'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
the frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the maxome foe he sought-
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.
As in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came.
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack.
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"Has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Calloh! Callay!
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

That's the thing about a callused heart.
It still beats,
bleeds
And loves
the way any other heart does.
Its a matter of feeling those things that becomes difficult.

He was the type of boy who said
He wanted to fix you
But three months later you'll find yourself crying
On a bathroom floor because
You forgot that you were made of glass
And it doesn't take much to shatter your bones.

And he'll swear that he loves you but
In four months you'll be outside of the ER
Begging for painkillers that'll make you forget
How to breathe because you no longer want to feel
What it's like to be at war.

And one day you'll learn how to drown in bottles of liquor
Because you don't want to remember who you are but
The way he tasted
Will always be burned into the back of your throat and
No amount of ***** can wash away
The reminder that you still keep the back door open
Incase he ever decided to come home.

all the songs i lost on lovers

no longer mine

*****-inducing

barbiturate of old guilt

and even older happiness

all the songs i lose on lovers

all the lovers i lost to verse

On A Diet

The country is on a diet,
drinking coke with no sugar,
eating burgers with no bun,
running on the treadmill;
it's powdered protein for lunch.
It's straight tequila in the evening,
a light head and guilty fries at night.

The country is on a diet,
doing yoga over yoghurt pots,
training their minds with sudoku and solitaire,
rubbing salt and condition into their hair.
It's 6 a.m. gym sessions,
it's squats on the living room floor,
the country is on a diet, my friends,
and so we have no time for truth, or war.

The country is on a diet,
avocado in the breadcrumb,
aspirin in the salt-shaker,
food numb on the tongue
and those slim-shakes always failed to deliver.
Thigh gaps and mind-the-gaps,
all these signposts for a cleaner living,
no dust on the shelf,
no bags 'neath your eyes to hide
the lack of sleep
and your ailing mental health.

The country is on a diet,
drinking tea with no milk,
eating carrot sticks with best-value dip,
running on the treadmill,
we never get too far.
It's straight tequila in the evening,
it's "anything goes" in the dark.

god made stars
for starving poets

when they look up
they forget
how hungry they are

    ~mce