Breathe in the poison
which floats in the air.
Sour,
we taste it,
yet it remains there.

Hands, they shake
gentle now
upon the wood
of the window sill.

Cold air
and the clouds
of breathing in
and pushing out.

The dust and decay
it lingers here
a cool blanket
and deafened ear.

A single tear drops
from an invisible eye
hardly leaving a trace
and left there to dry.

So where does she go when
she's been fingered and drugged,
abused and sexed up?
That's right, the end of the bar
where they'll never find her,
let alone kiss her.*

Tucked behind her right ear,
blonde hair fell as if a tear
from cheek to chin,
bowling ball to bowling pin;
stacked at the other end.

This poem is for you long-blonde-hair-behind-the-bar-girl, written down by paper and pen.

Your quilted jacket,
leather in material,
won't keep the cold out;
only a white-stick-arm
will warm, guide and
ignite you home.

Fill the wardrobes back up again        
with hangers plucked and picked from the
carpeted floor.
                        Lay the lover down amongst the sheets
                        only the whisper sweet thoughts and memos and
                        kind words in low tones
                        into her ear.
                                           Kiss her neck and grace the thigh,
                                           build
                                           up
                                           the
                                           courage
                                           to
                                           last
                                                 all
                                                    night.

The see-through pink camisole that I gracefully wore
Now lies disgracefully upon the ground,
Ralph Lauren on the floor.
Find my way between his knees
And teach what I have learned.
I could teach him many things
But I'd rather just receive what I have earned.
This secret must be hard to keep?
The whole house now knows his name.
And when this ***** get too deep
The whole house can hear my pain.
Nails dug deep into his back;
Deep enough to break the skin.
Lips inching towards his body;
Teeth sinking in.
Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma'am.
****** gotta fly.
Send him back to his white girl-
First,
Give me a kiss goodbye.

Along the winding brook side
There limped a dying knight
Helm cracked and eyes fixed wide
He stumbled without sight

From far away he had come
For glory and for crown
But now he heard a drum
That marched him surely down

Falling to his knees he sighed
"Forgive me that I cry
My Lady love, my bride
But I do not wish to die."

The sun rose up the next day
And there beneath the brush
A cold stiff body lay
Sung over by a thrush

Now listen to me my friend
There is no great glory
To meet a hero's end
In some bard's sad story

who are you?
i asked while drifting in the sea
then closed my eyes
the too red sun beating down on me
but the question was still there
not letting me sleep or dream
tangled in my hair
breathing in the air
and I was scared

When home feels like
a hotel and
forcing water down
like its wine in a glass,
warmed by a MDF fireside-
you know your real bed
is a world away.

Cars that laugh
wait at the lights,
as they become
just another set of traffic,
set into the night-time tarmac.

When I heard his voice I thought it could be the same
that the toy I put on a shelf would always be mine
but after I had wiped the dust off
I discovered it was really you
alive
and you had moved
so I put you on the shelf again
and promised not to pick you up
because next time the cracks from when I dropped you
will cut my fingers