Reece Beckett is a seventeen-year-old poet, film critic/director, music producer and artist. Filling free time with the arts has become his forte, and whilst he spends most of his time with films, 2020 has been the year for broadening. He will start attending the University of Southampton later this year.

Passing too fast

Can’t seem to shake this feeling that I’m having no effect 
Like I’m sitting here and screaming but everybody else is deaf 
Like I’m pulling, pouring heart out and still have no self-respect
Like I’m giving all my energy but just at my behest -
What is for the best?
Soon to leave again, no impact left behind again 
Is it ‘cause of me that I never have had many friends?
Never sure what’s true or what’s the ignorant parts speaking
Treat it all as truth, giving attitude some tweaking,
Nothing seems to hit; nothing seems to dig so deep by now 
Like having no reaction when a witness to what feels profound
Changes in life; they’re just changes in strife
Fall back so much that I’m guessing it’s just rife
It makes zero difference, it only adds to dissonance 
It only adds to grey; it only makes me feel the same
Still sitting stuck in sandpits, my feet stuck in the clay
Still sitting stuck and selfish, stuck inside my ways.
 
A hundred thousand words, somehow all worthless
Worried for my legacy and worried for my purpose 
I know it’s all selfish, self-righteous, egotistic
But I can’t put these questions down ’til the answers are tested
I know it’s all a mess, it’s never for the best
I’m still so depressed, don’t think I’ve ever felt blessed
Falling into tar pits, falling into toxins 
Falling into alcohol, falling in the box next
A tight wooden one, four sides and a top on it -
Stick it in the ground and lay a slab up on top of it.

Leaking Ship

The pain didn’t propose to pride,
Another broken promise.
Wonder where my mind is ‘cause the Lord knows I can’t find it
People calling me a dreamer, only ever had night terrors
Cold sweats for replays of old but ever fatal errors
Stuck with backs up ‘til they cracked up
Wait for randoms to attack us 
Camouflaged and backed up, in a corner, tried to flack us
Gifted to work with words, I took my worth
and tried to portray the pains
Put pen to paper and tallied up the broken panes 
Pretended I’d get better, ignored ideas of never 
Try to move forward with ideals of whatever.
 
Old conversations to be had, reliving memories - all bad
But it’s fine - I only get better with time
Sunflower sitting out in the summer sun 
Satisfied just to be alone, with no one
This cognitive dissonance is triggering
One step forward and another five back
Yet you hardly even notice, you always try the most
You’re always the closest, always the most morose 
I could run from coast to coast, still not know what I was thinking
Put a hundred glasses back and have no guess at what I’m drinking 
Close my eyes a thousand times, convince myself I’m only blinking 
Can’t trust myself, trust no-one else, busy cutting off and sinking.

Webbed Feet

Caught inside a spider’s web with eight legs advancing,
Facing down the gun, forced into blindly dancing,
Running until breathless, fell into the crevice,
With no way out, no way ‘round and
No way straight through it. 
 
Knowing nobody is pure, that we’re all beyond destroyed,
Never knowing what’s in store, the future leading sense astray,
Always senseless, can’t prevent things, buried feelings, stashed away. 
Shedding friends as if they were nothing more than snake skins. 
The losses coming with twice the frequency of wins.
Every day the same, within a cycle, in a spin.
Unable to fight, my might is gone from within.
When I look back at my own past, I know how bad I blew it. 
There’s no fixing things now, I think I always knew it.
 
Adjusting to the idea of bloodstains on the pavement,
Looking for a way through, unable just to pave it, 
Try to change the mindset, open up the lighting guide,
Trying not to look back for fear of what I’ll find;
Don’t know why I try, sounds easy - it’s impossible
Stumble over hurdles, caught up in the obstacles,
Regurgitate the waste, colour draining from my face,
People looking on, they question why I’m losing faith.
Losing the race, only aimed for last place.
 
Been so numb since my worst day, I wonder if I’m dead.
The afterlife a string of thoughts you wish you could forget,
Stuck in hell as I deserve, regrets living in my head,
Highlight of every day is crawling back into bed.
It’s myself that I detest, the actions now lay irreparable,
My own self-loathing leaves me open and susceptible.