The Self-Consumer Of His Woes - Jake Platt

[jakeplatt]

[Jake Platt]
[Farmer By Birth][Poet At Heart]

[jakeplatt]

She’s dead. God. She’s dead. She’s actually dead. I don’t even know what to say, it seems pointless writing anything down. Most things seem pointless. Thank god I have Emma.

No, don't thank god. Thank anyone but god. Bloody hell! How the hell does the goddamn King expect us to go to war for some bloody god that doesn’t even exist. No god could have left us like this, let these things happen to us.

Urgh. I don’t know. I can't even put things in to words. It hurts, it really hurts. I don’t know. I’ve always been able to rely on words, but now even they are failing me. God. I feel like everyone is betraying me. She’s gone and I cant stop myself feeling angry for leaving me here to deal with this.

I don't know. I'll write more later.

[jakeplatt]

The royal road to real love
Was cut off by a fallen tree,
Like a signal from above
That told me to abandon thee.
But up above there never dwelt
A kindly, guiding spirit-king
And nothing matched the pain I felt
When fate took axes to my wings.
My blood spilt like a royal seal
Upon the sacred, sandy ground.
The names like in the orange peal
In my ashes could be found.
The names that in my veins recur
A devil, demon, Lucifer.

[jakeplatt]

The hearts of wars fought long ago
I see reflected in your eyes;
The pounding pulse of scarlett foes
And the bitter, twisted lies.
The lies that to myself I tell
To keep the wolf boy far away
But god looks up at me from Hell
And knows I can’t keep him at bay.
The battles from lost fairytales
You brand upon my newborn skin
And as you knock upon my door,
Though made of bricks, I let you in.
Like petals from a dieing rose,
I’ll let you swallow all my woes.

[jakeplatt]

My face is but a paper mask,
A thin facade of normal life,
And the horrors of the past
Paint my thoughts in shades of strife.
The paper faces in the crowd
Could not smile or shed a tear
And it makes me wonder how
The two of us came to be here.
Though in the whirling see of dreams
Your voice rang out like silver bells;
In spite of lies and whorish fiends
You caused the horrors to dispel.
Now life’s become a masquerade
Were all your words but a charade?

[jakeplatt]

Now the audience starts their intolerable clapping
There’s nothing like the sound of your heart strings snapping

Still working on this one. Don't know what it means yet.

[jakeplatt]

I can't write. I dont know what's happened but I can't write. I get images, frangments of ideas, the odd line, but nothing whole, nothing real. I can't write sonnets any more. I could always write sonnets but I can't even do that any more. The syllables don't fit and the rhymes are strained and awkward. God, I can't even write this properly. My head seems to be full of masks and mirrors. No prises for guessing why. Oh god I can't even think straight. I don't know. I'm going to have to do something before, I don't know, before something worse happens.

Here, this is the only thing I've been able to pen since the fair. Th metre's awful, but there's not much I can do about it. I don't even want to think about where it's going.

In the bitter light of morning the colours seem to fade
And I find out that my whole life was just a masquerade