ah, love,
you're a walking tribute to anarchy
and i love to hear you preach -
boxcutter lips wrapping around
the holiest words of blood and viscera,
rage and fear
that clench in the throat like a diamond called from coal.
in the name of the lord you drink the sun
and the burn is familiar,
an old friend
the father of the righteous fire
that drives you to drag down the sky,
or drag up the earth -
anything to approach
empyrean heights:
in your sermons you scale mountains to break into heaven,
dragging your scars
behind you.
you break glass just to prove that nothing lasts.
every manifesto is another gospel
in your holy book,
your promise
that promises mean nothing.
love me like a miscarriage,
hold me like a cancer -
prescribe diamorphine to the world
and watch it choke on numbness.
those who fear pain
deserve to feel nothing at all,
you say,
those who fear pain
deserve to never die.
bestowing the world with
the worst curse you know.
boxcutter lips
ripping words to shreds.
molotov eyes
and paper lungs.
your paper-lantern lungs
shine through your back
and you smother them with cotton to **** the sickly glow.
the sun you swallowed is still pooled in your lungs,
and it shines like a blasphemous joke -
green light in your sick midnight,
a burn to rival your molotov eyes,
your righteous fire.
you live like steel to forget your paper lungs.
brothers, sisters,
have you heard the good news?
you won't be the first to die.
of course not, love,
we can all see the collision course you're on.
walking tribute to anarchy,
you're crafting your own doom.
{oh, but i'll go down with you, love,
i'll carry all your scars for you
and blow out the sun in your lungs -
let me show you, love,
what i can do.
let me show you how sick i can be -
i've a twisted mind and i'd like to prove it,
like to take all your scars upon myself
and burn down heaven
if they won't hear your sermons.
i am your weapon so wield me well.
i am your weapon
and together
we will bring the heretics
low.}
ah, love,
you're a walking tribute to anarchy
and i want to watch you suffocate
when your fire burns the last of the oxygen.
your footsteps are ashes and broken glass
and i follow
close behind.
you scream
and curse
and cry to heaven
and i smother the sun in your lungs.
in your sick midnight sermons,
heaven pulsates like an open wound
and i stitch you up,
keep the gangrene from your gospels.
ah, love,
in your throat
coal turns to diamond.
rage and fear
behind boxcutter lips.

John Smallshaw
Just now ·



Oh
but you should have seen her in
a Sari
what a queen and
what a burden I must bear.

In an Asian night
she might have been
the beam of light
to light me on the road
to this
the kiss that says
it all
the rise
the fall and
I fell
she knew it
I did too

we don't dwell
on things like this
I kiss her
and she doesn't know
oh
but you should have seen her.

Wake and do
As you’ve always done
As you will always do
Forever.
Promise after promise,
Beg yourself to be clean,
But you know you’re stuck.

Wake and clean,
Wake and obey,
Wake and bake.
Wake and take
Just one or two.
Wait for the fade out
As it kicks in.

You can try to feel pristine
Live for diamorphine
Ecstasy or caffeine
Numb from the routine.
The ***** truth is that
No drug erases life
Without bringing death.

Wake and panic,
Wake and shake,
Wake and need,
Wake with pain.
You don’t want to feel again.

Pick up the bottle
Glass, plastic childproof cap.
Pick up the needle
You need to feel normal.
But you’re stuck
Somewhere in between.

I remember sitting at the edge of my bed,
thinking that this was it.
I remember sitting at the edge of my bed,
wanting to die at the age of 14 because the I felt the life I had lived was unbearable.
When someone makes you feel like **** all the time you feel like there is no escape.
No, it wasn't the bullies at my school.
It was my mother.
My mother who had drove me to my attempted suicide.
Hounding at me for days, ripping me apart like a tough piece of meat, and these vicious attacks that would leave me numb like diamorphine would.
The only way I could escape was drugs.
Drugs that would make me feel dead, but also alive.
Swimming around in my blood like a sardine looking for its school.
Blood pounding, heart rushing, adrenaline pumping.
And when it was over?
I would find myself in the emergency room at 4:00 AM with my arm hooked up to a saline drip, like a prisoner who was to be interrogated.
I'd wake up with thirsty eyes and a mouth stale with the taste of *****.
The tribulation was unbearable,
with every inch of my body griping for more of the substance.
I felt like I was tangled up in branches like ligaments that would only break once you cut them with a scalpel.
Then I met you.
It was like I didn't need the drugs anymore, but I did need the scalpel,
and you were my ******.
You were addictive like a drug and I always came back for more.
You tasted so fine,
like beef but softer.
I was awoken at 4:00 AM with the sound of police banging of my door.
I think they found out little secret.

Eyes out the silk-curtained window.
Slender fingers around the stem of a crystal wine glass.
The starry night glistened as it sang to her –

Die, mondaine.
Die, with your diamonds choked around your neck.
Your husband is out with a lowly demimonde.
She’s higher than you tonight,
Or every night, smoking her diamorphine.
What is the worth of your life?
One pearl necklace, paired with an earring
One diamond ring, paired with an anklet
The bottle is your outlet.
You’re just as ruined as that mundane
Other woman. Not so diametrical now,
Are you?

Die, Little Lady Mondaine,
Thirty-eight and with such an ugly fate –
How quickly her beauty waned.
How many tears would it be until
He prayed for her love again?
Her heels brushed the Persian rug
Mascara ran down her porcelain face.
What an ugly fate.

And die, mondaine, they chanted
On a plain and mundane night.
Your furs and heels won’t save you.
Your children, they betray you.

Die, pretty mondaine.
She listened to the mondegreen in her ears,
Sang to her by the moon. The stars.
A prayer.

Closing her eyes, her blood spilled into the wine glass.
The galaxy drank it and wept.
What a diamond, she was,
Lady Ayn.

My mind
In a constant spiral
Over him and
What he brings
To the checkered tablecloth
A jar of love
The king of wands
Heaven on ******
In the meadows
Full bloom when hes around
But hes constantly out of sight
Possesions include:
A fridge fully stalked
With toothpicks and paint cans
28+ half-read books
And me, if the fortuneteller
Proves Right
Signals from a flip phone
Love through powerlines
A memory
Of moments where
Red reaches tongue
Sticks play poker with my back
Bugs take over the throne
"I could live like this"
Or maybe I just don't want it to end
I wait for him
In uncomfortable chairs
Dressed in black leather
Oil on my hands
To slick to open the jar
Diamorphine gone rotten
Famine of song
Laying in a field
Of machinery and melancholy
Holy water
The presence
Of the 3rd state of matter
Black tulips look gorgeous on a screen
So does he.