See that zombie stood over there.
Caked in fresh blood.
It's under his hair.
Found a fella with a hole in his head.

Sad zombie fella.
Found a slice of mouldy old bread.
Used it as a soldier.
Dipped in his head.

No fun.
Newly made zombie.
He's always hungry,
Now he's dead.

Peeps at Mr Majestical's testicles.
Fancied chewing them.
Loved the juice.
Succulent as strawberries.
Raspberry sauce.
Blood of course.

Derwent fancied a bit of breast.
Loving mother told him.
Breast is always best.

Julie's just a crazy chick.
Fancied a nibble on the dead guy's ****.
Yummy, yummy.
Really sick.
Or should I say she ****** it.
As if it were a straw.
Special days of living.
Always was a *****.

The kid in the corner is popping out eyes.
Never really worked out why.
Perhaps he was thirsty.

Eleanor.

She fancied a nibble on the bladder and kidney.
Of a once fine chap.
Whose first name was Sidney.
***** tasted of peach lemonade.
Eleanor the dead chick.
Her day was made.
Got really drunk.

That Zombie's really ******.

Mum's over there.
One of them?
Or still my mum?
You know what?
I really don't care.
For the first time in my life.
I feel really scared.

Hell.
I digress.
They're chasing me now
I'm making a mess.
Run out of puff and all that stuff,

They're trying to eat me.
That's quite enough.
I'm feeling quite numb.
The dead ******* won.
Stripped all the tissue clean off my ***.

Chewed though a bit of a nerve.
Partially damaged.
You feeling the image?
Bled me near dry.
He did.
*******.
Made me cry.
For a second or two.

Lucky me.
One ate my eye.
So glad.
I won't see myself die.
With a skeletal hand.
I'm waving goodbye.
(c)Livvi

through the noise and traffic
I fought my way to tonight
like the brash loud car racing
light to light

the crazy race driver on
the public streets
the guy on your
bumper

you can feel him almost cussing away
and honking and in a hurry
that was me
until I got peace

I no longer rev my engine
or try to beat the yellow
I putt-putt
along in the slow lane

now,
wanting to see the leaves of the tree and
all the people and study
what they are doing
in their daily

going on and on,
and the guy with no muffler
now is not me,
the guy has finally won

peace
and contentment
almost walking I am now
and my legs

feet soul are
much better for it.

i hate that our parents taught us to muffle our emotions

and i hate the need for a cigarette that i feel in your car



i hate that when i was younger i told myself to stop writing songs

i hate the need for loving that i feel when i'm alone



but it is going to be alright sometime

it is going to be alright sometime

i feel this soft



you don't know what to do when you're cold and lonely

your sit on my bed and watch tv

the seasons are changing

your hands are frigid and you are messaging your girlfriend

telling her existential things,

bringing her into your crisis



now you're remembering when you were thirteen

and in love with ingrown ivy

and your best friend...

who told you she could never love you and said so in the cryptic bubbles

she drew in your poetry book.

you're feeling kind of restless and you know you can't contest that

there's no way

to get out of this highhandedly-



so you turn away

and you make up words to fill the pages of



your soft leather book

and you think of sweet summer, somewhere special and you crawl

into your bed

where you can be warm

and blend in -

she owns stars  
they are hung in place of humming butterflies in her stomach
she does not get nervous, she gets enkindled;
set aflame within seconds
she is ultraviolet fearless,
feeling her penitence only where it is absolutely due
her name is attributed to shameless like a title
she does not make herself small
or fold neatly into borders and build refuge in corners
not smooth like a statue
she is rough around the fringe;
you can tell by looking at her
she is the definition of wear-and-tear, she is whirlwind
kicked around,
hung-out-to-dry,
her mouth has messy margins;
she possesses no absolutes
she is extraordinary,
boundless,
she embodies intensity and fills every word she speaks with volume
she cannot just touch the ones she loves,
she must wreak havoc in their lives.
the stars beg for forgiveness as
she ignites fury and forces conformity to her accompanying chaos.
the slightest hitch of breathing is suffocating
comfort is mistaken for smothering, extinguished vitality drives
an exit in ballerina form tornado
it is so carefully constructed,
a technique so practiced
it confounds the lines between art and destruction,
bitterness seeps from her tear ducts
acidic, every dance looks like an escape method around her wrists
she whispers;
"you cannot love
the constellations.
i contain multitudes,
i exist past your competence and occupy negative space;
i am made of what people wish they were bold enough to apperceive ."
and the stars translate in echo,
"you cannot love
what is scared to be touched.
oh,
what a lonely, impermanent space
frightened arrogance must occupy."

This death I wish
upon myself
Will wait another
Day
Unless the world
has other
plans
To take my soul
Away.

Two broken souls connected
Two broken hearts affected
One circle of trust constructed
One fire within burning

One sign of unison
One will of Fire
One lash of hatred
One strong desire

One Final fight
One final valley
One final moment
One realization of destiny