Out of darkness, crept the little white mouse,
whose beady eyes did squint in the sunlight.
Across the blood red savannah did it crawl,
only to stop in the presence of a giant shadow.
With fear flowing through its little red heart,
it gazed up at the frame of the mighty elephant.

None was more feared than the mighty elephant,
none feared it more than the little white mouse,
who was smaller than the elephant’s own heart.
It stood tall and proud under the blistering sunlight,
casting across the savannah its menacing shadow,
the sun’s eternal gaze forcing the dark to crawl.

Petrified, it could no longer find the will to crawl,
peering up in fear at the large grey elephant,
who was content to simply cast its large shadow,
the dense dark swallowing the little white mouse,
darkness so dense it could withstand the sunlight.
Nothing pounded faster than the mouse’s heart.

Loud and heavy was the elephant’s heart,
its design meant that it had no need to crawl,
just as it soaked in all of the leftover sunlight.
There was nothing to fear, not for the elephant.
That was when its grey eyes looked at the mouse,
a little white mouse that was standing in its shadow.

It was so small, like it was swimming in its shadow,
yet for some strange reason it sent fear through its heart,
nothing else filled it with more dread that the mouse,
it suddenly wanted to fall to the savannah floor and crawl
away from such a beast that would terrify an elephant,
a beast that cannot be touched even by the sunlight.

The elephant stood frozen, cold as ice, even in the sunlight.
Beady eyes stared up as it floated amongst its shadow,
every twitch of its nose sent fear through the elephant,
every blink caused absolute terror to enter its heart.
How could this be? It was so small and reduced to a crawl,
yet the mighty elephant was terrified of the little mouse.

The elephant shrieks, and flees into the sunlight.
The mouse scuttles forward, listening to its beating heart.
No need to crawl, just to cast a shadow.

A man whose name was carved in stone,
his bloodlust - a mountain, unknown - the peak.
The wolf dyed deep into his very bone,
to each theatre of war does he seek.
Each emperor becomes a trade,
barter gold, purchase steel, sell red.
Battlefields become eternal, bodies soon fade,
a tribute to vultures with unending dead.

Strew flowers in wake of chains,
bow before a once hated king,
catch a glimpse atop battlements.
A trusted solider without reigns,
loyalty in his eyes – a sin,
past bonds only exist as remnants

Giant portions of tender beef; bring me a field of cattle.

Large helpings of diced pork; hunt down the fattest sow.

Unlimited gallons of alcohol; brew the strongest in the land.

Ten times the amount of cheeses; let ever mouse envy me.

Tempt me with exotic women; from every corner of the world.

Order another kilogram of cigarettes; block out the blue of the sky.

Never let the chocolates run out; richer than the sweetest syrup.

You think this is too much?

Your greed sickens me.

Like a witch’s cauldron filled to the brim

Like a temple smothered in rot

Like the **** on the surface of gutters

Like an unsterilized needle

Like a piece of fruit bathed in desert weather

Like oil wading its way through water

Like a vulture waiting in anticipation

Like the bank account of a wicked man

A thousand times over, your greed sickens me

Forgetting how to walk I end up
falling into the road.
There’s someone singing in my ear.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
What happened to the leather seats?

Sight begins to blur,
stench of burning tar.
Ghosts stagger towards me,
hulks of grey and black.
Have my hands always been this red?

Wet ears sting,
a chorus of distant screams.
The echo does not fade.
My gaze finds a pile of bleeding metal.
Why are there so many blue lights?

Strange green vests in my view,
I think they’re looking at me.
The world has fallen onto its side,
my head finds a pillow of tarmac.
Why are my eyes so heavy?

Watching as all of daylight dies,
a gentle smile hiding a ****** knife,
come and look upon the lord of the flies.

Everyone fell deaf to the hundreds of cries,
the vast oceans filled with turmoil and strife,
watching as all of daylight dies.

A tender kiss for you who spreads rabies,
you who keeps the dead children safe,
come and look upon the lord of the flies.

We celebrate your clear abnormalities,
you who relished burning down that café,
watching as all of daylight dies.

Why should we care for a family of nobodies?
Who received an early trip to the afterlife,
come look upon the lord of the flies.

We watch you, casting away tragedies,
smiling at how you, the simple farmwife,
watching as all of daylight dies.
Come and look upon the lord of the flies.

There’s no need to wake up, I can give myself another minute.

I don’t have to go to work today, there’s no point.

The doctor’s appointment can wait a little longer, no bother.

My sister’s wedding? I don’t think it’s that important.

Shopping for food isn’t my main priority.

My dad is in hospital? Too bad.

Chest is hurting. It can wait.

Skin is turning pale slightly.

Arms still won’t move.

Still very hungry.

Eyes closed.

Goodbye.

Your voice echoes out to me,
like a funeral bell that never stops ringing.

Like the incoming tide,
eroding the mountain that is my sanity.

Like a cuckoo clock
whose alarm is always set for the early hours.

Like a farmyard
whose animals are poisoned with laughing gas.

Like a twisted finger
that always pokes at my bruised forehead.

Like a hungry seagull
crying for food when an entire feast is laid out.

Like an invitation,
asking you to attend the party of an old enemy.

Like a hammer
that goes on a mad rampage inside a china shop.

Like a game of chess,
trying to be intelligent but just ends up being boring.

Like a deck of cards,
one nudge and you end up crashing down on us all.

“They have some cheek!”
A little twitch of the nose,
a little lick on the hands.
Blink once, blink twice, a third.

“I thought we had settled this!”
The hard, white pond makes my
feet sting, the square black puddles
tempting me to stop and have a drink.

“How many times must we do this?”
There is no more stuffiness in the air,
the night inside the walls has vanished.
The acid in the air burns my nose tunnels.

“This had better be the last time!”
Dashing in and out of the polished trees,
covered by the same silky white sky, making
my way to the large silver acorn that never ages.

“We’re going to have to work at this relationship!”
Jumping into the pockets of night hidden in
the crevices, scuffling behind the rubbery ivory.
I wait with anticipation for my yellow beauty.

I watch as my world turns red,
the price of withholding such rage.
I let my anger burn until I am dead.

Lay down in your silk white bed,
time caresses then cripples with old age.
I watch as my world turns red.

Swallow the lies that I was fed,
causing a wound that you cannot bandage.
I let my anger burn until I am dead.

You care little for those who have bled,
satisfied with a kingdom left in carnage.
I watch as my world turns red.

Even after everything that was said,
you still cling on to your false courage.
I let my anger burn until I am dead.

Still refusing to let your rotten skin shed,
simply content in your tainted marriage.
I watch as my world turns red,
I let my anger burn until I am dead.

The surface is silver with a cold edge;
the sides gather dust.

Place a warm finger over the surface,
indent the shape into my skin.

Drag the coin over the table’s surface,
listen to the undefinable screech.

A series of tunes following the pattern,
painting music with a coin.

Bound to the table, it becomes  
impossible to pick up.

One final song as it is dragged across
the table once again.

I have the five pence in my palm,
now what can I buy with it?

Listening out for the lonely chords,
line by line.

Lying upon the lowly leeches,
laced with lust.

Longing for all that is lost,
lifeless yet living.

Looking beyond the lucid moon,
livid but lacking.

Lost amongst the lily pads,
lamenting on the loveless.

Two black buttons, eagerly
looking up at the biscuit tin.
Wool pulled over the still frame,
a smudge of leather at the tip.
(Is he going to just stand there?)

Over thirty miners in white suits,
hammering away at fleshy caverns.
They remain silent as they toil,
it’s the cavern that does the singing.
(What did he do to my favourite stick?)

Solid ink encased in damp cloth,
imprinting mud upon the marble.
A carrier of the rain, a little black
wind that decorates with dirt.
(Would it help if I rolled over?)

An actor at heart, her feigning of
innocence deserving of an award.
She looks up, head at an angle,
a face full of sympathetic mysteries.
(Silly pet, still doesn’t know how to fetch)

Jealously is ugly.

I’m jealous of the smiles.

Jealously is crude.

I’m jealous of the empty promises.

Jealously is vile.

I’m jealous of the undeserved riches.

Jealously is bitter.

I’m jealous of the family portrait.

Envy is beautiful.

I envy the life you lead.

She wore shells from her ears, sprinkled in sand,
diamonds for eyes, and dressed in sheets of silk,
kissing the air below her as she stepped through
the blackened waters of the nearby pond.

The novel in my hands slid from my grasp,
the pages that were once dyed the colour of milk
quickly moulted into grey ghosts. The adventures
of the brave captain sunk to the bottom of the pond.

Ruby nails with a shimmering glaze caressed the
morning sun, with eyes that that borrowed the silver
edge of the moon. With a smile that promised untold
wonders, she slowly carved her way through the pond.

All questions and queries vanished from my mind,
the divine tone of her skin making my heart quiver.
It is only when I had the courage to look at her reflection
did I realise that something inhuman was standing in my pond.  

Even through screams, I was still dazzled by her grace,
the way she tore through flesh making my bones shiver.
Crimson pools trickled along the stone floor, a gritty reminder
to all about the foolish poet who had broken his bond.

Your first lesson, my foolish little dove,
is that you must bow. Yes, let your body fall.
Fall harder than a stone. Splash into carpet below.
Why must you bow? What reason could there be?
An interesting thought, my foolish little cherub.
Why should you bow? Why should you kneel?
Why belittle yourself beneath my shadow?
I am no warrior, I have slain no dragons, I have not
sieged any kingdoms, nor have I bested a stronger man.
I am not a man of great intellect, I am no wordsmith,
nor a poet, scientist, astronomer or explorer.
I am no king, nor a lord, emperor or sovereign,
my wealth is scarce, and my charm is weak.
Still, you must bow. Why must you bow,
my foolish little firefly? Because I am better.
In every way, shape and form.

Is the colour that he wraps
around his head.

Scarlet

Material only suited for him,
a tedious labour.

Crimson

Layer after layer,
fold upon fold.  

Ruby

Hair that reached far vanishes,
locked inside the cloth.

Cherry

Elegance tempts me,
the burden repels me.

Vermillion

Across the ocean of mud, it gallops with grace.
Over the silent moors, a majestic leap.
Through forests of mist, it sniffs the proud earth.
A flash of orange, a shroud of fur, weaving
though the unfamiliar grass as if it were a dance.

Grey encircles my damp shoes;
morning dew fades under bleak sunshine.
A glimpse of the orange flash,
that which is shrouded in fur.
The dance comes to a halt, pale eyes gleam.

Gallant shadow, child of trees, a messenger.
Flesh and blood carved in amber.
It gazes for a moment, before dashing into vapour.
Its presence dies, and all becomes still once more.  
Mist hangs above the garden like a noose.

I watch, wonder. Stupefied.
The monkjack dances in the dark.

Pick a card, any card;
let’s see if fortune is on your side tonight.

The first hand is dealt,
the red king upon his throne of paper.

Lay down your savings,
the black queen hands out dead flowers.

Another round is set up,
your new friend jack is eager to play again.

An unreadable face,
so many hearts just waiting to be broken.

The truth or a bluff,
the clubs aren’t really that fussed.

Dancing with lady luck,
diamonds shimmer in pools of crimson.

Empires of paper and ink,
a growing hunger for the ace of spades.

A sleight of hand,
a prison of endless numbers and shapes.

Your luck runs out,
the joker slaps you on the back and laughs.