24/01/2011

Him

he was broken
his organs shards
his skin punctured
she could tell by his hands
they were scarred and blackened
from trying too hard
from working the wheel,
the wrong way round
sweat and blood
bathing his soul shaped eyes

he needed a saviour
she was not it
she could not stay to hear his thoughts
to hold him up
to watch him undress

she had no wings
no velvet robes
no clear conscience

she could only provide an intoxication
a brief forgetting
a sin for the saint

one she could only give
at her weakness

how could she intend
to apologise
with a sorry
she had borrowed
for convenience?

22/01/2011

Selfish Accumulations

she could tell you
how the moon wore the badge of loneliness
radiating silver haze
that drew away from its pull
occupying the atmosphere instead
a naked orb shining its solitude
on the world

faces bathed in delicate beams
entwining around their thoughts
purifying expectations
and dulling their self loathing

instead she would tell you
her words chipped imperfections out of her skin
she laid them out for the Ravens
her thoughts would never be real
they were the foil
around your pills
warning against overdoses
she had cut out the heart of her reality
and ate it

choking on the ink that defined her
she spat creation

the world just told her to get cleaned up

19/01/2011

The Checkered Floor

shades of light and dark
unable to fold into eachother
segmented into blocks of misery
for every truth, for every thrust into reality
standing their ground
wedged between drunken rivals
and manic lovers

solitary abandon glazing over the gaps
with lustful murmurs
and silent breaths

footsteps close enough to the ground
to feel the warmth
hearing their impairments
brittle skulls were held open
waiting for the grasps of the living

bodies were strewn over the squares
unaware of their intrusion
they bled into the cracks
tremors of apology distancing their gazes

flashing syllables and ringing shapes
pierced the corners

eventually,
tearing them apart
into simpler formations
which guaranteed happiness

08/01/2011

the skin of a poet

they, hanging from the ceiling
dangling over her disregard
glowing blurred happiness
from interpreting her attention
whilst facing the sun
instead of gutting a rodent

she, engraving disease onto her skin
two syllables for everyday of her existence
her distortion was eternal
but the pain would last longer
than the humiliation

they, growing blistered and uncertain
at her self-inflicted incisions
asking questions on pain
and receiving burst of ignorance
and snorts of laughter
because she was mutilated
but she knew nothing
nothing at all

02/01/2011

Indigo Intent

inside her head
spiders molested electricity
switching sockets
and bending aerials
into swans

the night breathed whispers
and grew veins
suffocating the on-looking moon
it bled pearly torture

the pavements
circular in apathy
were encrusted in diamonds
and still warmer than his skin

timepieces glared from reserved corners
punching mutilations
into her subconscious

taking two controlled steps backwards
she scratched consent
onto her lips

and waited for somebody who cared