Domestic My baby, my beauty Bring me up, crash me down You must be reduced to Stump now, all lines and frown Oh how I hit you How you scream out Gradually building Until I must shout You call for my hand now Crave it's steady pace I long to join your effort And triumph in our race.

Uphill Days become weeks become months become years Before horizon is reached Ambition falls as tears.

String Pullers All of time has passed Since sentiment last became That curious phenomenon From which I'm marked and stained Never have I been given The pick or conscious choice 'Tis mere workings of the mind It's feelings I must voice Love, lust, anger, passion These famed, infamed words Never before was I privy To these real, tempestuous worlds What is it that I am Why is it that I feel The puppet of a master Who resides within my being.

Penny Further I've been so many places you wouldn't believe. Thousands of miles I must've travelled, passed from hand to hand in the most unceremonious of fashions. Never once owned, just temporarily kept 'till something better would replace me. I can't even see, or feel. I merely exist. A drop in the vast ocean that is society. A penny in the bank.

Self Indulgent Memories How strange I decide Is the passage of time Slow in the present In haste left behind Such thought it has come With sentiment and tear As I lie and reminisce Recall ecstasy and fear For a year today Precise to the hour My good friends and I We learnt of each other In company of laughter And shared trepidation Beneath stained and torn netting Discussed our location Our breaths they were held Hearing tales foreseeing fun Through hushed and rushed whisper Guessed what was to come.