the truth tastes like blood
it drips from my mouth
standing still in my red shadow
my teeth are red
red like my rage
Judas kisses
wash my feet of the dirt
I walked through
the truth is still the truth
in outer space
and blood is still red
red like my rage
nooses smile golden loops
hanging like lies
smiling at me
but all I taste is blood
Sweet creation
flittering above the river &
between the overgrowth,
floating, naïve to these contemplations.
Explosions of noise on those fragile wings;
the air tastes of dark blue misery.
Yet you’re so peaceful
in the Garden of Eden
before the Fall of Man…
Before Man became man.
Come here, sweet beauty!
Stay a while.
No, don’t try escape my clasp!
Here, let me
tear
those wings off!
Let me tear up.
Death begets Life;
Life begets Death.
Fly now, sweet thing, fly now!
Well?
The answer?
The answer:
Sitting on a creaky wooden bench
beside a small lake
motionless
eyes fixed in a trance
a tear
one
then another
A ceiling midnight blue
a bed beneath
spotlit by the silver moon
crinkled sheets
silent tremors
then sleep
Red rose water droplets
fragranced
thorns lots of thorns
green thorns
on this red rose
dropped
trampled
pushed aside
Love?
Yes
I know it
I know it well.
I want to fit out
but I can’t escape
the twisty smoke and cool alcohol.
I’m so unique like you
and you and you.
Mirrors always tell me what they tell you.
My Insta is a flood of what gets likes
and my tattooed infinity sign is finite
on this skin.
I want to fit out
but friends keep making me:
they hold me high…
The parties aren’t fun,
the clubs play music that sells by formula,
the beat of it all is always the same.
Day in and out
mom and dad don’t talk:
whose parents do?
I want to fit out
but Disney has me hooked
singing frozen melodies I can’t let go.
And my bank account
is as low as me.
I want to fit out,
help me out the window:
I know it’s cliché but I want to leave.
I don’t want to be a statistic.
I just want to fit out.
a magnet destined be
attraction to rusted metal
broken parts withering
in the emergency lanes of highways
back and forth back and forth
mutated and malignant
spreading spreading spreading
tear drops watering seedless ground
no seedlings of hope grow
oil spills of the mind
thoughts have no traction
spin out of control
crash
red yellow green
flashing just flashing
mixed diluted wasted rancid
scrap yard hope
damaged goods are goods still
a lone eye spots potential in destruction
rust has a colour to see
and that single eye is me
Slowly…
Then all at once:
taken away by Sleep’s arms
into a misty Dreamland.
Swirling around in your whirlpooling eyes,
trying to paddle to your Island treasure chest
with a beating gold inside.
Caught and sucked in
by this sandstorm of emotions.
It stings me all over;
it’s a pain I don’t mind.
Voodoo dreams:
I cannot control –
it’s you, all you.
The wind in this Dreamboat sail
sucks me towards your epicentre.
Waking hours,
and sleeping ones too:
all I see is you…
Voodoo dreams!
You’re so surreal, so it seems.
Awake or asleep;
you’re everywhere.
And I love to just stare.
When it’s so close you can feel it –
but you can’t actually feel.
When it’s almost real it seems impossible –
but really it is.
When it feels so right and real –
but it can’t be real from one side.
When you see every sign that shows it will happen –
but those signs aren’t for you.
When you think it’s your time –
but it’s your time to be denied.
When?
But?
Only time will tell but
slowly
it will wither you away
and hope will
gnaw
gnaw
gnaw
…
Red-cloaked and black-shoed:
It strolls nimbly into life…
Not a care but to cause…
Emotionless and cruel;
Hard and cold.
Streaks of blood seep
Slowly out of deep wounds
And crimson tears carve a neat path
Downward lonely cheeks.
It envelopes the insides,
Wrapping itself tightly around
The organ that beats against the force and
Gives life while being given death.
Untouchable, undiagnosable.
Cruel. Cunning.
Sharp-shooting. Deep-wounding.
Full of itself.
Mr Individualist 