and solemn slumber.
The sky blue flowers in the garden
will greet you with their beauty and grace.
The fluttering butterflies will kiss your cheeks
as they stop for a short rest atop the curves of your face.
The moon will wish you goodnight
and the stars will twinkle along.
The crickets’ and the racket they make
will be your sweet lullaby song.

My beautiful everything,
go to sleep.
I’m sure tomorrow will bring
gentle memories and new dreams.
I can only hope, after all.
The sky blue flowers in the garden
will grow again and love you just the same.
The fluttering butterflies will come once more;
flapping in excitement at the sound of your name.
The moon isn’t here though
and neither are the stars,
so the crickets and the racket they make
will be heard on Mars.

My fragile darling,
go to sleep.
I know it’s hard; your world is falling
slowly apart, but focus on the future;
that’s my best advice.
The sky blue flowers in the garden
have been gone for a while, you know.
The fluttering butterflies
stopped flying long ago.
The moon is dying
and the stars are have darkened.
The crickets have quieted,
but I’m still here,
so my dear,
do not be disheartened.

My broken sweetheart,
go to sleep.
Your world has fallen apart
and shattered into pieces.
There’s nothing left to do but dream.
The sky blue flowers in the garden
have been dead for weeks.
The fluttering butterflies can no longer kiss
your rough and fractured cheeks.
The moon has died
and taken the stars with her.
The crickets and the racket the make
has stopped forever.

my sweet little girl,
go to sleep.
Drink this poison and
take these pills.
Wish the shattered fragments
of your life a final goodnight.
Don’t be scared;
just know, alright,
that I won’t be here when
you wake up to darkness
to wish you good morning
ever again.

- fortyeight


I have this overwhelming urge
to tell you about this girl;
I think about her all the time
and she’s completely out of this world.

I told myself I wasn’t going to
write about her anymore.
It seems I’ve broken that promise,
but I’ve done it before.

I don’t even know where to start.

She’s beautiful
to the point where
it’s impossible to do
anything else
but stare.

I don’t think she sees
herself the same way I do,
but I’ll say everything I can
til’ she sees things
from my point of view.

She’s funny as all hell, too.
I can’t count the times
she’s left me in stitches
just by uttering a single word.
I even make her laugh too, sometimes.

She’ll think I’m laughing at her,
instead of with her,
but that’s never the case.
It should be quite easy to tell,
honestly, when I’ve got that huge,
stupid smile plastered across my face.

She’s caring,
like no other I’ve ever met.
She’ll stay up late with me
in my time of need and
never get upset.

She thinks it’s normal to do that.
Like every person on Earth
would do the exact same.
No one’s ever been there for me
like she has, though. That’s why
I smile whenever I speak her name.

But reader, I also have an urge
to be honest with you.

I don’t think I’m good enough.
Good enough for her or
every wonderful detail
she brings along.

I feel as if I don’t deserve
any of this at all.
Usually, I feel huge -
but compared to her
I feel small.

I know I shouldn’t.
And I know that when she reads this,
she’s going to think the same.

She’s breathtaking,
and absurd.

She’s amazing,
truly beautiful
and in one word;


And after all this time,
I still can’t believe it.

- fortyeight (stupid and head over heels)


I’ve got problems;
That much is true.
And it seems most of them
Come from being with you.

Though, honestly,
You’re not to blame
because before I met you
I was messed up just the same.

I can’t find happiness
or get to sleep at night,
but I’ve got you,
so I’ll be alright.

I’m either angry all the time
or painfully depressed.
I can’t breathe anymore
with this weight on my chest.

*    *    *

Don’t inquire as to why
I distance myself from all of you.
People bring pain along with them
and dealing with that; I cannot do.

Please, I beg of you,
Don’t ask me why
I write stories in my poems
instead of personal outcries.

If I wanted to write about myself
and my problems all the time,
I’d be better off trying my hardest
to make my suicide note rhyme.

- fortyeight