hey sailor you've been away too long
she's had time to forget all about you
in her favours lies the sea devil
and it's his attention she so craves.
lets all go to the ocean's bottom,
down to drink red wine
cos under the water
no one's to see if you're sober or drunk
she takes him that expensive *** you bought
they dance all night dizzy on spirits
like you never would,
and he can't resist her
it's okay I'm sure you never really loved her anyway.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
take me down to a source
of flowing water
that moves constantly
without rest and yet complains
of nothing.
even frozen, you can see dull
faded silhouettes of fish and
plants writhing and trembling
under the surface.
take me somewhere with
earth that crumbles in my fingers
that holds the sickeningly attractive
stench of security and comfort.
i want you to bring me to a place
where sunlight filters and drips
down to our feet through countless
leaves that wave their jagged edges
'hello, hello' they say and our reply
is through our heads.
would you take me somewhere
i can wrap my arms around the
solid wood of a tree trunk and
know it will not recoil, but gently
caress me with arms tattooed with
foliage, and hold me close so i can
hear it's heart beat through my soul
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
A horse and a saddle
Cold wind at the gallow
Emotions are mellow
No hi and no héllo
His face is so sullen
The land is so barren
He stole for his child
Her reaction is mild
She recognises not the man hanging so high.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
I feel her there sometimes
Sometimes silent, sometimes not
When she is silent the emptiness is
Oppressive
And makes my skull feel heavy and weak
And my thoughts clouded with
The groping fingers of all that ask,
"Are you okay?"
When she screams, I am filled
To the brim with panic and chaos
That spews from her maw in
Tangled, writhing masses
The sound is almost angelic.
Is she heavenly?
I have never seen her but I know what she looks like.
It is a knowing feeling, or an overexcited imagination?
Long, tangled black hair,
Something is caught in the snarls and curls.
A pale face whiter than bone,
Thin and fragile like china.
Hands clawed and twisted,
Feet swollen and scarred.
A white dress long in tatters slipping off the bony shoulder
*please take me back,
take me home*
I plead but there are no words
Comprehensible to my human
(However extraordinarily mutated)
Brain
That leave her cracked lips.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
A moon beam glides along the soft covers of my skin.
Let the moon make me mad, I thought,
For there is no fear in what is known.
I beckon the sermons of wild men
To settle in among the cracks of my skull.
Spirals and stars may rest on my hands
For a mind barren and lonely
Holds not a life worth living.
Let darkness flood my life and dampen empty
Hopes with beauty and love.
I shall not stray from what is destined for me,
For I will play neither God nor Satan in this farce
Of innocent freedom and dizzying thought.
I do not fear madness, I fear the emptiness
Of logic and rationality.
For how can there be joy in knowing
How it'll end?
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
1942, and bombs are falling, falling
your body is limp already
but warm like bread we baked
they always said you'd grow to be taller than your sisters
but here you lie and you will always be the smallest
I never thought I would see so much of your blood
this is not human and this is not what is supposed to happen
there are little holes in your torso that were not there before
and still the bombs are falling, falling
and still mothers and fathers and children
and the very very lonely
are screaming, screaming
and I am crying, crying
sobs torn with my agony
from my bleeding throat
as you lie limp on my lap
and there is nothing left of you
and scarcely anything left of me
*have you not done enough?
this is what you have done and yet you want MORE
but this is all you can do is this not enough for you
please STOP you have done EVERYTHING to me
and yet your bombs are falling and the significance
of this little boy in my arms is nothing
but how can the destruction continue
when everything is already over?*
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 2:51 PM UTC
I entered a church
Or perhaps it was a cathedral?
But it does not really matter,
Because its all the same to me.
I am not particularly religious,
But I believe in a God, and a Devil,
And Souls.
I like the stories,
And the smell of church candles and incense and hope and guilt mixed together
With the tantalising intoxicating feeling
Of having all your sins spilling out of your throat and every
Single part of you.
All is seen.
So looking at saints and windows and benches
And the colours that filter through and leap and dance
I sobbed.
Because I am scared
And because I have sinned
And because every moment I am thinking
Do I want what I have been given
Or am I ready to leave everything behind
In the search for divinity.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
I think I would like to make a home of your body
Like the dens I used to make with my siblings,
Before I started saying "no thanks".
To take a doctor's scalpel,
Clean and new and never used
And so very, very sharp
And to rest it in the hollow just where the breastbone ends.
Then to push it in along your soft smooth shiny skin
So unlike the mottled scarring that covers mine.
Down, down, down
To where you wear the waistband of your jeans.
A horizontal swipe at the top,
At the bottom,
Like making the fold of a window in a paper house.
Shh, is anyone home?
Lifting the heavy, wet flesh,
Your rib cage is so very white
And so very perfect
Like special cutlery for special occasions-
Births and weddings and funerals.
They hide your lungs,
Bloodshot and tired of the
Eternal
Moving and moving and moving on and on and on
Your stomach, soft
And vulnerable in its hideousness
Yet it hides the despicable necessity
Of human life.
And your heart,
Plump and fresh and young,
It is restless and strains
But for what when all that lies outside
Is incomprehensible and unnerving and unwelcoming.
So I will leave it all behind
And with damp heavy fatigue crawl
Into your torso like the unborn child
We have all been and will be again.
And your ribs will cradle me like a birdcage
That has grown so sick of the world,
And your organs will cushion and comfort me
When I feel that I do not want to live.
And blood will cover everything
Just as I have always wanted.
Flooding my eyes and nose and mouth and ears
And bathing me in the warmth, the constant gentle pounding,
That would make me feel alive.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
When I am touching the soil or the floor or the mattress of my bed,
I am connected and solid on the ground -
I am part of something bigger.
Everything rolls and pulses and convulses and seizes underneath me
And nothing is still, but alive and rippling like water.
I am bound to the Earth,
And that makes me better
Than when I am afloat.
At those times,
I feel nothing but
Aching longing and a keening desire
To feel close to something else, be it breathing or beating
And the fact that I am really very alone
And rather more independent than I want to be
And that I can survive by myself
Makes me quite, quite scared.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC