Oh you look,
So beautiful,
When you dance.
I found you,
Staring,
Out your window.
In the purple moonlight,
You saw my scars,
And I allowed you,
To explore me,
To your heart's content.
In her eyes,
She begged me,
To have this dance,
She implored me to.
And I'll allow her that much.
The music stopped,
And her song began,
And she danced so gracefully in her stained red dress.
Her song stopped,
And the silence,
Began.
By Ben Jones
It sits upon me like a lead weight,
Yet today I welcome the pressure.
A harmonic, sailing, across my unblinking eye.
My train of thought reverses itself,
Extrapolating a new dimension from all around me.
Comfort in the unknown.
I can't breathe today.
My thoughts are an ocean,
Yet my mind is beached and landlocked,
And the sands are shifting below.
Hollow and old like a dead tree,
Can I even hold my own weight anymore?
It felt like it did years ago,
But hindsight's 20/20 and I can't see shit.
A multiple of itself in my head begins to form again,
And I'd watch it dance into the sunset,
If it wasn't taking me with it.
By Ben Jones
Monotony.
Repeating.
Itself.
Always.
Repeating.
Itself.
I.
Repeat.
Myself.
In.
My.
Monotony.
By Ben Jones
The phone is ringing.
A perfect day.
Sunlight streaming through the bay windows, tinted blue from the cloudless sky above.
The phone is ringing.
A discordance amongst harmony, a disturbance in the surroundings.
Yet it sooths the mood of the room. Adds reality to an otherwise still life. An element of the uncertain.
The phone is ringing.
The uncertain fills the room.
The perfection wavers, realising itself and its own vunerability in the face of uncertainty. A cloud drifts suspiciously across the spotless blue canvas.
The phone is ringing.
The clock ticking.
A metronome to the beat of time. A rhythm for the uncertain. A spot of rain on the glass.
The phone is ringing.
By Ben Jones
I'm sorry,
Did I interrupt you again with my incoherent ramblings? I know,
I promised it would stop, but you can't stop.
Something that never had a beginning. No, wait.
That came out wrong.
Let me reitterate.
It lives beyond me, yet it carves out my life in a sandstone block the size of the universe.
Oh, did you forget the little things?
As I crawl up this bloody hillside, will you allow for an uneven path, upon which I can rest my aching feet? We've been talking for hours, and I'm bored of your useless metaphors.
Oh, wait,
I forgot again...
And it collapses in on itself,
Sometimes it feels like just enough,
And everything just fits,
Sometimes it feels like too much,
And everything bursts at the seams,
And sometimes it just doesn't feel at all.
By Ben Jones
