I soar, today, in the spirit,
My heart thuds sweetly,
Big smile as I cross the street,
My soul, dancing, ever so joyfully

Blood in the moonlight, it appears so black
I've gone too far; there's no going back.
The crimson tide is flowing fast
These open wounds, they seem so vast.
Can you taste the rust in the back of your throat?
It makes the mind feel so afloat.
The blade slides again, so sweet, so deep,
Just the next of may wounds beginning to seep.
To be pierced again, so erotic a feel,
The wash of ecstasy shall make you reel.
No sweeter a thing than a wave of pain,
As your heart thuds out it's percussive refrain.
So swollen and tender does the skin become;
So suck up the blood as a toddler his thumb.
Then wrap up the cuts to stem the stream,
Relishing the ache that makes the brain scream.
Loving the adrenaline that stabs -- oh! -- so deep,
Relinquishing that sweet reward to reap.
Let's have another rush of delicious pain,
The price to pay, when you live in the fast lane.
It's a fast track world, such a wild life,
It'll be the end of you if you don't do it right.
How better to live, than by reminding oneself
That you have no life, sitting up on the shelf.
I do not doubt that my body is strong,
For I am here, yet can hear, Death's resounding gong.
How close I've come, to tipping over the edge,
Yet, I love to stand upon Hell's ledge.
This is just a small, sweet little rhyme,
From the Mind of the Masochist, every time
He stares in the face of Death itself
Because he refuses to live his life on a shelf.

My heart beats gently

And like a drum

It thuds with sadness as I recall my mum and dad

Every year I cry

Every year I ask why

Smiles…mum said to me once

It’s just a part of life

Oddly enough my dad said the same

They loved each other with all their hearts

They had their ups and downs like any couple would

But regardless they still loved each other from the heart

They are and always have been my role model for a couple truly in love

Hugs my legs as I sit upon my bed and smile to myself

I know you both are in a much better place….see you there one day

Night mum…Night Dad

Night all

©KG 2013

An underlying sense of counting down –
A rhythm deep: enteric thuds –
Each another year to fret and frown
About, wading in the claggy muds
Of trial – to here, the blackened life.
A glint of blade had caught a baggy eye,
Sparking thoughts to jump the fence.
Could I grasp the handle – was I shy
Of what I had to do and hence remain
Enshrined in overwhelming strife?
  
The metal winked at me again
To beg the possibility
Of halting once and all the pain
To relish an eternity
Of rested shoulders,
Peace of mind;
So here, my wrist
For ‘quick and kind.’

I think he wrote
while you baked,
made fairy cakes
or something of the sort
while the young ones
rushed around
like balloons
released from your fingers.

I think he was
your applicant,
not a bad fit,
steaming with wit
and a northern drawl,
a kiss made you giddy
like a girl on their first date
in the heaving city.

On a red day
I think you sighed
when hearing thuds
in the hallway but beamed
on a blue day
when he came
through the door, a tie,
another itchy wool jumper.

When he rode
those capsules home
I think maybe you
wished to nick
your thumb again,
see the crimson seep
and weep as a child
over your daddy.

I think you wore
the smile of accomplishment
on day forty-two,
enough had marked you,
pinched your skin
so it hurt and burnt pink,
stung a cheek
and left a tender spot.

I think you didn't want to
but did anyway,
all your words and words
had charred and bled black,
inhaling the cotton clouds,
swimming under the jar
for the last time, before it fell
and cracked on his floor.

My inner child,

Recently I have found myself crawling through those hazy archives of my past, when it was only you and the dirt on those endless afternoons. And I wonder to myself how much of these memories truly exist and how many blanks I may have filled in along the way. I try to formulate a hypothesis on this but my mind is preoccupied with the image of the mound of soil at the back of the garden. The one our sister swore was a buried lion – a truth you swallowed so readily. Since then you have moved house and dug a grave for the lion yourself, only this one was your best friend.

We have drifted you and I. I rarely see you. Sometimes in the midst of pills and drink I swear we cross paths but soon my heart thuds heavily and I do my best to just keep my feet and then you’re gone. I am now just a composite of lessons learnt and punishments served. A sum of all the times I broke a heart, failed a class and tripped on a stone. I look ahead to adulthood – I know we never believed we’d get there - we never needed to, but here we are. I don’t wear a suit, I don’t drive a car and I have no money. Beards don’t suit me and as things stand, it is unlikely I will become Batman. I would tell you that we’re not a failure – that I’m not a failure but the world tells us differently. We need a real career.

It is a tired cliché admittedly, but I do miss your innocence – your boundless inquisition into everything about you. The incessant inquisition still remains, but the plague of indoctrination-education and the scorn on your school friends soon puts up borders in your mind. You soon realise which questions are stupid, even if they are right to be asked. Cleverness soon becomes more than being able to tie your shoes. You must be strong, you must be brave, you must be ruthless.

I think back to how much we loved our mother and how it hurts now, to see her ignorance and her emotional frailty for all that it is. The day when your mother becomes human is truthfully one of the most frightening days to experience. Still, for you, those wonderful April shower mornings in the park are a refuge. Feast on those sandwiches, huddle together under the shelter of the slide and listen placidly to the rain hit the metal. Do not think for a moment of what needs to be done or what has been done. Live in the present before you get lost the cogs of causation.

Learn to fall in love. Not just with people but with animals. With words, with pictures, with colours and tones. Textures, sounds and imagery. Please never lose the wonder of lying in the grass and seeing a separate world. I know you don’t understand beauty, perhaps because you are beauty within itself. Perhaps only I can understand beauty because mine has been lost through these fatherless years of self-effacing thoughts and relentless hangovers. Perhaps it is only now that I grasp for beauty, in order to claw back some of what I have lost. Just to taste it again.

I wont keep you for much longer. I know you need to run and yell and play until the sun falls. I simply wanted to tell you that I love you. You are what I love about me, despite what may have been lost in the classrooms. I know now that I should get my head out of the screen and cast my eyes beyond my bank balance, so that I can see you in the distance and greet you as a friend. My old friend. I hope I get to see more of you after writing this, because I miss you and my brain is sometimes just so loud and I think you might be the only thing to quieten it. I am going to fall into bed and sleep dreamlessly under the covers now. If nothing else, I promise you that as you grow older, you will look forward to bed time!

Yours in complete awe,

A very confused person.

The Neighbors are having a party again,
I can hear the laughter, and dull thuds of
music thru the wall.

I think about texting to you, to tell you it all,
but then I remember I'm trying to kick the habit,
go cold turkey.

The Neighbors are having a party again,
and I can hear how quiet my room is,
alone.

Oh, fair maiden, supple and sweet,
Thine radiance affects me beautifully,
Your love thuds, endlessly, in mine heartbeat,
Thoughts of thine warmth fills me with sumptuous glee.

Sometimes I miss the quiet ramblings of the mind that strike past midnight.

Tonight I get to see the stars peering at me. Sparkling dewdrops on a rich carpet of velvet darkness; hidden occasionally behind nomadic clouds outlined in silver. No roar of engines save for the rare passersby, making it easy to savor the sweet stillness. Enough beauty, even if only through the window, to ignore my body's weariness and the knot of pain at the back of my neck.

I'm sure I must be tired, although I cannot close my eyes. If I lay down, I will writhe restlessly until I rise again.

Light rain pelts the window with a faint staccato. Cool air resonates throughout the room and I can't help but stare outside at the night and ignore how uncomfortable I am. The trees outside sway gently with the wind and the listlessness that lately has overcome me dissipates. A wave of inspiration washes over my weary brain and I am at my feet once again, rushing to pull on thick socks, a sweater, a jacket, a woollen scarf. Hastily boots are slid over impatient feet and soft thuds herald my passage down the hall and outside.

The door softly clicks shut behind me and my eyes readjust. It feels as if my skin is being bitten through the layers of clothing, but the cold feels invigorating; a testament to the mystery of nighttime. Some primal joy urges me to just go -- walk, run, breathe in the still sweetness before the sun rises to melt it away, bringing with it noisy suburbia. Reason, however, keeps me standing in the driveway staring haplessly down the street, eyes straining to watch for movements in the shadows. Soon enough, though, the stars have lured me back and I am caught gazing upwards once more... drowning in the loveliness of the sky.

The moon casts the faintest silvery haze over the grass of the lawn; although not in full bloom, the waning phase still looks elegant, framed with patches of dark cloud.

Exhaling, white psuedo-smoke exits my nostrils. I turn on my heel, feeling balanced, retreating to dreams of exotic relief.