Blackberry Towers.

I remember the cornfield from when I was young

The place that us kids would go to have fun.

Daffodils breaking through the warming earth,

As the promise of spring filled the air with mirth.

We played kerby, footy, bulldog and chase,

Climbed trees in the hope of reaching space.

Our knees were bloodied, elbows bruised,

We wore hand me down clothes and real leather shoes.

Daisy chain ropes that reached to the skies,

dandelion clocks, oh how time flies!

Purple fingers, betraying lips,

Blackberry pies with apple bits.

Bonfire night, the woolies came out.

In before dark! The mothers did shout.

Sparklers, fireworks, penny for the guy.

Halloween sweeties in endless supply.

Snowmen so big we stood in awe. Then

Took turns aiming for the highest score.

One in each garden some on the path,

A pile of wet socks, gloves, hats and scarves.

I remember the cornfield swaying in the breeze

Before they laid brick, took away the trees

Everything got busy, the air grew stale.

And nobody noticed when the kids grew pale.

A Devil to Forget.

A Devil to forget.

There are days when I would happily make that leap,
Across the deep, dark abyss into the devils land.
To walk with you where the devil’s soldiers sleep.
To sell myself to Satan and forever be damned.
The eternal flames of hell licking at my soles,
Whilst the blood rushes to my feeble heart.
Lucifer waits greedily for my broken soul
to drag me into a world that will forever be dark.
But is just one touch, taste of my truest love,
Worth the perpetual darkness of eternity?
And the loss of the promise of the world above,
To spend my days with you eternally.
There are days, when I would happily make that leap,
And walk with you, Where the devil’s soldiers sleep.

How?

I don’t know how to do this
When I constantly reminisce
Of our perfect cherry kiss

I don’t know how to forget
And avoid the prospect of regret
so I do not say goodbye, not yet

I don’t know how to walk away
When I want to see you everyday
But we both know I cannot stay

I don’t know how to move forward
I feel like I am being tortured
I would stay forever if I could

I don’t know what to do
And I’m tired of feeling rue
I wish I could start anew.

The Broken Serial Killer

‘Your Dad was right, you’re useless, a failure. No wonder your Mum ran of with the shop keeper.’
Tim clumsily paced around the small cluttered living room, knocking into the old brown coffee table, sending a pile of paper work scuttling across the carpet. His hands were shaking from three days without sleep. His muscles tired and weakened. Tim grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the floor and took a long swig. He hoped the alcohol would invade his body, comatose him, he desperately needed sleep. He prayed that enough alcohol might bring him death, peace.
‘You’re not a failure. He stole away your Mummy, your childhood. You can still make daddy proud.’
Tim turned to look toward the corner of the room, where the voice had come from. The girls soft voice reminded Tim of his Mother.
‘Pick up the gun, Tim.’ she whispered.

‘Are we doing this, or what ?’
Tim turned to where he had heard the mans voice come from. Looking directly at the armchair, his drunken dad had occupied for so many years, he desperately replied,
‘I just want to sleep, I want my Mummy.’
Tim paused in front of a broken mirror. His eyes sunken and bloodshot, skin deathly pale. It had been three days since his Fathers funeral. He tried to sleep, but the memories crept into his dreams, forcing him awake, sweat covering his body, his heart beating rapidly as his screams echoed around the empty house. The scars that map out across his pale broken body, ache, constantly. Tim ran his fingers through his unwashed hair, rubbing the tip of his thumb along the groove of a ten year old scar. A constant reminder of why he must never ask questions about his Mother. For seventeen years his Father had controlled his every movement. Had beaten him to within an inch of his life. Had constantly reminded him, that it was his fault ’mummy’ had left.

No one noticed the anxious man walking along Main-street. His hands dug deep into his pockets, as he rubbed the cold metal barrel. The bright florescent lights inside the shop stung Tim’s eyes, blinking he accustomed himself to the new and threatening surroundings. Slowly walking along the aisle toward the cashier at the far end, he watched the old man reading behind the counter, the graveyard shift was always the most peaceful. Without hesitation, Tim pulled out the 22 Calibre gun, and pointed it towards the shop keeper.
‘You stole my Mummy’
The shopkeeper looked from Tim to the gun. His shaking hands rose in a peaceful gesture. Tim pressed hard against the trigger, hoping for relief from the voices. The shopkeeper had no time to react as the bullet hurtled towards him, entering his heart.
Tim ran from the shop, out into the night. Struggling to hold himself together, he shouted into the darkness
‘Please, I did it. Please let me sleep.’
It was quite the voices had gone… for now.

I wrote this is an excercise for a tutorial, please feel free to let me know what you think. Thanks for reading.