A Free Collection

Here is a free collection of some of my poems, all written through my ongoing battle with depression and anxiety. I hope you all enjoy and thank you for reading. Click here: Suicide Notes by Phen Weston

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The Dweller by the Tomb

- For Talitha - Madness. My life is a mortuary pressing against my skull in which no sacrament holds between these empty thoughts; and I want to be taken for granite. Sanguineous opinions that drain the will from cold lips, gracile delirium coming to nothing. Layers of sulphurous myth that burns my heart and I... Continue Reading →

Tacenda

The shade of death Upon your lips parallels Fallen leaves upon the ground. Symphonies are notes Just stitched together. The wind upon susurrated tears. Those departed. One we all hum, Sooner or later. Yet, sometimes, I wish sooner Would hurry its way along... © Phen Weston, 2018

Be Not Afraid

A simple kiss. Withdrawal, synapse and draped fate, shifts through entrails. Playing games here and there; but longing comes with retort, plagiarising life before a first simple kiss. To feel komorebi as I hang in woodlands. To feel temperateness of water as life spews from wrists. To taste salt as waves pull me down to... Continue Reading →

Futility

‪Beat in casket- escarp-‬ ‪call me: bluff- and walk towards‬ ‪my edge- seraph‬ ‪that lives between desolation-‬ ‪you beat- heart- and I do not-‬

Her Seppuku

♦ From my book 'Nothing But The Rain' ♦ The bamboo wife Saw The melancholy man With tombstones In his eyes, White ritual And grey whispers Soon bloomed, Turning to clouds, Soaking the earth, Splinters Ran down her cheeks, Ligneous Tears of tragedy, Jagged and ripe, Regrets demeanour Could not stand Between their worlds, Tormented,... Continue Reading →

Another Word For…

There was a shade Where seraphs wait Against the backdrops Of all the junctions that came And left between the cracks, Stop the story for life weighed, There are no lines of state, No fogged mirror, nor spinning tops, That took away her pain, Just undetected embryonic acts, The virtuous murmured dirge, Transient and naissance, To... Continue Reading →

I Am Alive

I. Do words decay with time? Or does the rhythm and rhyme Of magnificence perpetually Keep them eternally moving In the heart of universal life? I have seen the face of death, Kissed her, embraced her, fucked Her as though she Was the last lust filled being In my cruel universe, I couldn't see that... Continue Reading →

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