Reece Beckett is an eighteen-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.

Mirror

 He sat and realised
 As he looked into the mirror
 That he was beaten down.
 Become accustomed to his head spinning,
 All of his accomplishments were aided by addiction,
 So what if without the drink, every accolade was fiction?
 What if without the drink, his brain could never think?
 He thought these questions over, feeling nauseous by the sink. 

Merely Shards

 Piling up the pressures, feeling like I’m always stressing,
 So it’s on to the next thing, cycle keeps on spinning
 And it’s bound to repeat again, 
 Always repeat myself
 Running in circles like I’ve been blind to change
 Seeing the same streets will make you feel that way 
 And I’ve seen them for six years, the walls are turning red
 But that’s the only change. 
 Maybe glass is on the floor
 But the wind sweeps it away, 
 Leaving in its place 
 Merely shards.  

Ribs Turned Brown

 Full of hate, I try my best not to express it
 Try to make manoeuvres when crushed under this depression
 Always feeling nauseous, always so exhausted
 Anxiety got the best of me, 
 I’m always extra precautious,
 My worldview distorted, 
 My cohort all contorted,
 Prayed for six years that these problems would be sorted.
 Malleable, bent out of shape - what a waste
 It doesn’t really matter, 
 You can never see our faces
 No empathising, no realising
 That what we’re most afraid of
 Is that which is never really hiding
 Pride self on dividing,
 Our only action is subsiding
 Providing hatred to a brimming pot,
 And barely surviving. 

Atrocity Exhibition

 She writhes around her cage
 With both eyes scratched away by age
 Faceless worms admire 
 The spectacle on stage,
 Body full of rage, blasting around
 Inside a haze, fire blazing within
 She could swear that
 She feels it burning off her skin,
 Atrocity exhibited, 
 She’s almost pleased to please the hedonists,
 Demented, darted, doubting 
 Doing nothing that her mind’s influenced,
 Watched her strong will fall to fluid,
 Controlled from above, watched by burning eyes
 Would look up to pray, 
 But which way is up?
 She can’t see the skies,
 She’s been blinded by the lies and by the lights,
 Busy dangling precarious, 
 They all find it hilarious,
 Door key is gone, 
 It’s lost - so long lost
 Devoured by a monster and 
 Her life will be the cost.