29 March 2011

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

27 March 2011

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.

17 March 2011

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
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…

10 March 2011

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

7 March 2011

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

5 March 2011

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

3 March 2011

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
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