Shrouded in darkness,
Smothered in pain,
Causing this hell,
To come again,
And will i choose to walk,
or to stay?
Or will i learn,
Learn to walk away.
Im done with this,
The light is gone,
Bust still im here,
Though i know you want me gone.
I wish i was gone too,
But you dont undertand,
What i chose to be,
I shose to be more than a man.
Im a shadow,
Im a demon,
Im from hell, and heaven,
Somewhere between them.
I surfacing,
In a world of hate,
Im stuck on in the water,
Like im the bait.
Baiting those creatures,
From the depths,
You dont want to catch them,
You want it to be my death.
Well im done with your shit,
So find another sacrifice,
Im powerless,
Cause im stuck in a straight-jackets vice.
Ive got my problems,
You have plenty of yours,
Im not takeing conflicts,
Im not taking anymore.
Fend for yourselves,
Leave me out,
Like you always do,
I remember with absolutely no doubt.
Im done here,
Thanks for hearing my show,
But ask yourselves this:
What do YOU know?
you can stare at the broken pieces
on the ground and cut yourself
trying to piece them back together
or you can turn around and walk
the fuck away
love, you got feathers in your hair.
don't fly away?
The fleetingly beautiful emotion
She can't run away from.
Something which can be labelled an addiction, almost.
A fear of the unknown.
A fear of death,
Life,
And everything in between.
What do the ghosts of her past,
The demons of her future,
And the devil in the present
Want, now?
Why her?
What do THEY have to do with
Life and death?
The hurt they store
The pain they inflict
The wounds they leave behind
The scars embedded in her skin.
Is it really worth it all?
To be mocked, and tortured.
Yet fully appreciated and cherished
By her alone.
The gnomes sang and danced while the faeries all pranced
and the elfins got drunk by the fire
The pixies hummed tunes and got stoned on mushrooms
I can't remember what happened to the choir.
Sethark the lord of the dark was roused from his sleep by the din
the djinn in the lamp though he at first appeared camp
wished up the drawbridge and pulled in the ramp.
This gathering, like babies were safe in the glades
while Sethark from Hades was sharpening the blades.
But it all fizzled out when Sethark gave a shout
to a beautifully jewelled little lady
and they tarried away somewhere deep in the hay
and the result was a devilish imp of a baby.
The party goes on though the pixies have gone
because too many mushrooms had doomed them
and now they're doomed to the glens
banished from the fens
No longer to hum or strum on guitars
nor sing sweet melodies to the brightest of stars
sad tales are told by old faeries and gnomes
of pixies evicted from family homes
but they know in their bones that it should have been them in the glen
but say nothing of this thing
or bad luck they will bring on you.
The story that's told is quite true
Believe if you wish
and if you wish it
it's true.
Life falls away to the cracks and depths,
You can't look back and make amends.
Don't regret, live for your truth
Love and beauty is wasted on youth.
The way Mrs Dillinger had
of making it
seem so simple
even that time
she said
come round
one afternoon
and we can discuss
your writing or politics
or whatever you like
but she didn't mention
that her husband
was out
or that she
was after your body
and wanted to hear
you read your work
only after
a good session
in her bed
but your pecker
wouldn't perform
wouldn't act
like some circus horse
and so of course
the politics
didn't get discussed
or your writing craft
maybe next time
she said
in any case
my husband
maybe back soon
and I don't want him
getting in
on the act
of discussing politics
or your art and craft
and so
you went away
your art
and craft intact
and your politics
undiscussed
and your pecker
breathing a sigh
of relief
well this time around
at least
you thought
the wilful
bashful beast.
Past thirty-two in two is beginning,
beginning to drag me down,
after shiftless, break less hours,
choppers land tragedy on the ground.
But I've seen
too many faces,
shared in too many fears,
heard too many stories,
wiped away too many tears.
I've tried to compress the thirty-two
and lace them with an adrenaline rush,
then roll them into a ball of forgetfulness
and paint them with an amnesic brush.
But reeling from the real forty- eight hours later,
with my respite shortened by burn's injury and time,
I return to the tall walled fortress,
where faces and fears are etched in mind.
3.30
A countdown to another countdown
4-6 hours
13 floors.
A riddle
to solve
so
little time
Time.
The more we think
The more we find
it leads
to
a
countdown
Im just going round and round
avoiding everything
because time
reveals
as
it
ticks away
A second at a time
It may seem fast
or
slow
but its steady
Steadily gaining on us
and robbing us of everything
Which is why
only man alone
measures time
And man alone
worries
and
worries
and
worries
about time running out.
Burdened by this gift of time
is a flaw of mankind
inevitable
So you may
ask
what is the answer
to the riddle.
Ask the riddler
the answer
may just be
"goodbye"
I woke up this morning with a reminder
that the broken is hard to fix.
Tiny pearls spread across my sheets,
broken away from their unifying whole.
I held them and I cried.
They were not significant before,
they mattered less than most things.
But in that moment,
they were you and me
and nothing is more important than that.
