By Bob W Christian

Here we are again.

You.
Me.
The silence between us loud enough to rupture my ribs.

I call you companion because calling you monster
feels like admitting defeat.
Feels like saying you win.
Again.
Again.
Again.

You’ve given me so many nightmares,
I should be charging rent for all the nights you’ve made a home in my head.
I wake up sweating through the sheets
like maybe if I soak them enough, you’ll drown in the flood.
Spoiler alert:
You don’t.

Your memories play on loop in my skull,
like a cursed mixtape I never asked for.
And every time I press eject,
you just laugh
and rewind.

I thought I’d outgrow you.
Like acne.
Like imaginary friends.
Like bedtime fears and monsters under the bed.
But instead, you crawled into the bed.
Under my skin.
Built a goddamn shrine in my mind and lit candles for every time I tried to forget.

Aren’t I supposed to be a grown-up now?
Aren’t I supposed to be brave?
Aren’t I supposed to know how to lock the door to my own brain?
Because that’s where you live.
That’s when you thrive
when I’m alone
inside my own skull.

You’ve haunted me like clockwork,
never missing a season,
never skipping a visit.
We’ve grown up together, side-by-side.
Not friends.
More like…
cellmates.

I’ve tried evicting you.
Kicking you out.
Burning the lease.
But you always come back,
like a cockroach in winter,
like bad WiFi,
like me.

Still you’re my oldest companion. I’ve tried
Staying awake, hoping you’d sleep before me.
Tried drowning you – you’ve learnt to swim.

Always awaiting your return now.
I guess
this is what forever feels like
when you don’t get to choose who stays.

(c)BobChristianpoetry

By Bob W Christian

I remember the day that
Time, like your life,
Stopped. Your body,
Laid out like your
Obituary.

Paragraphs of your
Life for all to read.
Documenting the lies
The excuses, the games,
Played.

Hide and seek champ
37 years running
Away. Stretching
Truths, ducking all
Responsibilities.

When it’s my time,
I’ll can rest in peace
knowing, I may be no
angel. Still, I’m nothing
Like you.

(c) BobChristianpoetry

Old School

by BobChristianPoetry

I’m an OG.
Original Geek.
Back when geek wasn’t cool—
it was a quiet kind of rebellion.
Back when liking sci-fi was a secret handshake,
and knowing how to fix a floppy disk
was basically a superpower.

I was 8-bit before it was retro,
before Sega had Genesis dreams
and Nintendo hadn’t even found its Power yet.
We had cassette tapes—
forty-eight kilobytes of pure imagination.
You don’t know the struggle
’til you’ve heard the hiss
of a game loading like it’s whispering
its soul into the screen,
’til you’ve waited minutes
for a world to appear—
pixel by pixel—
while your whole weekend
waited behind a dungeon door.

We lived in basements and back rooms,
summoned dragons from graph paper,
fired imaginary bullets with our fingers,
painted miniatures
like we were building gods.
The dice hit the table
like war drums,
like thunder,
like the heartbeat
of a revolution
no one else saw coming.

Mayor West was Batman.
And Batman?
Was everything.
We didn’t just watch heroes—
we became them.
Every lunch table a secret lair,
every hallway a hidden galaxy,
every insult we ate
was just fuel
for the origin story.

I’m talking
D20-wearing,
Sindarin-speaking,
comic-con-craving,
MMO-grinding,
keyboard warrior
with a spellbook in one hand
and a joystick in the other.

I was lore before TikTok.
Canon before cosplay.
I didn’t grow into this—
I was born with it,
wrapped in a cape,
rocking light-up shoes
and quoting Yoda like scripture.

So yeah—
you can wear the title.
Call yourself geek,
nerd,
fanboy,
fangirl,
whatever fits.

But try walking in these pixelated shoes.
Try carrying this legacy
like a lightsaber at your side.
Try loving a thing
so hard
you built whole worlds
just to live in it.

Because me?
I’m not just a fan.
I’m the blueprint.
The origin story.
The one who rolled initiative
before the world knew
what the game even was.

NB You can also call me Rhiluron of Rivendell

(C) Bob Christian  

The earth is 4.543 billion years old. Man, as a species, is a baby at only 200 thousand years old. This means that if you were to take that time, Condense it down into a single year, then man has existed for hardly any time. Just a little over 18 minutes.

What have we done in those 18 minutes? Arrogantly declared ourselves to be alpha species in a world full of incredible plants and creatures that all existed peacefully for aeons before we arrived. Those we don’t destroy will outlive us. Yet we humans believe we are clever?

Maybe we are. Some intelligence is good, but not too much. We’ve recently made leaps and bounds in science, technology – spending billions searching for a new planet to Call home. To ravage. While using Our “intelligence” to destroy this one.

In 18 minutes we have wiped vast numbers of beloved animals off this planet. We have accelerated the extinction rate to a staggering 10,000 times above the base rate. These creatures connected to us all in DNA. How many must disappear off this planet.

Before we open our ears to mother nature’s screams for help? All the while continuing the constant neglect and mistreatment. Open your eyes to all her warning signs. Global warming. Larger storms than ever. Rising drought. Deforestation. Acid rain. The cause of this destruction? It’s us.

Thankfully, this tale is not completely bleak or apocalyptic. Some people are waking up, realising there’s a sacred connection between Mother Earth and mankind. They refuse to Let it be destroyed – for its beauty to be ruined -For future generations. Can she be saved? Or are we responsible for writing her eulogy?

Stop

(from Alexithymia)

Please stop for a minute.
Yes, I’m talking to you.
Don’t do what it is that,
You’re planning to do.

Let these words reach you
While I have your attention.
I won’t try to say that I know
The things you’re going through.

Just know that this pain
You’re feeling right now?
I’ve been there – reaching
For the solution in whatever

Form it might take – cold steel,
Booze or pills. So, even though
I don’t know you, we have, at this
Point, something in common.

I was twenty-seven the first time
I felt I was out of options. Taking
The ultimate step that day
When I tried to put myself away.

I felt like I was screaming inside.
Remember, I’ve been where you
Are. I’ve walked that mile in those
Shoes; I want you to know this:

You are stronger than you realise.
This is a fight you can win, even
If your doubts drown everything
Out, hold on a little longer. Stay.

Let me talk to you. Let my words
Through, even if you don’t
Think you can do it. I’ll share
This pain; be a voice of reason.

You have better times ahead
Believe me, try to see, I beg of
you. Don’t take your life. Instead,
Take my hand – we’ll do this together.

This is a quick scribble called “Future Stories”. Please feel free to drop me a comment on what you think.

To my younger self

Stop rushing through the miracle.
Sit in the room a little longer.
Memorize the laughter.
Touch the walls.
Let the people you love
feel loved.
Make one more memory
than you think you have time for.
One day, you will reach back for this moment
and be grateful it’s there.

Take your wounds seriously.
Not dramatically—
but honestly.
Heal in ways no one applauds.
Move your body.
Move your mind.
Keep going.
The future is quietly clapping for you.

And build stories.
Not for applause—
for inheritance.
Create moments so full of life
that your name becomes a doorway
your children walk through
just to feel brave.

Trust me—
the man you become
is already thankful.

(c)BobChristian

It’s pretty obvious what this piece might be about. I felt inspired to write about something that happened many years ago, but I won’t expand any further on the subject. I’m proud of this verse, which I wrote today. I hope you enjoy it.

Two Sides (Return To Sender)

You said…

I was punching above my weight.

Like love is a boxing match
and you were the title belt
and I was the undercard
grateful just to bleed in the ring with you.

But the fight was fixed.

You kissed me like a contract
already signed in disappearing ink.
One hand tied behind my back,
the other still reaching for you
like maybe if I loved you harder
you would become softer.

The referee—
who looked suspiciously like you—
kept checking his watch
every time you hit below the belt.
And I kept apologizing
for bruises
you put on me.

You said
I was reaching
while you were settling.

Like I was stretching toward the sun
and you were generously offering
shade.

Truth is, the relationship
wasn’t a garden.
It was a ship already splitting at the spine.
I was clinging to driftwood labeled
“almost.”
“good enough.”
“maybe if I try harder.”

And you—
you were still reaching too.
Just not for me.

You kept your ex on a pedestal
like a participation trophy
you never planned to return.
Polishing him in your memory
while I was drowning in the present.

You said
I had a lot of relationship issues.

And yeah—
I have anxiety.
I overthink.
I triple-text apologies
for things I haven’t even done yet.

But you—
you vacuum-sealed your damage.
Folded it crisp.
Packed it in designer luggage.
Emotional baggage by Louis Vuitton.
Same weight.
Better lighting.

You called it “standards.”
I called it distance.

You said
I’d never find anyone like you.

And you said it
like a curse.

Like I should be afraid
of a future
that doesn’t include
waiting for someone
to choose me.

Here’s the truth—

I hope I never find anyone like you.

I hope I find someone
who doesn’t keep score
in a game I didn’t know we were playing.

Someone who doesn’t confuse
mystery
with withholding.

Someone who doesn’t make me feel
like loving them
is a privilege
I have to audition for.

You were right about one thing.

I was punching above my weight.

Because loving you
took more strength
than you ever had to use.

(C) Bob W Christian 2020