Poems

Winter Survival Have you ever held a popsicles in winter, You havent? Shocker! Look, my fingers are going purple, They might fall off any second now. Wait for it.. Wait for it.. Oh man! I wanted to sell my fingers, You know to count the digits in maths, But oh well! It's December, I look like a caveman, Can't make fire for the life of me, So I choose to suffer. This year is almost over, And everything inside me is frozen, It's like your on pause, Except you not, Your still here, Breathing, Eating, Alive, The last survival round, All gone. Endless Loop The air around me – is unbearable, Just one breath, one normal breathing pattern, makes me instantly feel dehumanised, Like a packet of crisp, Sitting on your shelves, waiting to be eaten. Except your not a packet of crisp, But you sure feel like chewed up smithereens, And before you know it, Your spitting out of the other end, Like it's some sort of demon fire running cold. Oh no – dear lord, I think I've done it again, I – think I had an attack which I couldn't control, I didn't mean too, I – lost control, I'm sorry. The streets of Liverpool The unsympathetic air brushes against my rosy red cheeks, Like a vicious creature ready to attack, Hitting you at every corner of your aching body, Feeling like thin icicles are being thrown at you, Cutting viciously through your thin layer of skin, Causing full blown powerfully-built waves, Of ambiguous shivers down my wre-cked spine, Almost making it stiff to move my pile of bones, As you constantly feel like you’ve been simply dumped, And exported to the middle of the Atlantic ocean, even though your on the streets of Liverpool, or what you think is to be known as Liverpool? Once you travelled place to place, You lose sense of time and your surroundings, So you just count the 4 seasons, Whatever that seems to be. I've counted 36 so far and I'm still going.