her manslaughter was devoted
those foetus’ were attached to her sleeves
wrapped in warm blankets
straining against the sound of the world
her flimsy hearts, all eleven of them

reflected in her blood
she wanted to be alone
drowning on the bathroom floor
she smiles at the children
holding their combusted brains
attempting to secure sanity with elasticised straps

inside the womb of her mother
corruption didn’t need society

she looked for signs
her burnt daughter
ways to resurrect
without pulling at the stitches
her existence was dependent on it



near the doorway
cosmic gaps fused into eachother
creating dull breaches
and extensive shadows

underneath the chandelier
heads floated serenely
content with unrequited love
and their blinding silver bruises

underneath her bed
the monsters remained faceless



he knew how to make girls bleed
rivers of coagulated liquid
flowing straight into obscene wastelands
where his whores were smoking powered bone
and sighing at the way
he could poeticise hatred

on top of a green landscape
thunder struck her form into pulses of elevated despair
collisions of electricity blistered her soul
atmosphere pinned her to the ground
and made her unaware of the people
who wanted desperately to assist
accidently breaking the bones in their writs

all she wanted to do, was to watch him
burn another piece of her
she liked the way
his eyes glinted in the fire

for two years she had been walking around
with a knife embedded into her cranium
unable to think
about her instability

the bullets were tasteless
and behind her eyes
he would never be holding the gun
he’d be embracing it



the animals asked to be forgiven
they had gotten carried away
and eaten down to the bone
their owners lay in piles of flesh
with disapproving looks
etched onto their features
heads left untouched out of loyalty

tears washed away the blood
as they hid the remains
from the gluttony that possessed them

Openings in the Sky

If people were rain
she would be a puddle
occupying a dent in the ground,
an anomaly in mankind’s framework
deep enough for criticisms
but too shallow for compliments

how nice it must be
to be a threatening downpour, to be a hurricane
in a world which would always be
unaware of drizzle


ripping bullets out of the pavement

the gunman wore a neon green uniform
he stood steadily, legs apart, gun pointing upwards
nail marks were engraved into his forehead
the blood streamed from the wound
blinding him and sending him into fits of slippery coughs

with reason applauding his motives
he pointed downwards
and would only pause firing
when he was happy with the speed
the skulls we surfacing from their graves

every once in a while
he’s stop to reload
and shake the hands of the dead
as they emerged from the ground

dusting off the earth
and grinning at his efforts
they took his gun
held him down
and shot him
into an unrecognisable heap


Adversus Solem Ne Loquitor

trees exploited nature's intervals
stabbing septic changes into the earth
gradually peeling hell through

morality remained composed
cleaning the blood off Angels robes

she stood on the fluctuating ground
imbalanced with contentment
watching from a sheltered distance
as the ground prepared to combust

transfixed on the spectacle
her eyes tore pieces off irregular dimensions

emptying matter into piles of un-functioning organs

she collapsed, when symmetry interrupted

gravity orchestrated psychotic shrieks inside her head

with misplaced vengeance

everything became blood soaked
then she was blinded
by the sunrise she had not expected

(title translated from Latin: don't speak against the sun)


you had always wished on the moon

violet desire pulsed from the greying sky
tempting you with invisible smirks
and hoping you’d watch
as it unveiled mythical promises
Greek Gods prophesying your demise

attempting to count the stars
one for every fool who sought for better
dawn shattered the skies

taking a break from your painful mania
you sleep
and wish to wake up
where the fallen stars had landed



her mother arrived at eight
through the door
dusting off the cold
and accepting her greeting
she told her
he’d been attacked
by hooded creatures
who were just looking for fun
and a phone to call a hooker on
the one who smelled of vanilla
they liked her

they’ll burn in hell
she said
bad people always did

the verdict was;
a broken jaw
fractured bones
scars and bruises
and he’d lost a litre of blood

oblivions for two days
with only an empty bed to ponder

only mumbling a few questions
at the incident
questions that weren’t answered
she finally disappeared
into her sanctuary
locking the door
turning up her music

she scared herself
when she finally admitted
she wasn’t sympathetic
neither was she angry

she didn’t feel a thing



there they were
hung amongst the stars
golden nooses attached to their jugulars
swing back and forth
to some misplaced lullaby

down there
adulterous liquids infected the snow
snowmen waited for the sunlight
to dissolve their dreams
as they fell apart
into ambivalent drains

somewhere inbetween
forgotten memories were amplified
occupying human shells
who were frothing at the mouth
and driving themselves insane
at the thought of your return

asking their nurses
for just a second
to tell you how wrong you were
to stay
within their heads


Burnt Cranial Nerves

Emotion bled her dry.
Wooden bones structured her empathy,
Fixing together pages of dehydrated parchment
Anticipating floods of jilted ideas.

Waiting for secrets to part with their silence,
And dust off fragments of shadows
As it unfolded itself for invasion.

That was the problem with the human condition,
You could never be impartial
While you still had a heart that could pity.

Someday’s the knives were bladeless.
Someday’s the knives only had rusted handles.

Nailed to a wall
Divinity tasted bitter
You took the blows
And forced yourself to believe,
That you preferred scars over bruises.

Bruises you could never comprehend,
As if the perpetrator cared enough
To stop before rupturing your veins.

Your emotions had always been a sink.
With a gaping hole and a misplaced plug.
Consistency was never an option,
Overdoses were all that could be delivered.

The bad overdoses outweighed the good.
On a day like today,
It felt like the dire overdoses were all there were.

All days felt like days like today.

You asked yourself where you contained it all
And why you weren’t overflowing.
Maybe you just never could
Because all the liquid pain would evaporate
And intoxication would remember reality.

You would remain broken,
Only to be scrutinised
And found incompatible.


How it Happened

the severed walls
whispered to eachother
four faces debating
their imprisonment

the clock ticked urgent analysis
time haunted you
and made you believe
you would never be fast enough
to contain it all

the static from the television
replaced the voices in your head
as you concentrated on the colours

you saw yourself
opening a window
feeling for rain
and checking the temperature
you don’t remember it
but, you jumped
falling through air
and into the ground

you laughed all the way down



she settled on a fence
swallowing razors
with indifferent efficiency
and waving at strangers
who deflected her gaze
and instead stared
at the bile splattered pavement
whilst dragging corpses past


his eyes melted the walls she used to escape into

she fixed a vowel to her sleeve
the blood in her illiterate veins flowed
in the opposite direction
her pauses were infinite
his tongue mimicked her silence

ignorance dissolved on the handrail
steps which had no ending
pushed adrenaline through their exchange
the words were insignificant
but she listened
she could feel the heat radiating
from his heart
his thoughts were screaming
slurred desires

his form was a vessel
fondling unclothed saxophones
with what seemed to be
golden hands



She didn’t need indecisive contact.
Their limbs were worn puzzle pieces,
Making a slow journey downwards.

Floating for a while.

To catch the stolen light beams.

She didn’t need speed limits, either.
Patrolling her manoeuvres.
Light shone on oppressive numbers.
Needing to fulfil their purposes,
To the darkness.

Frequency waves,
Didn’t reach far enough within her brain

To displace
All those
Thoughts of him.

Her need, wore a hole in his soul.
Shaped like yesterday.


Discarded Straitjackets

the steps that lead you towards convention
bargained with the concrete underneath it
waiting for cues to split the canvases of hell
like a tolerant child losing an imaginary friend
and forgetting to breathe

because they were being kicked in the stomach
by translucent negligence

a tree crouched a few yards away
pretending to be uninterested
as it vomited up amber leaves
onto the rain soaked ground
gasping for a dose of subtler colours

it prayed to deteriorate for a kinder season

paranoia was asking you to dance
but you refused to get off the ground


This heroin dusted wedding dress

today was the day
she would give her inky heart
and bruised soul
to a man she hated

she had received
a series of deficient congratulations
from ravenous friends and acquaintances

they had started painting her
she was drowning in floods of makeup
her coughs provoked un-approving murmurs
from the weapon yielding maniacs
with horizontal brushes

her bottled suicidal desires
were being swept underneath
her supposed excitement
by limp wristed stylists

she took one too many bathroom breaks
where she cried dehydrated malnourishment
and snorted lust into her nostrils
it bit holes through her veins
she was now able to deal with how terrible
her reflection looked
her bloodshot eyes probed her decision
did they want to live?

she had caught a glimpse of him earlier
his happiness
was masturbating with itself
his mental derangement
was not as infectious
as it usually was

on her return
her mother smiled and fixed her palm into hers
she was merrily forced
to step into her heroin dusted wedding dress

she had overdosed in seclusion
and her final wish
was to collapse where he could see her

she could already feel
the countenance of this unwilling bride
evaporating into nothingness


holding onto disaster

and breaching consequences
required erasing actions
with fingerless hands
and a pair of eyes
that could not place repercussion
in its correct sequence

the sympathetic
would accept her apologises
and smile candidly
at her white lies

the cans of worms
did not come with return addresses

she stood in places
she would never belong
opposite glossy displays
and underneath broken lights
everything looked the way
it should,
normal and undisturbed
but the colours were all wrong
reality burnt the shades lighter

with every
“I thought you’d left”
there was a possibility
she would never return

she could see the condolences
and bowed heads
towards the approaching wooden coffin
which should have been white

she despised lilies


Circling The Past

the spaces in-between now and then
were filled with unfired bullets

un-spilt blood overflowed
with sorrowful reminiscences

the gaps of nothingness
inside the margins
claim to be undamaged

the forms standing within
were comforted by
cowards holding umbrellas
in the sunlight
whose cheeks were charred
and their souls blinded

she didn’t know how it happened
but she had chained herself
to the pillars
which had – possibility –
engraved horizontally
at their foots

everything else
was a flaw
that electrocuted
her time loop


once more with feeling,

blinding tempos
and violating vocals
immerse your psyche
and light up the unoccupied picture frames
of pretentious artists
who played cards with inspiration

beginning the chorus line
their sighs melt into

silence did not exist,
on this side of creativity


Depressive Psychedelia

the glass was blue
just like the liquid inside
but nothing was ever
as blue
as she would have liked it

she couldn’t remember
why she had smeared
all of her pills
with blood,
maybe it was her way
of apologising
to everyone she had wronged

the background noises,
plagued her eardrums
she wanted to escape the vibrations
and all of the green monsters
that came with them

her screams were an unvoiced violet
and no matter how hard she tried
she could never,
see the black and white


Cryptic Knowledge

glaring at returned puzzle pieces
pathetically cursing the magnetic field
that drew them apart
pilling them into incomplete piles
on the stained mahogany counter

you ignore,
the signs attached to hazardous routes
they made as much sense,
as the broken traffic signals
and adolescent drivers

unwelcome intruders broke into your quarters
and raided your fridge
looking for nourishment
and searching for things you had discarded

deciding their verdicts
you smile at your reflection and try to explain yourself
as you usher them,
into themselves

rewritten from: http://ladan-poetry.blogspot.com/2009/11/cryptic-knowledge.html



the definition of fragile
is of a shell that has never been opened
self contained and obliged to dreary routine
expanding with stale breath
and fearful reluctance
and then deflating on a C-minor
the result of unrequited devotion

clouded eyes looking in from simple delusions
unseeing and assertive
eyelids uncovering, to show lit flames
searching for euphoric reflections,
of desire

enchantment clutches your wrists
and hangs them where they shouldn’t be,
straining your assurance
you are lifted to elation
and accept the glowing welcome
and radiating appeal

whenever the shell let it's guard down
you were unable to avert your eyes
you could never see,
past the illuminated cracks
and that had always been the problem

rewritten from: http://ladan-poetry.blogspot.com/2009/11/light.html


Snow and Sunglasses

sitting on a snow covered hill
sunglasses substituting your eyes
you could never imagine
a time of warmth.

you are relentlessly showered with iced knives
and corroded leaves

with your legs crossed
and gloves woven into your hands
you make disfigured snowballs,
and bury them into the ground
preserving your creations

Snow Angels haunt your pride
your limbs are in all the wrong places, they criticise
those goddamn imitations look more like friendly Devils,
they scream.
the Angels were not as forgiving,
as they claimed to be.

you could barely dodge the snowflakes
that rained from the navy sky
seeping through your layers,
they burnt holes into your joints

the house that sat at the bottom of the hill
was just as empty as its occupants.

making a wish,
on the snowflake that landed on your tongue
you make one final snowball

and watch as it rolled down the hill
increasing in size and superiority

the structure laughed on impact,
the bricks remained intact.

you expected,
nothing to remain of your snowball
and you were not disappointed

the windows glinted victory
as you drifted away, into another season



the demolished window
birthed cutting pieces of glass
that violated in all the right places.
dissembling your thirst
and arranging your desires
onto the tips of torturous lust.

drained of all necessary fluids
coagulated scarlets smudge on delicate skin,
fingertips hover over distinctive markings
demanding blood to be drawn
and bruises to manifest.

the purchased gun,
would not make a big enough hole
to fill with destructive termination.
the segregated knife,
would not destroy mapped veins
and label all routes redundant.
the pain of weakness,
and unreciprocated love
is all that will remain
to devotedly mutilate your brainwaves.


Smoke and Mirrors

Blistered blue preoccupation
Cracks the surfaces of mirrors
Seeping into the fractures
Infecting the reflections,
Of the recluses
Who shun their counterparts.

Jagged gusts of air
Caressed hollow bones
Invading buried apprehension
And unbound desires.

The obliged will hold your hand,
and tell you what you want to hear
with inky irises and delicate sighs.

Astronomical lights,
will drive the introverts
To exist on the side,
The moon is darkest.


What You’ve Lost

hands on the floor
feeling for something you might have lost
the distant ground
laughs at your disorientation
and scoffs at your temporary amnesia
opening up a hole
it would like you to accommodate

passersby threaten you with their height
incubating an neurotic exaggeration
invading the ground you wish to examine
with their infected footprints
and sluggish movements

you are deprived from air for long enough
to give up and sulk
becoming the placebo
to their provisional fortune

loose change
a piece of gum
a folded up scrap of paper with a reminder on it
it doesn’t matter what you’ve lost
someone else will find it
and claim it as their own


Segregated Desire

He stood steadily beyond the walls
Holding her unattached lungs
And pieces of her discarded heart

His eyes glazed with empathy
Reason burning in the jagged raindrops
He smelt like 1am
and tasted like italics
She looked like intensity
and felt like the moonlight

Aching from lack of movement
The thorns buried in their limbs
Needed removing

They wanted the Angels
But all they got were excuses
And Cupid who had lost its armour


Silent Condolences

The ground threatened solitude
Dreary pavements never remembered,
your footprints.
Arms stretched out,
You balance on forgotten beams
Giving suicide a stamp and an envelope.

Weaving through discontent figures
Who had their dreams forfeited for gold
and Guardian Angles shoved into classy briefcases.

Finding one uncertain spot in the sky
Where an aeroplane flew
With people who were hesitant,
To level out with broken people,
Who had the smiles cut from their faces.


Dusk to Dawn

Pure light infects tear soaked sheets
The moonlight steals a sigh
Spiralling around limp muscles
Folds of protection burst on contact
You are not blinded for long enough.

Clasping translucent numbers
With hands woven from the clouds of philosophy
And stitched with inspirations
You check that everything is cited.

Everything you desired to fix
Collapsed in spite
Around your trembling knees
And misplaced devotion.
Into the holes you’d dug,
For other purposes.


Glass Houses

She lived in a glass house
Secluded from gunless cowboys,
And toothless monsters.

Frequently checking the windows and the doors
For intruders with sharp fingernails,
Clasping yesterday’s paper.

She watered her dead plants,
With gasoline
And stocked her fridge,
With lightbulbs.
She kept lipstick and broken sunglasses,
In her cupboards.

She threw stones at her walls,
Nothing ever broke.
But she was no longer a child.


Unmarked Headstones

She lay placidly
On the uncomfortable train tracks
Where locations exchanged details,
and forced pleasantries.
Her stomach filled with pig’s blood
And bloated with anguish

The sky harboured a tearful violet
And the shadowy clouds ached corruption.
Underneath it all, her inflexible assurance,
Sparked an indigo fire,
Within her departed soul.
And in the surrounding fog,
of the looming light
She didn’t see anything at all.



Gold soaked temptation
Seeps through unfinished pieces of poetry
And into half empty coffee cups
The time can’t make its mind up

You might be late
That doesn’t matter
You might be early
But who will notice?

Inside people are mutating
Outside the world is ablaze,
The flames are waving

A floating face apologises
For jolting you
You nod and wonder,
What he fears most

The music drowns out,
Everything you don’t want to analyse
Songs that sounded appealing an hour ago
Now, thaw your brain

You wait for something inspiring
To knock you over the head

Nothing comes.

So you get up and head to the destination
You should have been half an hour ago


Sugar Coated Fury

glass bottles
filled to the brim
with insecurity
on unstable shelves
and inside stolen suitcases

breaking open windows
trying to find a way inside
and bleeding from the effort

anger never quite suited you
but all you’ve ever needed
was to hate something

on top of the world
all you’ll ever think about
is how far the drop would be
and whether you’d like the company


Deficient Empathy

Parading to the clocks tocks and inept ticks
Holding blank pages and inkless pens
Waiting for toxic brainwaves,
To neutralise controversial spectacles
and drown romantic defects.

Loading your gun with discordant piano keys
Waiting patiently for their admiration,
and half hearted embraces.

You answer questions with full stops
And hope conversations with the lovesick
Solve unaddressed problems,
and transacted helpfully
with their long sleepless nights.


Timeless Overpasses

Discrete surrender
Fuses sections of obsession
Around immense overpasses
Into the exhaust engines,
Of passing vehicles
Passengers gaze at the luminous lights
Drivers are masked in a veil of meditation
Looking for places to unburden their secrets
Amber searchlights momentarily replace the stars
Intimately searching for warm skin,
Instead, finding drained waterways and small skeletons

Sitting where the world assembles onto a pause
You forget how long you’ve been fixed here,
and why you can no longer move.


Faulty Openings

Beneath the glimmering sky
Psychobabble evaporates,
On diseased lips. Inside decayed skulls.

Clasping torn pieces of responsibility.
Who had forgotten to lock the doors?

Chuckling at their false accusations
Discretely shuffling lies at your feet,
Into the mouths of the Devils

Apologising to the children caught in the crossfire,
Secretly hoping their skins would grow out of those scars

With your back pressed against the door,
Keys had always been just as unnecessary as visitors.



you make plans
you follow them through

you smile when told
and avoid confrontational strangers
apologising with an excuse
they will soon eat their words.

chances are,
they’ll never notice
you have long given up,
on following through
with your promises.

chances are,
they’ve long given up
on you.


Yep It’s Me

the glow you radiate
can dazzle
just as much
as it can

your admirers
don’t mind
they like their scars
to know
what your favourite colour is

today its black

they no longer
prefer blue

you get a pat on the back
for brainwashing
a couple more addicts

your sleep is just as sound
as the Glock
they’ve purchased
to make You


Life’s Lemons

holding echoes with borrowed hands
you plan ahead, just like they told you to

the rips in the sky bemuse the thoughtful clouds
savage Ravens weave through dreary rainbows
with no intention of relocating their homes

how many fingers does it take to accuse the innocent?
truths oppress the principles of the opportunists
they believe what simplicities prophesise

you burn with the anger they’ve made you feel
and partake in heated arguments with the fallen stars

under the ancient Lemon Tree,
hope has been planted below its citrus scented perils

clawing at the delusions dusted into the soil
the dirt under your fingernails is proof of your attempts
to turn the tables, into logical placements


Exits and Entrances

She complains
About the narcissists
Admiring their reflections
On fragments of time

Their preoccupied gazes
Disregard the souls
Trying too hard
To fit around their ideals

Timed applause, contradicts
Her forced subtleties
Their perplexed admiration,
Comes in the form,
Of standing ovations

Alternating realities
With the beautiful,
Ensures a conveyer-belt
Set on delivering
Sought vanity

Title inspired by:
William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act 2/ Scene 7
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances"



Beneath your feet

Mistakes shriek

Louder than uncertainty

Unbalancing your footing

You avoid the holes

Carefully seeking security

Moving in and out of exposure

Your limbs coordinate unsteadily

This dance routine puffs hysterics

Through mirrored floors

Abandoning smoke signals

Looking for the safety net

Trust is entwined around their connections

A hand sticks out in front of you

You refuse to take it

And plunge gracefully into liberty


Shackles of Labour

the process of becoming a slave to your white collar
requires a trade you seek to
you cannot live for a living, without an ounce of mortality

self fulfilment is contained inside,
envelopes stuffed with blank cheques
bonuses are the oxygen of your work ethic

kaleidoscopic co-workers mutate around your vision
which stretch of flesh belongs to whom?
you perform mandatory chores with these strangers
you compliment them on their new vehicles
and ask about their families

who the hell are they?

names are just a necessity
their salaries label their exteriors

a shift works around your regulated heartbeat
the weekend arrives on a Friday evening
a handshake is in order

a lethal plague of idleness
ensures the levelling out of weekdays
and all hours merge into one incurable sick day
with no room in its diary for recovery


Angled Morals

Golden rays shone through her aged windows
Drawing patterns on the blood splattered walls
The intricate spirals burned holes through her eyes
The sun tinted screams she saw,
Enticed her soul from its pitiful depths

His promises drew temptation from her lips
Wrapped in a blanket of despair,
Fixed under her blistering greed
She denied the resurrection of her heart


The jars lined on her shelves
Contained precious butterflies
Their delicate wings fluttered silently
Everyday she would set one on fire
She no longer felt the need to name them

All her visitors hung serenely from her ceiling
She never knew what to do with them

Everynight when the sun set
She wrote poems she could not comprehend
And glued them happily to her walls


Vague Loopholes

swinging from the sky
reality solidifies with height
exhaling memories you’ve tried to conceal
your feet never did belong on the ground

unbalanced on conventional spaces
you cannot remember why the interior of your dreams,
remained un-breached

there were no ladders spiralling towards fate
no steps to carry you towards your possibilities

you will remain where you had attempted recovery
balanced on that gold podium of humiliation
safety had never been a priority

you had eagerly
two capsules of deception

you painfully extract fear from your shell
and put on a brave face to size up your doubts

you come to the conclusion
that your idealistic answers
came too early for the questions,
they always did


# 1 (apparently)

you did not understand my intentions, you said,
did my ulterior motives get the best of you?

maybe, just maybe, you were looking for a distraction
from your flip sided TV set
the static did much more brainwashing
than the blaring voices
and the irregular faces on the screen

I could tell you what I told them
that, this is just a game,
would you have played along?

a game was what you needed
you may not have wanted it,
but you needed it.

I knew you better than you knew yourself.

your friends told me
you just weren’t the same

for what it’s worth
I did warn you
you assured me you were paying attention
but you didn’t hear me say:

everybody is disposable.


Their Introspect

Intensity does not coincide with happiness.
Just wait. For the despair after a blissful encounter
To set up home and dwell in misery.

An earthquake would correspond with fear
Fear puts cracks into the pavement. Fear makes the news.

With one catastrophe after another. There is no time to breathe.
Everything is running backwards. The hazards couldn’t be smoother.

Once everybody realises reassurance is just a word.
And that you never really forget anything.
Your emotional state of mind will give you the answers you require.
Maybe, without even any hassle.

If you don’t complicate the situation
With a clouded conscience,
And bitter reproachfulness.


Systems Of The Briefed

Routine will destroy them.
Everything had been placed,
Into an order of importance.
Right at the bottom of the list,
Death is their final commitment.

Existing within a synthetic cage.
Withdrawn from societies blunders.
Beneath those protective eyes.
Deliberately concealed,
Memories could not escape here.

The ground pulsed,
With the sound of dismayed drums.
Sacrifice hung in the air.
Someone had broken the rules.
The fire met their downfall,
With determined heat.

You could see the flames for miles.
But nobody heard the laughter.

Nobody ever heard the laughter.



Into impulsive openings
Would be easier
If her existence
Did not necessitate
But those troubled eyes
More than they should
About a lost soul
Who wanted
To vanish
Towards a place
Where the boats
Were just as manual
As her heart


Love Is Blind

take three steps back
contemplate this situation
analyse ever detail
you may not realise it
but he’s watching you

you’re shaking
with realisation
he smiles
at your sharp intake of breath

left or right
both lead to oblivion
under his gaze
everything becomes
an obligation

pride may come before a fall
but for now
he’s got gravity on his side

on his carefully crafted board
you have always been the pawn
his umpire status
manipulates your movements
into a two-move checkmate

your willpower
decays faster
than the corpse
of your love
at the exact spot
your vision

*inspired by - Lux Aeterna by Clint Mansell


Intuitive Logic

delicate screams
emphatic whispers
binaurally penetrate
with intensity

deliberating magnitudes
colliding with clumsily placed sequences
with frenzied urgency
fear compelling
vigorous movements

you see their stirring
drifting with sensual fluidness
moving within ambiguity
lust balancing on its oblique axis

postpone all caution
with everything to lose
you ought to have seen the advances
they were clear enough



You cannot fill a hole,
Without substance.
Some sort of sacrifice.
Within a surrender,
Inside an aphrodisiac.

Welcome the open spaces.
With apocalyptic gestures.
Ignore the darkened corners.
There are no endings,
No beginnings,
Only in-betweens.

The maze within your subconscious.
Is unfamiliar at rapid speeds.
You cannot escape your arrangement,
No matter how hard you try.

Your heartbeat fluctuates,
Around ignited lapses of genius.

Are you in need of directions?
The world awaits on the other side.
The indifferent need new meat.


Hyperbolic Musings

Cracks. Accelerate over the earth’s visage,
A series of neglected spider webs.
Hiding within a secret existence.
Light shines with excruciating accuracy.
Even with your beautiful eyes.
You cannot see it. I wish you could.
Look up at the sky for a moment, consider the stars.
Sometimes. People disappear. Into these cracks.
You spectate. With a heavy heart.
People are being digested at its core.
Being torn to pieces.
The world could swallow you up,
If it should intend to. Oh, how irony dances.


What Cannot Be

Would be simpler.
If acceptance of the truth.
Could be believed.
Instead of analysed.

What did come first?
The Chicken or The Egg.


Putting It Wrong

everything they didn’t know
the sky
had exchanged places
with the earth

faceless dancers
would carry their victims
to be drowned
in kaleidoscopic rivers

they could hear
their drumming
under the glimmering water
in between death spasms
the drumming replaced
their ears

sometimes these dancers
without faces
would flip coins
into the river
and wish
they found solace

you could almost hear
the clink
as the coins
made contact
with musical bones


Prior Condemnation

She stumbles onto a desolate highway.
Making sure she looked both ways.
There were no headlights to blind.
No humans to confront.
The mortar looked the way it should.

Home is the imaginary sanctuary of her mind.
The welcome mat held no messages.

Insecurity unbalanced her.
Pain brought her to your knees.

You can’t start a fire with a fire,

But inside she was burning.


Forgotten Creations

Those blocks. Look the way they always have. Withdrawn.
Cemented together. Nobody ever asks. About their nights.

They crumble under tense pressure. The weight of the sky will destroy them.

Shrieking. With unquenched thirst. To the selfish clouds.

The birds that have retired on their structures. Can no longer fly.

This touch. Will lead to another. Until oblivion invades.
And expands into the fractured bricks. Voided and sealed.



Regenerated amnesia
Forgets to remember

Inclusive sympathy
Pretends to care

Neglected corners
Mould their edges

Lucid obsession
Ignores all advances

Red laced promises
Tied and knotted

Your last resort
Is to hold a glass jar
Towards the sympathetic sky
To catch all the raindrops
And the stars that fall with them


See You On The Other Side

Flashing lights.
Anxious glances.
Discrete whispers.
Cold pillows.
An open window.

The final letter.
Words scratched out.
Punctuation misplaced.
Thoughts scattered.
Turmoil burning at the edges.

Scarlet stained water.
Ice cold precipitation.
Burnt-out candles.
Rusted razors.
Lipstick smeared names on the mirror.

She had cancelled her subscriptions.
Emptied her fridge.

Was enough.



Embracing a stranger’s cold tombstone.
Screaming your sorrows at its engraved face.
Crushing the deadly nightshade’s at its base.
With reproachful tenderness.
You apologise sincerely.
Tracing the engraved name with scarred fingers.

You could care less if this corpse.
Or could have been anybody.
A somebody.
6ft under the world deems them nonexistent.

You understand. You have always understood. Needs can be compromised.


Smart Cookie

Geniuses pondering comprehensive puzzles,
Strapping explosives to pieces of furniture,
Waiting for their death threats to be acknowledged,
Drinking green bottles of disinfectant.

Problems. Complications. Empty envelopes.

Articulating vulgar curses with stained teeth,
Shifting between French and Demonic,
Battling the elements nude, declaring umbrellas death traps,
Jamming elevator buttons with matchsticks.

Weapons. Responsibilities. Lost keys.

Filling vertical balloons with blue paint,
Happily conversing with faulty computers,
Ignoring all Do Not Enter signs,
Dancing with elegant mannequins.

Flight. Independence. Flicking channels.

Take an axe to your jugular,
Intelligent people initially flee life,
Were you not you aware of that?



Resurrecting empathy.

Tenderly inflicting pain.

Enduring poison.

Darling could you fulfill my final request?
Say my name as you assemble my bones.

It's the least you can do.


Just A Minute

Give me pills.
Give me injections.
Induce hallucinations.
Halt my motor functions.
I don’t care.
Keep my marbles if you must.
Shackle my limbs together.
Monitor my heartbeat.

What do you hear?

When this is all over.
I’ll have that fond memory.
Of you wearing a white coat.
Putting me into a trance.

“Perseveration” You say.

You smile at me.
As if I was a child.
Who hadn’t learned,
That all important lesson.

We laugh together.
Maybe you’re laughing at me.
I don’t mind.
I wonder if you hear me say.
“The music has always been too loud”


Rhythmic Confusion

Barricading everything familiar,
Purposely defacing your wall,
When will these promises,
Of poisonous black belonging,
Take effect?

These thoughts,
Will drive you insane,
Pain will indefinitely blur,
The medicine cabinet.

Foundations have reinforcements.

This bemused displacement,
Will assist in moving thoughts,
To their correct conscience positions.

Smile at the lonely,
They what you temporarily had,
But you know what?

The bastards can’t have it.


Battling With Imbeciles

Fight. For futile victories.
Theatrical warfare. Is historical.
Scream with the injured.
At empathic stages.
Flicking batons at the executors.
The wielder of death.
Lives within humanities void.
Where wrong meets left.

Your blood stained arms,
Still know how to embrace.


Fames Vertical Stick

Linear strobe lights,
Puncturing reflective surfaces.

Catching the burning paper aeroplanes,
Falling from the crimson skies.

The ground burns.

Undoing the buttons,
Untying the strings,
Dismantling electrical fixtures,
To replace everything,
With artificial adhesives.

Ignoring the adoring looks,
From starstruck fanatics,
Holding dart boards,
With your face on them.



Projected motions.
Propelling pain. Into closed boxes.
Your eyes. Shine with gratitude.
Silence. Waving at forgotten strangers.
Gathering all souvenirs,
To burn in the fireplace.



“Why is understanding, uncertain?”
Secrets kill the keepers eventually.
What you know will never be enough,
The ground beneath, comprises of misgivings.
“Take your pain and enlighten the compassionate”

You stand, with your back against the world.
“What are you afraid of?”
Count the morals with bitter solitude.
“Just forge innocence and smile”

You question to receive answers.
“Acceptance comes later”
Consult the skies.
“Nothing is everything?”
To the optimist, ask them to clarify.


Veins of fury. Pulsing. Jumping tactically.
Light blinds. Pounding echoes. Dully.
Gathering electrical charges. Excitement.
Fortunate conditions. Rattling commences.
Seven knifes threatening mortality.
With luck on autopilot. You wait.


Pigments Of Intensity

Black and white
Hazing to grey
Blurring to uncertainty
Contrasting within
Spasms of regret
Opposites are whole
One point connects
To another glitch
Beams of forgiving light
Spirals interwoven into
The palms of ancestors
Laughing commences
At empathetic stages
Through a looking glass
Creating webs of discontent
On the faces of the unsmiling
Complementary colours blend
Becoming translucent
In the process of eliminating
All their favourites



counting the petals, ashen with decisive matches,
hope resides in the hearts of the deceased, within glass caskets,

the toiling deafens, torches blind,
layers of bliss, burning skin off bones,

the hierarchy descends to importance, there are no in-betweens,

the dreams you imagine, comprise of the makeup of clowns,
painting death threats over the walls of your prison,
this isn’t a nightmare, it’s what you refuse to accept,

take a knife to cut the wires that hold you up, with the rest of humanity,
and while you’re at it, decapitate yourself,
your head will look divine on the mantelpiece.


Mutual Hallucinations

He walks. Wilted. With a walking stick.

She glides. Flawless. Without a head.

They meet,
At the shore,
Watching bodies,
Drift onto the sand,
At their scarred feet.

The faces look familiar.

They plan. Their life.
On that bright billboard.

They see children. They see a home.

They see a graveyard.
For the foetuses who will escape life.

He will strangle her when the sun goes down,
And she will pretend to be asleep.


Another Brick In The Wall

The architecture of your intelligence, is defective,

The legislators, penetrate your barricade,

Envision their agendas, with glassy eyes,

If you’re lucky they may allow you to destroy the world,
With the button they’ve constructed out of metal and rubber.

The crown is bloodstained, with errors of past rulings,
This time it will be different, and who’s to argue that it won’t?
Attached to the head of royalty, entwined into exterior brain cells,
Recognise the crowns ideals, congregate humbly to its pleasure.

You may complain, but only the nobodies hear you,
If you listen carefully, your screams will always echo back.


Thought Processes

Breathing adrenaline,
Through straws of fear.


Pain comes with knowledge.

Locking the doors,
You know,
Harbour monsters,
Better left,

Noises you imagine.


Holes into your skull.

Bargaining with the structures,
You’ve built,
To forge normality.

Forget everything.


And greet paranoia,
With a firm handshake.


The Confounding Satellite

A thousand glittering stars, join into cryptic shapes,
Declaring magnetism on the night dwellers,
Roaming the vacant streets, numb with suspicion,
The moon shines, enticing our eyes,
To wish upon its radiance, inducing endless dreaming,
Enlightenment exists within its iris,
The sun’s light arrives, elevating to an ascent of fame.

Routine swiftly exchanges loyalties.

All prisoners awake, dismissing their nightmares,
Counting their blessings with bitter indignation.

Whilst moulding their masks into something acceptable.


Artificial Innocence

Immune to all tantalising fingers, peeling skin,
Off infected robots. They admire their reflections.

Neglecting all naked ornaments,
Shedding tears of anger, at their arrangements.

Pointlessly counting, the escaping necrophiliac’s,
Coated in embarrassing fluids. Lusting with glazed eyes.
Jumping over barbed wire, to reside in children’s cemeteries.

The wind mourns for sanity.
While sanity mourns for the miserable hyenas,
Holding white flags.


Amber Tinted Disposition

Conducting small steps
With concrete resolve

Towards a light
Before the eclipse
Guides shadows

Darkness engulfs
A self moulded spark

Your weaning endurance
Knotted at the middle

I wait, you wait
For a blue moon

Dying blissfully
With every
Musical ripple


Heal me with poison,
My love


Existing Between The Lines

your lips release, black feathers,
the flow directed,
towards strangers, occupying lifts,
holding broken pieces, of their souls,
under invisible lenses,
with bloodstained hands.

the day, after today,
will bring the unexpected,
engraved inside, a basket full of promises,
beneath the magnolia petal.

the 17th window, on the 24th landing,
requires new locks.

everything looks comparable,
in the same, grey proportions.

never realising, never knowing,
the time’s bargaining, has loose ends,
and dead batteries.


Tarnished Marble

Gather stones from its feet,
A disintegrating statue,
Remains scattered on the ground,
Placed in the graveyard,
Where souls never compensate,
For occupying their enlightened states.

Once someone important,
Fortunate enough,
To have said something thoughtful,
At just the right time.

The name inscribed on the plinth,
Is unfamiliar to your uneducated eyes.

Nobody ever remembers,
Who philosophised the words,
The implication always,
creates its own mouth.


Cosmic Sphere

Her scars are self inflicted.
Humans aid the forming of deeper scars.
With their caring, their compassion.
Love isn’t a bandage you give to just anyone.
People earn love, others pretend they don’t need it.
Truth is, love is the only thing worth living for.

If you’re going to climb a tower,
Make sure that all the windows are in the right places.

Amnesiac suffering strangers would be a quaint replacement.
Not remembering, not know her soul.
With no recollection of her ghostly apparition.
Then she could smile, and repeat the same jokes.
Tell the same lies, attract the same psychopaths.

Listening to a foreign composition,
And not absorbing the notes.

Living in a broken world has a penalty.
Habitation is not an option,
If you refuse to provide a few dead skin cells.
The creator of our deteriorating health.
Is just as bad as the people who are immune to it.

Someone’s hidden the super glue,
And stolen all the change in the jukebox.

Without pain nothing is real.
Everything comprises of artificial euphoria.
Yes, you could choose to numb it.
But where’s the fun in that?

Hire a shovel from someone beautiful,
And find a patch of land right above the clouds.


A Fogged Existence

Hold your breath, for longer than is necessary.
Bodily functions, are there to be challenged.
Clasp worn puzzle pieces, with fragile hands.
With no plans of solving a series of problems.
Tomorrow is another day, and you have a lifetime.
Listening to the hum of the traffic, everything seems intricate.
The simple wheel now has a pyramid over it.
Swinging so high, you thought the sky would absorb you.
Jumping into puddles, without a care about the consequences.
You miss the days, when all friends needed were a hug.
Now they ask for a limb. To hang above their door.
Childhood was a phase you cannot recall.
You don’t remember evolving into something bigger.
A flash of occurrences, trouble your mind.
Trusting so freely. Loving the helpless.
Now, a predetermined death,
and a coffee refill are all you ask for.


Brain Waves

Regular laps in your mind.

Inhuman forces requesting nonsense.

Are you aware that sanity has side effects?

Tis’ a fact that genius is exaggerated.

Avoid sleeping under apple trees.


The Curious Star

The breaks in the clouds
Illuminated by the sunlight
Escaping from paradise
Hitting the earth with a soft sigh
Rays withdrawing for a few moments of admiration

The corpses lying on the grass
Appreciate the warmth
Their dead hands had forgot to write their wills
So, their relatives had refused to bury them
Selling their shovels, for microchips programmed
With floorplans of mansions vaults

Empty elevators carrying ghosts with maps
Sideways, towards parallel universes

Standing barefoot in a doctors doorway
Skin turning blue, scales forming
Refusing to be treated with holy water

As the rays of sunlight receive a warm welcome
To a place where everything is simplified
Planning their return back to earth
To visit the silent merry-go-round
And re-examine the children’s drawings
Of headless stick men


Her Perception Of Nightmares

The magician’s tricks are revealed
Masquerade your defects

The dolls sitting on your self
Observe your slumber
With mysterious tranquillity
Close your eyes,
Ignore their levitation
Towards your sacred star stamped ceiling

The dead animal carcasses
You hung out on the washing line
Are almost ready to devour
With the pieces of laughter you have scavenged

You do not appreciate
Being told what to fear

The back of your hand looks unfamiliar
You haven’t looked into a mirror in years
The voices swirling around your mind
Would rather not be disturbed
With threatening reality


Black Void

Is nothing.
In the eyes of a cynic.
But, do they ever wonder.
If they have acquired the skill.
To draw psychic circles?


Invasion Of The Truth

Break my skeleton,
With accusations,
Paint my apology,
On a white canvas,
Discard of it in an empty room,
Next to the letters you never opened,
Pretend to lose the key,
You deny wearing around your neck,
After all, I am immobile,
And tomorrow jokes,
Might be worth living for.

Defending Souls

Feathers glide from the violet sky.
Towards the ground,
In a magical white whirlwind.
The birds that had sacrificed,
A few moments of wonder,
For our ungrateful eyes to regard.
Died and did not know,
How to leave,
Their bodies behind.
Drifting without heads to guide them,
With weary determination,
To a place where children,
Never play with live wires.


Psychopaths Use Doorbells

The salt particles digging into her skin,
A form of self preservation,
Burying her breathing corpse,
Do you realise you will not
Be able to reach your head?

Gate crash a costume party,
Put on a white sheet,
Laugh at the unfashionable monsters,
Fear yourself,
That ghost never died,
It is still living,
In the paranormal circus,
Within your mind,
Right under the chandelier,

The puppet master,
Controls her willing slaves,
With imaginary strings,
Good doers are punished,
Made to take a stroll,
Through the graveyard,
Where their shoes are buried,

Mark your name,
With white chalk,
On the black granite,
At the house, where they have,
The expensive paintings hanging from the golden walls,
You hope they discover,
The limbs in the bin liner,
You do not remember who you killed,
Maybe it was the stallion,

Doesn’t encounter,
Red lights,
But every so often,
There is a hit and run,
Always on the front page,
With the name of the editor stamped,
Right under the burning pieces of metal,

X- Ray my mind,
With a magnifying glass,
Maybe you could tell me,
Why the colours have dulled,
And when exactly the wasps escaped,
You miss them.


Glacier Logs Start A Bonfire

Remember June,
The beginning,
Sapphire angel’s tears,
Rained from the sky,
Existing during a dream,
Undeserved of your presence,
The glittering darkness,
Overpowered your senses,
A presence you yearn to embrace,
Whispering, sweet torturous nothings,
Trying to hold your translucent form together,
Behind that fucking screen, attempting to breach it,
The inferno waits in a seething heat,
You yearn to be set afire.


Cutting Out Paper People

Your bones, are unanimated, from lack of use,

Your brain, does not function,
As rationally, when counting sheep,

Your spirit, Is not as pure,
As the gleam, on the umbilical cord,

Your persona, Is never as liberated,
As the artist, that paints in blood,

You wonder, why the silver coin,
Is identical on both faces,
Well, have you ever looked,
On the other side?


The Blood Filled Balloon

Apologetically clothed.
Materials that lustfully molest.
Shoes never did,
sound the way,
you wanted them to.

Talking to the pavement.
Shadows forming words.
Words you never really see.
Avoiding the glares.
Of the angry streetlamps.

Sympathetic musical notes.
Thumping through your faint heartbeat.
Gracious in dealing.
with your frequent mood swings,
and the painful jabs from destiny.

Approaching the golden archway.
Insomnia awaits beside your pillow.
The days are insignificant.

The sunrise greets you.
You refuse to acknowledge,
the absence of the dark,
as you reach,
for your tear soaked blindfold.


The glow in the dark skeleton

Moving unseeingly, towards a destination,
Planned by the nobody, nudging you along,
With a walking stick, you despise the urgency.

You leave black footprints, down the route,
You should have avoided, taking at all.

A glace from a familiar face, you always detect,
The need behind this casual exchange,
But refuse to notice, refuse to care.

Claustrophobic veering, rotating chaotically,
Tripping over your feet, whenever you glance upwards.

When your black footprints, steadily turn white,
You know it is time, to walk back through the shade,
Habituate it, wait, as the darkness steeps in.


The Light Flashes Red

The pain. You yearn.
Refuses. To be provoked.

Your lips move. Profanity.
Flowing. Like silk.
Towards. Life’s injustices.

Take my gun.
You know how it works.

Take a trip.
To a secluded paradise.
Watch the clouds.
In wonder. In silence.
Feel the soft breeze. Caressing.

You decide.
I watch you drift.

The first shot.
Shatters the atmosphere.

The second shot.
Brings a smile upon my face.



Remember existing
In the room of the all lives you have lived
Of the life you are still living
Wasting away with dreary routine

A magpie sitting in the corner
Waiting for another arrival
Watches patiently on a ledge

The dream catcher
The one your mother gave you
Is swinging from the ceiling
When did it start rusting,
With black nightmares?

The blunt weapons you stole
Are scattered all over
The blood stained sheets
A relic of all the times
Something has dug too deep

Sinsiter faces
Pressed against your window
Biting merrily at the glass
Chocking and spluttering
Not with laughter, but with the
Curses they cannot get out fast enough

I know and you know, you cannot
Hear the blazing horns in the distance
With borrowed ears
So, please find yours


It’s just a faze you say.
The writing engraved inside the walls of your soul,
Are false you recite, they cannot be seen.
His face plastered all over your ceiling.
Is just a reminder you say.

When did you give it all to the silver moon?

If luck were to have a pair of eyes.
Reading what you really did not want to say.
Luck would know.
You really do not want what you crave.
Living with the pain is much more gratifying.
So luck, being your friend.
Gives you what you want, with a smile.

Hoping when the ray of the moons finally find you.
You will no longer be able to feel it.

The Truth

His heart burns
Fingers ache
To touch
So far away

He moulded
Around his
Own desires

To move
His thoughts
In tune
With hers
To dance

With the fire
Him from
The inside

He watches
His scars

With silent


The Golden Wheel

Absolute shapes.
Never ending. The end begins.
With fluid resolution. Regardless of its placing.
Patterns emerging. Without thought.
Stamped subconsciously.
Maybe. Perfection is real.
Maybe. If our hearts were circles.
We could love completely.

Tampering with the blueprint.
Has consequences.

The Rain

In the rain. She stands.
Her head tilted towards the sky.
Counting the glittering teardrops.
With closed eyelids.
Happily mourning.
Whispering in a foreign tongue.
Hoping she cannot be understood.
Spilling her secrets. Willingly.

The smouldering sun will soon dissolve her weaknesses.
With sharp rays of salvation.


Untold and Unheard

Ignorance. Clawing.
Hysterical babble.
Bursts of insanity.
Hissed through ruby lips.
Forced into wary minds.

Take off your hat.
Bow. Courtesy.
Tell a few lies.
Break a few hearts.
Kill a few insects.

Will injure your pride.
Bruising the bruises.
That have just started to heal.


Does that key fit?

A secret
Written down
The edges scorched
The words faded
Dense findings


To be read
Judgment unnecessary
Lips sealed
The string unwound

The truth


The spotlight
A blinding beam
Rested on You
The world watches
You stand

And tell your secret
To a world
That refuses to listen
They watch their feet
And pretend not to hear
You screaming
Pretend not to see
You breaking down

Pretending their
Are not questioning


The Wrongs of Rights

Mistakes. The bloodied path. That we all choose to take.
Naively unaware. Of the scheme that has been concocted to terrify.
Games you always lose. Pathetically.

Pick a number. Any number.
Just pick the number I choose.
I might just let you keep all your fingers.

Glitches. Piercing lights. That blind. That burn.
Holes in our eyes. Holes destined to be filled with manure.

Red crosses stamped on bare skin.
Underneath our protection.
Frequent fashion changes. Intolerable.
Wilde deserves a gold star.

Immobile targets. Eventually to be assassinated.
Killed. Slaughtered.
Important people are assassinated.
You are unimportant.

Philosophies. Written on gold scripts.
Beautiful calligraphy. Precise flicks and curves.
To be sold. Flogged to the highest bidder.

That bidder with the smug expression.
Adultery seeping out of his pores.
With the unlit cigar held delicately in his fingers.
Tapping it occasionally. Into the ash tray.
Poised on my head.
I polished his shoes.

And you paid for them.
with your mistakes
he has gained
a place
a deserved place
where you have left
a smudge.

Forced Realisation

The open field.
The beautiful night sky.
The fairytale romance.
The melody of the rain.

Take a picture.
Hide it. Bury it.
I plan to steal it all.
With a pen
and my imagination.


Stained Desires

A beautiful whirlwind,
Overcoming reality.

Feeding pulses,
Yeild the truth,
That our subconscious,

Is for the weak,
Believe in miracles.

Our imagination,
Will deliver.

Are seized,
Then discarded,
Finally to be unlocked,
Becoming vulnerable.

Intoxicating smoke.

Drunken lust.

Seething anger.

Agonising want.

All contained,
Our fragile minds.

Waiting patiently,
In a frozen state.


An anticipated aftermath

Instant judgment. An implanted idea.
Dull green vibrations. Pulsing and invading.
Our feeble observations,
clouded by our own

The lines. Drawn. By an unsteady hand.
To imitate. So called boundaries.
But. You know. And I know.
Our minds thrive with poison.
Sweet poison.
By nature, we are
Mechanically engineered to become adjudicators.
Of what is seen. Heard.
Or passed along on a scrap of paper.

Realisation will kill. Destroy our screens.
That we have created. To protect.
To reflect their mistakes.
Behind the screen we smirk. We laugh.

We bleed from our self inflicted scars.
We sweat from the realisation.
That someone. Somewhere.
Is watching from behind their screen.
Their reflected screen.
Knowing. Of their cruelty.
Of my cruelty.
Snickering at my naivety.
While watching me,
Painfully laughing at myself.


I colour outside the lines in invisible ink

I think
This could be
The best
Poem of all poems
To have ever been written
by an narcissistic nobody

Just a word
A word proclaiming
The inexpressible
Truth behind the spark
That has been implanted there
Put where my lack of burn
Used to dwell

The words magically emerge
The ideas form unaided
Beautiful appropriateness
Or trivial idiocy
Crafting itself
Then unwinding
Just to fold intricately
Into a final masterpiece

What do you see
I see blood
Willingly drained
To customise
Do you like it?

Is blinded
By the light
I can only ever see



I watch that clock all day. Ticking.
My eyes wander. All over its face.
Tracing the numbers mentally.

What am I waiting for?

Time to leave. Time to stay. Time to decide.
Time to eat more pills.
My happy place awaits.
Time holds the key.
I sit here watching. Always. Watching.

My mind reasons tactically.
If I’m watching the time.
If I never take my eyes of its face.
Time can never creep up on me.
All my time is accounted for.
Seconds. Minutes. Hours.
Time is unwillingly keeping me company.

I never waste time.
And time can never waste me.


A Grudge

Windows. Shielded.
Doors. Bolted and locked.
Light bulbs. Unscrewed.
Escape is impossible.
As impossible as trying to slam a revolving door.
That’s just about as impossible as it gets.

I have the handcuffs oiled.
The tape taken out of its packaging.
Camera poised to record this artistic masterpiece.
Much more cultural than a bunch of uncoordinated strokes.

Could I ask you a question?
A quite intrusive question. Very. Personal.
Are you proud of the wrongs you’ve committed?
Did they deserve them? Yes?

This would make a great screenplay.
Ranking the not-so-must-see movie of the year.

It would make bucket loads.
Of bad critique news articles.

Our names in big neon lights.
A two person hit list composed by the producers.

Prestigious awards given in snazzy venues.
Awards made of plastic. Venues wired up to be destroyed.

I’ll should just walk away. I will. But not yet.
I have a game to finish.
Mind games are best played without an aim.
I plan to fuck you over. For no reason at all.
You delivering me cold pizza or jumping ahead of me in a queue.
Would be reason enough.


Spit It Out

I have a few things I would like to say.
None of which are important.
In the slightest.
I intend to die with these dark secrets embedded in my bones.
Enclosed around my soul.

Do not attend my funeral.
Because I won’t be there.

I’m am somebody’s nobody.
When I’m wearing my Big Red Hat.
It’s locked up now. I plan to burn it someday.
Burn it with my Big Green Boot.

You want to deliver a message?
Messengers are shot.
Envelopes are torn.
And birds are eaten.
I would advise you to keep it to yourself.
And to buy a noose,
a golden one of course.
To go out in style.


To all of humanity: Find a purpose

I see people. All without a purpose. Living pointless lives.
Lying facedown in their metaphorical ditch.
I’m the Hobo with the stick. Poking. Poking them all.
I may not be better off. I may not have what they could have had. Should have taken.
But I have a purpose.
My purpose may not be moral. May not be right. But it’s there.
Bound with the straps I created. That I personally secured.

The lunatic with the axe has a purpose. To disassemble.
To nudge things out of their assumed order. Whether or not that may be meat isn't important.

The brainwashed police officer. With the oh so shiny badge. And the big bad firearm.
Has a purpose. To bring justice to the innocent.

The solid foundation of security that I have built has been spat on.
By none other than myself.
I don’t want order. I don’t want boundaries.
I want a well established purpose. Secure? I have nothing to protect it from.
Other than my own ambiguous motives.
Which are well hidden. And vague even to me.


Defiance Of Mortality

Mannequins queued against yellow walls,
Limbs connected to different joints,
Unfilled eye sockets,
Exposed indecently,
Heads decapitated,
Blank expressions on every plastic impersonation,

Forged smiles,
Fake temperaments,
Replicated beings,
An imitation of the authentic,

Poisoned life had been breathed into their plastic confines,
Numbers stamped across their chests,
Identical in every aspect,

Time is irrelevant,
In their waiting,
Their soul’s manifestation,
Is dawning.

A free assortment of gibberish

Are you in need of a recommendation? Yes?
This cat’s autobiography is quite interesting.
Papercut. I unfortunately do not have nine lives.
My fault. All my fault.
Should have filed down the edges.

His innocence. Killed.
Stolen by the Barbie Doll.
Next time, I’ll glue her clothes on.
And Flush Ken down the toilet.
He'd appreciate the gesture.

Did I say that? I will completely disagree to agree.
You would recall me speaking nonsense.
I will eventually sincerely apologise.
On behalf on my mouth, I deliver this message.
Check under your bed covers for broken shards of glass.
A gift from your reflection.

Drink plenty of water.
We have too much of it. No. The toxins are relatively safe.
Minor incontinece is a small price to pay for replenishment.

Sorry, the bathroom is currently occupied.
Good news, the first visit is always free – VAT excluded.

I was told that it is unacceptable to pull faces in a mirror of a public restroom.
The lady near the soap dispenser sent me that telepathic message. How nice.

Is that the time? That was a subtle hint of my boredom.
The sun dial on my wrist is most accurate at sundown.
I had it specially engineered by a Gnome.
It seems fishing didnt pay much.

I should be going. Mary Poppins lent me her umbrella.
She threatened to attack me with it, if i were to lose it.
I've never been so nicely blackmailed.
Air traffic will probably ask for my insurance.
And I'm not comfortable with giving my age.
I think I’ll walk. On all three's.