Writer. Fighter.

On a bench in the corner,
Lost in the crowd. Adamant to be apart.
Convincing self to be an art,
And the artist.
Twisted wrist, and a split heart.
Learning chords on broken guitar back home.
No phone calls. No messages.
No one’s out there thinking about this lost drone.
Vibrating on the verve of long lost dreams.
He screams behind those brown calm eyes,
And promises tarnished.
Dead-pan, he contains thunderstorm.
Earphones. Sling-bag.
His head’s banging on loud deafening songs.
They find him a poor, hollow, numb thing.
He finds them drained of emotions; bunch of clowns.
His heart pounds of nuclear explosions.
Opening it would tear them all down.

No easy walk ahead.
He ain’t allowed to fall any further.
Considering he’s got no more battles to lose.
And he refuses to be on a losing side.
Yet he’s been refused to no limits.
One more cigarette.
Smoke trailing down to his burning lungs.
The fire inside him ain’t visible.
In so many pieces he’s been torn.
He ain’t anymore divisible.
And he multiplies the words in his mind.
Rewinding dreams.
Maniac they may find him,
He’s one of the strongest to walk around the town.
And the finest mind.
One of a kind,
Reminds himself,
Looking up high…

The whole universe at your side,
Cannot break the kernel of my grit.
Let the combat continue.
I may die, but I ain’t gonna quit.
Pry my heart open wide.
I’m a thousand layers deep itch.
I may seem peeling out,
But I ain’t gonna omit.

Five hundred pages long life-story.
Completed manuscript hanging on pending synopsis.
Fear of failure makes him obnoxious.
But why when he’s been through it all?
Given it all, for what?
To flush it down the pipes of darkness?
Five years’ torture aint gonna end with failure.
He bangs his head in constant motions.
Probably why he’s conscious.
Surely why he aint gonna fail.

A deep breath. And a kick in the dirt.
A puff of Oxygen. And his eyes divert.
He won’t look them in the eyes.
They won’t sustain the fire.
His sky has a big hole, but he admires it with all the broken stars.
He won’t caracole on his life-role.
He’s here to raise the bar.
The chase is never gonna end.
And the end is never gonna be The End but a new beginning.
He controls his spinning head for no real gain.
And the credit goes to the developing migraine.
But he ain’t insane.
No pain – no gain.
A dark night will open to a bright side.
He looks up and stretches his arms wide.

The whole universe at your side,
Cannot break the kernel of my grit.
Let the combat continue.
I may die, but I ain’t gonna quit.
Pry my heart open wide.
I’m a thousand layers deep itch.
I may seem peeling out,
But I ain’t gonna omit.

The whole universe at your side,
Cannot break the kernel of my grit.
Let the combat continue.
I may die, but I ain’t gonna quit.
Pry my heart open wide.
I’m a thousand layers deep itch.
I may seem peeling out,
But I ain’t gonna omit.
I aint gonna…

Adam Hague on flickr
– Adam Hague
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4 Comments

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  1. Never quit. Never stop. Great piece – one of your longer ones, I think? The photograph was a bit terrifying though.

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