Archive for the ‘Melancholy’ Category

Sometimes you get addicted to the idea of being a spook, a passerby, a sojourner: drifting through the pages of life like a redundant letter without getting assimilated into any permanent narrative – friendly enough not to be a creep but translucent enough to be looked past and forgotten. It gives you the god-like perspective of a narrator/observer: detached and ephemeral enough to observe the subtle nuances of human behavior—the expedient nature of adulthood and the rampant double standards.

I am a runner. I’ve always been a runner. I’m addicted to running. I’ve never belonged anywhere. I am too empathetic, I care too much. Being a spook is the only way I can move along the world without absorbing all the sorrow that comes from an empathetic connection. I even long to run away from myself. Je suis d’ailleurs, Alcest sang. But I also long for a deeper intimacy with that one soul, that intimacy that transcends mortal inadequacies. The truth is, this world provides nothing like solace for a soul like mine, a Steppenwolf. The more I live, the more confusing it gets as the world strips you of all those illusions that buoyed you through childhood. Where will I stand in the dust of a done life?

© David2018



“All it takes is one betrayal to steal away an entire future….”
(Steven Erikson—The Crippled God)

 I saw her that last night on stage

Face lit up like a glossy, colourful page

Dancing, smiling, pouring in all her soul

Her blonde hair free, her blue eyes aglow 

I cried that night as I watched it all

I realised then that i had lost my soul

Lost it to lies, and things I never loved

Lost it to a cold demon, to a shallow world

The dancing blonde reminded me of all i had lost

I had no more soul to pour, I was stuck in the frost

Frozen and wounded by the horrors of the past

When all is lost, how much longer can a man last?




i’ve only heard of Céline

but feel his claustrophobic despair

it’s a vast ocean of ceasless pain

and this ship is in dire need of repair


the Journey The End Of The Night,

sometimes begins with succulent kiss;

a promise of forever, some fairytale bliss

but this Paradise is dark, and this vlei is just a blight


existential angst,sinking hopes, the unanswered questions

the ugliness of mankind and the devastating cruel lies

it’ll all get better,” they shout, yet each passing day it only worsens

at the end of the night (a sweet promise) is where all the pain dies…..





©David 2017

Crying out (Hello World)

Posted: November 1, 2016 in Melancholy, Poetry

Hello world…

Will i be able to see you

in all your radiant beauty?

They sing that you are a wonderful place

They tell me you are beautiful

But my experiences have blinded me

i was stabbed in the eye by the ironies of reality

i can’t even see you through this veil of bitterness

i bleed from lies and deceit, broken by vile illusions

yet they tell me you are full of virtous deeds

they tell me honour still abide in your golden chambers

please, tell me where i went wrong

show me the beauty that you hide behind these scenes of pain

dear world, heal me if it pleases you

after all, I’m also human. don’t i deserve a break before i break ?






Lonely amongst “friends”

Posted: October 5, 2016 in Melancholy, Poetry

It gets lonely, he said; really lonely

I understood him, every damn word

Most of them just tolerate me

No love in them, not even hate

Sometimes I need love too. Hell, I can take hate anytime

Just for a change.


Some just keep you around to use you

They keep your number like a tow-truck’s

When their fast lives crash that’s when they call

They slow down enough for your services

Once done, they stare at you as you disappear in their rearview mirrors

They go on and never stop to pay or appreciate


It gets awfully quiet, especially when the walls close in

Who do you call when you are the tow-truck?

When “friends” are just a bunch of names in a phonebook

Who will really cry for you when you’re gone?

They might rail for the loss of your services

But who will miss your company?

The singer wept as he finished his lament

I got out of the club, and quickly forgot his name.


“Got so many friends, only so many times…” Ancient Highways: Van Morrison


Posted: September 30, 2016 in Melancholy, Poetry

i know THEY talk(and please don’t ask who)

But still i worry that what they say is true……..

They say I’m too cynical for someone so young

That I’ve given up too early on love, aloof and lost

But they don’t know how love bit me with a poisonous fang

So i told them I’m a realist, and I know what dreams cost

They told me I’m having an early midlife crisis,

Losing my grip and giving in to vices

I simply smiled, and laughingly denied

But deep down I know: I’m slowly dying inside


See him wasted on the sidewalk, in his jacket and his jeans” Wearin’ yesterday’s misfortunes like a smile. Once he had a future, full of money love and dreams. Which he spent like they was goin’ out o’ style (The Pilgrim ; Kris Kristofferson) 

Hurt, withered and worn

Posted: September 8, 2016 in Melancholy, Poetry



I played the blues on my grey guitar,
Turned off the news of a world gone bizarre
Then I cried out my soul by the calm river shore
Feeling adrift, broken down even to my frail chore
I always thought I was meant for more
Ran the extra mile, even thought I’d soar
But now just I’m tired and worn, like my torn shoe’s sole
It hurts to breathe; help me, even my lungs are sore…



Where do you go when you’re lonely ?Where do you go when you’re blue? (Ryan Adams)

Fine On The Outside

Posted: September 2, 2016 in Lyrics, Melancholy


I never had that many friends growing up
So I learned to be okay with just me

And I’ll be fine on the outside

I like to eat in school by myself anyway
So I’ll just stay right here

And I’ll be fine on the outside

So I just sit in my room
After hours with the moon
And think of who knows my name
Would you cry if I died?
Would you remember my face?

So I left home
I packed up and I moved far away
From my past one day
And I laughed

I sound fine on the outside

Sometimes I feel lost sometimes I’m confused
Sometimes I find that I’m not alright
And I cry, and I cry, and I cry

So I just sit in my room
After hours with the moon
And think of who knows my name
Would you cry if I died?
Would you remember my face?

Priscilla Ann– Fine on the outside (OST to When Marnie Was There)

Entropy (Existential Crisis)

Posted: August 31, 2016 in Melancholy, Poetry


wWSKiwLI long for this solitary company,

This hurtful love

And this painful joy

To really stab me to the heart and make me live,

Drain me of all emotion and make me whole


I long for this lonely crowded place

A peaceful war zone I can call home,

A chaos-filled Utopia where noisy, blissful silence reins

This place where love hates and laughter cries.


I long for those broken old wings,

To really snatch me away and soar the ground

So that if I fall I will crash to the skies

And enter into this desolate lovely Paradise

And exist again in this placeless place of my inexistence.


More than anything, I long for those warm uncomforting arms,

To shield my exposed side so as to leave me prone to the world’s cruelties,

So that even if I die, I will still be holding on to my peaceful bitter life


I long for this soft, grating and raspy voice,

To whisper loudly in my deaf ears

To really tell me those words I die to hear,

About this place where I really can’t find love and life.


Please dear love tell me before I leave

About the way you hate me in that loving heart of yours.

So that if yesterday comes I might fall in love with you again

And happily never after, we will love each other hatingly.


Oh how bright this opaque darkness is!

This confusing order of my well arranged mind.

I wish I could voice these deep shallows of my emotional heart

And maybe one day I could untell my virtual lover,

The most hating words one can ever say,

“I love you,”Oh how shamefully I can’t bring myself to say

I will hold on to them until the day I die

Entropy dear, embrace me with your chaotic orderly arms………………



©David Phiri

House Of Leaves

Posted: August 22, 2016 in Melancholy, Poetry, Quote

“Little solace comes
to those who grieve
when thoughts keep drifting
as walls keep shifting
and this great blue world of ours
seems a house of leaves
moments before the wind.”

― Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves