#lifestrories

[thatpoetrybloke]

Summer breeze

I’m sitting on the balcony

It’s early evening

A Thursday that could be a Friday

I’m trying a new chilled Rosé

An incense stick burning

In the perfect breeze

My Italian playlist softly playing in the background

Potentially entertaining my neighbours no doubt

And right here right now I’m good

Life simple pleasures that mother universe has bestowed on us all tonight

Take a beat Daniel, breathe softly like the breeze that caresses your skin

@thatpoetrybloke

27.6.24

[yuliisredmeblack]

Datang Dan pergi hanya pilihan

2017-03-30

[thatpoetrybloke]

Going underground

He’s looking at her

She’s looking at me

and I’m looking at him.

Metro life.

9.3.23

@thatpoetrybloke

[thatpoetrybloke]

When does the searching stop

We spend our lives searching for something we’ve already got

We focus on everything we’ve lost not what we’ve gained

We think about the life we led not the life we’ve have

We close our minds and hearts to all the good yet find solace in all that’s bad

We find fault in our everyday existence whilst ignoring our present state

We desperately shy away from love, yet love seeks us out.

We’ve become so self indulged that loneliness hurts

We default to our self-prescribed being but inside our heart bleeds

We are forever searching but inevitably the search will not be found

10.4.22

[thatpoetrybloke]

The Bench

I’ve sat on this very bench more times than I remember. I recognise it so well, that damp, dusty mildew that has gathered.

The wood, once so beautifully crafted, now cracked, aged and left unloved.

There’s not a single sound, the silence is deafening as the decision approaches. I ponder on what has changed and why I find myself here, time after time.

Everything remains exactly how it appears to be except the beloved ageing and neglected place I rest and deliberate.

Then they appear, an infinitive amount of dark green doors. They too seem to be in different states of ageing and neglect.

One thing remains consistent, as all the other times I’ve find myself here, their glowing red neon happiness signs remain crystal clear.

I’m angry and frustrated, sad and in despair as I stare intently at the countless reds and greens in front of me.

I try to understand and remember which door has opened before and which neon sign flickered into darkness as the battered green door slammed behind me.

The endless opportunities that led me here again and again, their haunting playful signs that live a lie.

20.6.21

[thatpoetrybloke]

F A K Ξ R Fake life Fake strife  Fake news Fake views  Fake love Fake blues  Fake muse. Fake tears  Fake fears. Fake lies  Fake ties.  Fake bribes  Fake porn. Fake scorn  Fake me. Fake you  Fake face.   Fake grace  Fake smile. Fake bile Fake life Fake life