y life is a graveyard because this is where the past and the dead thrive.
you won’t have to try going six feet under
to uncover the bones of what everyone left behind,
or bother with the ouija board –
the souls maintain their own reign of terror:
a dominance i find hard to resist
or retaliate against;
after all, this is their land
this is their cement city –
their deaths have encroached every inch of this graveyard;
they don’t want to leave any place for the living –
and i am all but my own person
maybe you should quit digging
turn and run past the cemetery gates before it’s too late
the ghosts, they have their own names
but all the buried bodies are mine.
every skeleton was pulled out of me
and i have died a thousand deaths,
so don’t tell me you’re here for my eulogy
don’t seek your immortality in these eternity boxes –
they only boast of worm food and luminescent dust.
my fingers no more perform resurgence –
you’ll be forgotten long before dusk
the sepulchral earth exhales memories
that no being could bear to breathe,
its toxic reminiscence decays all hope there is to leave.
it bleeds the love for a thousand souls
and leaves, in its wake, so many black dreams
my life is a graveyard because this is where the past and dead thrive.
there is no place for the living.
There are two of me out running loose
One that tries to do what's right
While the other acts the fool
It's been that way from the beginning
A smorgasbord of who is who
With the two of me out running loose
There are two of me with nothing new
One that says yes I can
With the other never sure what to do
While one is often called the winner
The other is bound to lose
With the two of me there's nothing new
There are two of me feel free to choose
The one that's made to play it straight
Or the other, cannon loose
You can clearly see the difference
There's no need for a clue
With the two of me feel free to choose
There are two of me and one of you...
Poison bleeds through me
I no longer sense your presence.
Time slips away, how does one heal?
Within my mind, I forfeit.
Wrong and right blur-
between the lines
The signs of coldness are recognized.
Blinded by lies,
the heart is now engraved in regret.
Committed sins bang at the door.
Face them alone.
For the soul has been sacrificed for silence.
None of you ever cared.
Dreams were shattered,
and love was forever ERASED.
She curled up in her dress
of leaves with the crickets
complaining under trees
about how she never moves.
She raises the palm of her
tongue to receive the rains
fingerprint but only her tears
oblige cause of her failings.
She slowly peels back a
banana from which ripe
shoot out, as
they fly to the sky they die.
She listens to the ground
where meteors are spitting
underneath feeling like
snowflakes in shock.
'Tis the season of rutting stags
'tis a visitor pull in former stately homes
filled with wooded antlered aggression
in overpriced National Trust attractions
'Tis the season to let the purse strings loose
'tis a chance for lungs to fill with Autumnal air
roaming through the forested domain of British wildlife
grey squirrels ubiquitous to the red squirrel's strife
'Tis a curiosity where the deer are on my visit
'tis a rare chance to see stags fight for the right
to party with a doe a deer a female deer
the reason many tourists on this day are here
'Tis a shame I bore witness to just a couple of stags
'tis my view the admission price was too dear for two deer
We are artists. Surely,
we can appreciate the finer things…
Surely, we understand their costs….
But we shall not overpay.
At the end of the day,
we shall not give ourselves to the grip of materialism,
or to that strangulation, which shallow-things offer.
~ we are artists.