Near To The End of Beginnings

But things were coming to an end

There was nothing you could do

It couldn’t be stopped

Despite your protest it came with warning

The life of old was ending

The unknown had to unfold

Like an uncontainable force

The collision would bring change

As if it knew to do anything more

As if anything else could happen

Sensations from before would wither and die

Like an old plant struggling to find life

In an old baked bean can

The women that had been close have moved on

Found their new loves

As if you weren’t enough

Rubbing salt into your wounds

Making you raw

But the one who sleeps in your bed now

The one who holds you close to their chest

Means so much

Perhaps more

The life she holds is unquantifiable

As if she has created an everyday miracle

Something known but undiscovered

No more will you sit at desks

Questioning the words of others

Leave behind your old skin

Shed it as you must

It had begun to itch anyway

Goodbye to lovers

Be closer my love

Hello to sunshine

abandoned nightmares

You sat alone, wondering what had happened. Your friends had left you, implications that the one you were was no more. That somewhere along the way, you’d lost yourself. The road ahead looked barren, but on the horizon lights suggesting something more… Something else…

Down the road, a man in a tattered old suit that had seen too many winters, with a shirt that was once white hidden under a black noose came your way. He gently tapped you on the shoulder, asking you if you were going his way. You nodded cautiously, knowing that there was something not quite right with the man in the tattered suit. That he had an unexpected element about him. He said “life is a fun ride. I can go with you but only if you bring my friend?”

Behind him sat a man in an undone straitjacket, with white trousers too short for his long legs and toe nails that were attempting to root him to the earth. Hunched in a foetal position, his long fringe partially hid tired eyes framed in black but revealed the maniacal smile he was attempting to obscure with his sleeve. He gripping his shins for dear life

The man in the suit told you “he’s no bother, he doesn’t speak often… Only when you’re weak.”

“When you’re weak?!” You asked.

“Yes, he’s a man of few words, he only speaks when is necessary, but it’s important that he travels with us. He can be a bother, but I can deal with him.”

Concern swept your brow. The man in the straightjacket shot you a smile with empty eyes that gave you chills. He looked familiar, like a lost friend from the days of black nails and girls that couldn’t be held. But something about him was different, something made you want him kept at a distance.

You trusted the man in the suit. He reassured you. He knew how to control the man in the straightjacket.

Walking down the road with a new companion and his necessary friend, you knew that new sights awaited you, things that you had never experienced before. You tried to look back, but you were compelled to move forwards by something more sinister than your travelling companions. What you could see behind you was distorted anyway, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that what had been held a place in your heart that could not be forgotten. The man in the suit assured you that what was to come was far more important than what had been.

As the lights grew brighter and nearer, and the sun grew farther, new travellers appeared on the horizon, hoping to join your journey, whether you wanted them or not.

Through abandoned nightmares, age killed the fear and anger that once was, only to replace it with new fear. You’d never be the same again.

Not For Your Eyes

You’ve kept yourself caged for so long

Giving nothing away other than noise

Sounds so silent to become lost

Gently caressing the lobes and creeping without notice

Blowing softly into my secret chamber

I’m sure I can hear your closeness

Hidden floorboards and pipes that rattle

Keeping you far away

But my heart won’t stop pounding

Closing you out as the noise fills my head

My lungs won’t stop breathing

Taking deep breathes that fill me completely

Uncontrollably

As if I’m there

I can feel your movement

Rhythmic intention and pounding frustration

Your bodies mirror each other in design but not form

Laughter of a cruel disguise

Interference gets in the way

Hassling the beauty of what is unfolding

Enforcing a law that does not exist

The wind can’t carry you away

But the rain can drown you

Throw yourselves into me again

Let me feel everything

Leave me wanting more and hearing voices

They just aren’t there

Moving quietly with deft precession

Find shelter from the want that cannot be

I seek the other ones

The ones that have freed themselves

The ones that are no longer caged

The ones that I can’t touch

The ones who don’t know me

Yet they are the ones that speak to me

The ones who know what grows in the pit of my stomach

I can hear them all too clear

But from a greater distance

That feels closer than your nearby cage

Imitation is always an option

But not one that fills the need

Leaving the emptiness of consumption

I yearn to see your dance

To write of what you do from experience

To keep the memory in a pristine picture book

That only I can see

Trapped behind my looking glass eyes

You claim to be free

But your freedom is a lie

It imitates the prison that I built without walls

The prison I loudly proclaim to be immaculately flawed

I see right through you…

Self-Inflicted Wounds

Will you be my beggar

Will you be the one who soothes my wounds

Watch as the sores open and spill out

As my vitriol turns in on itself

Consuming me and feeding my drive

Placed in the box

With nowhere to run or hide

Sensually feel me and my verb

Tell me I’m good, that I’ve been a good boy

That I’m the only one

Read my words and tell me you love them

Tell them you hate me

Feel me growing inside you

Give me peace of mind

Let me grow more and more

Take me with you and swallow me whole

Give in to my teenage urge

Feel me from the page that glows glorious

Emaciate every last inch of me

Object to nothing

Drink this down your slender neck

And tell me you hate it

Failure To Inhale

A hopeless cause

A fallacy

A sense of desperation

A causeless hope

All felt during a sharp inhale of dead space

And a slow inhale of warmth and serenity

Breathe in and breathe slow

Lose yourself inside the abyss

Find comfort and be found

Yet still be lost without reprieve

Still felt on a short inhale

Departure on exhale followed by a cough

Opening a false sense of rebellion

Discarded skin with a necessary husk

Perhaps a need to be accepted

Yet also rejected

Hold on tight

Death is becoming you

Reminder of the past

The memories that fail to die

Closer now than they were before

An imitation of an early exit

Embrace is welcome

Lungs fill as the ashes past and present fall

Hold on tight

Let go

Counter Girl

Hips that beg to be held close

A curve of truth

Lips moist and sticky

Begging to be caressed

Dark eyes that hold the whole world

Bleeding out to call you in

A smile so sinister yet so innocent

A need to touch through vision

Milk white skin that seeps into your brain

Hair that tells more than there is to be told

A frame for a secret lie

Cheek bones that cut through nerves

In her touch there is a jolt

A walk that caresses the inner most

Perversion through blurring of boundaries

Enticement with no promise

A dance meant for you

And you alone

A volume that deafens

That only can be heard by one

Is shared by many

The lie is exposed

The ignorant will always be happier

To hold inside would be suicide

Miss Medulla Oblongata

Pull the handgun

Fire an incendiary golden handshake

aimed straight for your moist brain

Blood splattering against walls

used to sign your contract

Fighting in Pollock blotches

Shrapnel digs into your skin

an itch you must scratch

Splintering metal

skin

and bone

The love for the one you chose

held close to your side

deep in their warmth

Pull the trigger

feel your stomach explode

feel your heart stop

feel nothing and everything

Do as you’re told

Swap capitalist gains for prisons

smother yourself in the

Stockholm nightmare

Sell your children’s oxygen tanks

swallowing the razor blade

Medulla Oblongata is a harsh mistress

with vomit on her sleeve

choking cancer in her lungs

and a rhythm to die for

Sell yourself to her for profit

Spend the winnings on the opiate

of splendid design