Doubts Are Powerful 

The poison that lurks within your thoughts 

Slowly making my heart cease to beat

You stand there falsely distraught

As I slowly unwind us back to zero

I see through your eyes

As you smile and say I love you

A brother a father or just someone else

What you want isn’t me

And so I smile try and doubt furiously

Living a life in a live stream

Hearing my own words said back to me

And you can only be kind while you hope I leave

yet somehow you’re better than most

Sometimes I doubt whether you and I are even here

Finding out would shroud me in total fear

Yet I hope someday to find

You and I cannot be unbound

My heart will start ticking again

Because baby you gave me life hope and dreams.

This is the best I can do

Be it not enough for you

I try my best for you and only you

All that I do

I want it to be you

Please don’t hurt me

Don’t let me be weak

© Alex Turner 2018



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These walls, they’re closing in on me,

Ruminating rumours,

Only doubting their authenticity,

Show me the light, the one that I need,

Only on the inside do I bleed,

I walk on and I smile or I glare,

Meeting their eyes with mine,

Seeing how much longer they dare,

I always win!

I always win!

I always win!


So come and ask me,

I don’t bite,

nor with with my hands shall I smite your presence,

I’m playing your games and I’m winning.

Until I die I shall be on top,

Bully me,

I could use the energy,

Hate me,

I’ll only love you back,

Do as you please,

I’m infamous till death do us part,

Take me away,

Harrow my soul some more,

Because it makes me laugh,  and I have grown to love it.

(c) Alex Turner 2016

Blue Blood

His once blue-blooded veins now flow with vodka,

He walks down the roadside,

Only seeing lovers entwined,

Fingers, thumbs,

Interwoven with an ivy vine,

Street lamps pulsating revivifying electricity,

Reviving lost memories of brighter times,

Seeds of despair and regret,

Blooming in the cage of his mind.


© Alex Turner 2016

Brotherly Love

Although I find you to be an utter twit,

and hate your pretentious putrid wit.

I love you, brother.

Your face makes my blood boil

and I hate your fiendish guts.

Remember one thing.

I love you, brother.

I miss the way you mock my personality.

I miss the way you punch me.

I miss the humiliation that comes with being the younger sibling.

Congratulations on getting your new apartment and finishing your degree.

You fucking ogre.

I love you, brother!

© Alex Turner 2015

The Man Cave – Daily Short Blog

So, I have been granted permission by my parents to turn the spare bedroom of the house into a man cave. I shall finally have all the space a late adolescent could need. Oh, and what plans await this sorry room, you may ask.

It’s great, because I will have space to put all my guitars,books, and a new flat-screen television for sports. I also have made the purchase of a rather quite large pool table. We shall have to see if there is enough space in the man cave for it to fit. No fears, I shall make it fit.

I am also currently on Amazon looking for a sofa bed. Which, might I add, was the deal-maker of this situation. It serves a reasonable purpose; when we have guests coming to the house, they shall have somewhere to rest their precious heads, as if the settee in the living room wasn’t good enough! Furthermore I get to take the king size double bed into my room. Which is huge bonus as i get to upgrade from a single to double.

I also shall need to invest in a beer fridge. Every man cave needs a beer fridge. So what I need from you guys is some suggestions as to what else to add to the man cave. Silly suggestions are also welcome.

Tales Of An English Suburb : A weekly column.

Far away from the city smog and hustle of everyday inner-city life.

Is the dreaded peace, quiet and bore, of the small suburban district I call home.

Where the condition of the roads is more of an issue than inner-city poverty and drug addictions.

Today, was a day like any other;

drunken, underage adolescents drinking beer in the park, disgruntled old men tisking at them as they walk by with their dogs.

Busy, young professionals rushing to their corresponding bus stops and metro stations.

Pensioners getting in their way almost on purpose it would seem, as they have no better to do.

As for me?

I walked to the center to withdraw some money from the ATM.

As I needed to go into the city center to cash in a check into my fathers account.

I was pumped full of adrenaline and excitement as I walked to the ATM.

”What other wonders could today hold, I wonder.”

I arrived at the ATM to find I had forgotten my bank card, and so begrudgingly I took up the task of walking home and fetching the card.

Might I add the excitement and adrenaline had since perished.

Now I had the money all I had to do was return home and find the check, simple right?

Don’t be so naive!

I rummaged through the drawers where it was supposed to be, only to find it was nowhere to be found. the bank was due to close within the next hour or so.

Alas, I decided to sit down and have a cup of tea and a cheese and pickle sandwich.

When I saw it!

The check had been hiding under the corner of the coffee table. Typical!

I had under and hour to get to the bank. The next train was due in ten minutes.

Feeling the pressure, I rushed to the metro station.

Only to miss the train. The bank was to close at five O’clock.

the time now was four thirty.  the next train was due in seven minutes.

I jumped on to the train, and after fifteen minutes I had arrived with only minutes to spare.

Now feeling like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible, I started to run through the station into the city, running like a mad man.

I approached the bank. Would it be open ?


I arrived with a minute to spare and was the last client of the day.

I left the bank and bought and cold drink and went home for some well deserved dinner.

That my readers is the excitement that could only come in an English suburb!

© Alex Turner 2015


thanks for the picture
thanks for the picture

A structure of mystifying beauty and bewilderment.

Beholding mythological grales and such treasures to behold to ones peers.

Labyrinth come unto this earth and gift us with the knowledge unknown.

a  paradoxical box,

also known as Pandora.

Show us the path to enlightenment.

Play the string to a tone and tune,

to which we may all hear and dance.

Sensual, rhythmical, aromas,

to cherish and to keep.

Show us the way,

before our ignorant assumptions kill us all.

Transition of Youth

The transition of youth to adulthood,

A complex rugged terrain on which to walk.

We long to be excepted by our peers,

longing for approval from the very ones who seek it,

never wishing to be outcast from the herd of half truths and lost sorrow.

It’s as if things aren’t all that different,

Alas, they are.

Being willingly deceived,

just because they feel like it.

Once in isolation one can see through one like crystal,

only it seems to look back.

Through needles pain we walk.

To people we need not know we talk.

We greet strangers as if they were family.

We walk upon shilly-shally on our streets with angst,

in hope we do not meet a stare or a glare.

we treat the lesser few as messiahs and goddesses.

I sit here reminiscing over an illustrious fountain of youth.

A fountain from which I am never to consume from again.

Transition of youth !

© Alex Turner 2015

Dead and gone

Silent, sweet and graceful fate,

never ceases to exhume the thoughts which lurk and cower in the back of my brain.

An incessant vice,

which is no more.

Showering gargoyles with a mass of self destructive nanobots,

ready to destroy everything in it’s wake.

”No worries.”

He said to the man in red robes.

”No worries, what shall be shall, shall be.”

”Captain of the sea! Where is the Lion that you speak of?”

”He is in the sky, my boy. In the sky!”

I thought,

I think,

I may have lost my soul.

My smiling clown soul.

eccentricity ceases to exist in this world.

Days and moods were grey,

but not for another day.

Slowly piecing together each one,

each one less grey than the last.

Slowly piecing together,

lost and fractured shards,

the ever hanging scars.

Each day,

growing brighter,lighter, fluorescent.

”I want to be a poet when i grow up!”

Laughter slowly glues us all back together.

New souls are born.

The old is dead and gone.

  © Alex Turner 2015

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