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.
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.
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.
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.