My first love did not take me by the hand but rather by the ear
He was a ghostly music man who sang of sweet violence
He would chide and chide again of my innocence, my ignorance, my insolence
Through ghastly and grief-ridden streets, he would lead me here.

My first love was my first enemy though,
Gnashing teeth and pointed tongues lashing upon each other
For long time come, this hatred and distaste would not fade low
Forever in stinging words but there was change soon, a change to bid him my lover.

First breach of a tiled, misty dream, he has earned no right to my mind’s unreality
Again and again, his visage haunts my most inner eye
Second breach of a buzzing, glitzy dream, it has become a wish of reality,
Strange and unsettling, distorted and pale; a most convincing lie.

Unfair September echoes in my heart as I reach for his memory
An ethereal grip on a hand that is no longer there; belonging to a beachside now
How I long for a scent or touch of remembrance of him upon me
Practically lands away from him, fog kissed hills of the girth realm glower.

We are but fools in divided courts: winter and summer
Belonging more to each other than the seasons of those who divide us
We hail to ourselves and each other, giving bitter thanks to our monarchs in murmur
Dangling upon a cliffside, will we or won’t we? There is no try, only lust.

I long for a simple kind of closure.
Wherein grief does not desecrate the faded memories if once happy folk, now ghosts
I long for a battening down of cross-hatches of emotions and composure
Wherein tears do not tear away the ghosts in my mind where dwells my sacred host.

Confusion burgeons and blossoms in my mind
Excess of people draw close to me but there is only one for the companionship I seek
Do I love him, do I wish to make him mine?
Through embarassing lovelorn writings, at my own heart I dare to peek.

My first love was a ghostly music man, forever marching off unto paths that wind.
By my ear, he would lead me heavy as lead
Through untold streets where grief was forever upon mankind
Through streets that did not exist, only in song, only upon my lips and in said.

Face as pale as snow, hair like ebony, and lips red;
Red as the blood pricked from the dainty finger which bled
From the waters of a treacherous womb, the fairest one of all was born
To compassionate father, the King, and wicked *****, the Queen; forlorn
By the news from mystic mirrors vile with dark knowledge, the fairest one of all
She would be the one to rule them all beneath a gentle rule; herald of the Queen’s fall.

Though the insidious murmurs of her Mirror, upset the Queen, she did not remain
“Forlorn” for long. No, she used the time to gather magics, beneath the sane
Façade and the façade of tears when it became known the King had died
Her daughter, grown to ten and four years, to be moved off of her head
Then the Queen, the Queen alone, would have beauty and power.
To her throne room, did the Queen invite a Huntsman upon the hour
In which was meant to mourn the good man’s loss
The soul of the King immortalised in bronze wherein sickly moss
Did grow, a dour shawl that did crawl around his eyes
Much like his mistress who for fourteen years did feed him arsenic and lies.

“Take her heart so I may feast upon it; proof of her death,” did instruct the Queen
Unto her henchman, the Huntsman, she did instruct and he left. The sheen
Of determination emanated from him, illuminating his understanding that would turn.
Into the forest, he did chase the Princess until he cornered her; looming over her,
Her beauty sing sweet sorrow upon whimpering lips and a charismatic curse
Was laid upon the huntsman’s eyes
And from that, he could take no lives
So, he felled a boar and fed the heart to the Queen.
But the flesh upon her tongue, it did not taste it ought to mean.

The Princess fled further into the forest and happened upon a melancholic hut
That housed seven dwarves, wary folk at first but
Upon hearing the Princess’ begging, they let her stay and for them,
She cleaned their abode and once cleaned, the Huntsman’s deception came clean also
And so, the Queen grew vengeful and spurned a deep spell to **** her daughter, so
She travelled into the forest and disguised herself with the clothes of hags
A poor, poor hag in need of money – money for an apple red as blood
The Princess, fooled and compassionate, took from a hand with rancid skin that sags.

A single, crisp bite was all it took for the Princess with lips of blood and face of snow
To perish, from her hand the poisoned apple withered and in a glass box the dwarves laid
Her to rest, her final rest, and from her porcelain hand the apple tumbled,
And with that echoic fall, the Queen rose once more: beauty, fame, power: she has it all.

And for the existence of such a miraculous corpse to prove true, rumour became myth
And myth inspired Prince to go out and search for the truth clouded in mist
Within a deep, damp forest run foul with monstrous foliage, the Prince found her
He found her with the one of ivory face and scarlet lips; hair in inky curls
From her glass casket, he removed the lid and his decency; assailed by
The perfume of ever youthful flowers, he leaned down next to her and with a gentle lie
He told himself she was asleep. That’s all she was: a peaceful, deathly sleep;
And upon those perk, scarlet lips, he gave her a kiss that was deep.

Tongue within her cold, rotting mouth.
He kissed her and he kissed her thorough, hoping his warm breath would breathe life
Into this long-dead corpse; perfect as though blood remained in motion in her vein
But from her glass coffin, the Princess did not stir so the Prince’s ghastly act was in vain
With the back of his hand, he smeared her memory and the myth remained myth.

The poor Princess was laid to her rest, her final rest, in a glass coffin; a perfect corpse
A corpse that did not wither;
A corpse with blood red lips, hair of ebony, and skin snow white.

I have only seen myself as a beautiful artwork once in my life,
It had been the advent lovely Spring of sweet sixteen,
There is a photo of someone else’s mind in which I am the subject, rife
With calculated gorgeousness, the white blouse and powder blue skirt
And I had been wearing black ballet flats; a day upon my feet had left me hurt
But the enchanted, oil forest before me had healed my eyes and entranced me
That pose, holding onto myself with ribbons in my hair, someone could see
A beauty that which I have never known since.

Into the heart of the Prince
Into the hearts of all the folk for she was a fairy tale heroine,
Cinderella, lovely lady of ashes, had glass slippers
And upon such toity-toity footwear, she had slipped
Yet, it had been such fragility that would unite her with her love

Will I be united with such grace, such love for myself, if I hold onto my ballet flats?
After all, I have not once seen this grace, such love for my own self since sweet sixteen
Since the foolhardy winds of chilly, oceanside Spring;
Where upon the Museum modern, I saw myself as timeless artwork
Admired and appreciated by all; much like the lovely lady of ashes whose slippers
Have walked her beloved soul into the hearts of all; into the best of time

Yet, these beloved shoes of mine
Have seen so much better of time
For I can see through the soles wherein holes
Have shown where I have worn my own souls
In bitter wanderings and light-hearted adventure; so many type of walk
For a single lass, I could not talk
Of all the places and thoughts these shoes have led me astray within
Of the beauty that had once sunken in

How am I to part?
How am I to part with such faithful companions through all my wanderings of
Yonder years soon to come asunder as I am no longer sweet sixteen,
As I am no longer before entrenched trees of oil, elevated in buildings upon
A chilly, Springtime by the sea I’ve only known in passing afternoon
In black ballet flats; not unlike the glass gussied slippers of lovely cinders

Am I not unlike Cinderella?
For whom would she be if she had not received the night of her life
As carried upon the fragile spurned glass of her magic slippers
For whom had reunited her with her love, the foot fetishist Prince;
Lovely lady of ashes would be just that: lady of ashes,
Worked to beyond the bone; dressed in rags, head in clouds,
Dreaming of opportunity squandered in her slippers of magic glass

She would be like me.
She would be like me, contemplating her toes in birdsong prose
She would be like me, wondering when she would feel as refined as a classic artwork
A beautiful timeless painting with grace and poise without rival supposed

If I part with these worn soles which have born my souls cross
My journeys long, will I ever be at loss
Over mine own image rendered beautiful: my own body rendered beautiful to my eyes?
How can such skin-deep bliss exist without my black ballet flats?
How will mine own eyes recognise my beauty
If it were not for dainty small feet slotted into impractical, magical glass slippers
In want of my dear and precious black ballet flats.

In my more misunderstood days, I once read up on how to speak to the dead
The results were unsurprising; an article on Necromancy
I read on and on, it went quite hard to my head
It went quite hard to my memories

Upon that aloof, summer day of boredom in which I was first clued in
To the biggest secret kept away by grief and adulthood
I read why unspeakable corpse magic is deemed a sin
And why such things are sealed away with intentions good
But ultimately useless
Despite the misinformation’s efforts proven fruitless

We do not reach out; we do not speak to the dead
The dead reach out, they speak to us

They reach out to us
In dreams, in books, in stories
With much fuss,
They rise from the crypts and earth
And they whisper sweet glories
In their reeking, putrid breath exhaled from rotten lips
The truth slips, the future slips

For the dead, they can see the future
For the dead, they have lived the past
Necromancy, romantic for the living longing for the dead; suture
Of misinformation; the ideation that the living cast
A spell upon the dead, raising them for past loves and lives
When in truth, they are merely here to set free our eyes from our lies

The dead do not want us the living to die
For they know how horrendous fate can be
With screeching lungs rotting, they shriek of how the end is nigh
And share wisdom mostly ghastly
Willingly, they impart visions of future from bygone past
As, they - the ungrateful dead - lusting for life to return
With one last breath,
I remind you so you may learn
So, you may pass on from your own misunderstood days:
That which colours our miserable, romantic haze...

We do not talk to the dead
That is why we believe it bad luck to speak ill of our passed-on people
The dead talk to us and they talk to us of the future
That is the truth of Necromancy
That is the truth that you will now see
Beyond misconstrued myth, it is not the raising of the dead for love,
But for knowledge.

In darkened alleys and vacant parking lots,
Liminal spaces; an astral plane most physical
Broken bones, raw bruises, and blood clots
This is where I wish to throw the first punch; atypical
And insane, I just want to fight
Scuffed knuckles and bleeding noses, I’ve got some sort of plight
Where hatred turns to violence
Hungry blade in hand and dash of rogue; like a lioness
I’ve got to feed my body’s desire
This disturbing anger burns inside me like your funeral pyre

Poor, little girl with emotions on mute
Dreams and dreams of taking on the world
Come on, take me the **** on, deep down I’m a brute;
Brass knuckle dusters and a switchblade twirled
One look at you and it’s all weapons activated
All this rage facilitated
By the **** I take with a smile
As is the style
Of a lady too scared of dried blood consequences
Who feels too much with all her senses

But with the sun down and midnight rears its ugly head
Where moonlight trickles through tin plated shanties
That’s when the darkness is heavy as lead
In my heart, I feel the turmoil and I become a useless vigilante
Too drunk on violence to care for justice
And I got a lust for us

For us and a good and ****** fight
Just you, me, and my one-sided rage
Let’s knock you out like a ******* light
But maybe if we burn some sage
I’ll be purified of this urge
Because every time I see your pretentious face
I get this despicable desire to purge
You of this plane of existence
But Baby, that’s why you need to learn
Respect me or expect resistance
And deep down I yearn
That you never do
So I’ll be justified
When I get to throw the first punch; beating you black and blue
But just know I tried

I tried to lock up these feelings
Beneath a pretty and innocent smile
When my brain is Hell and I got my reasonings
And you’ll be my first trial
Of anger and violence
Where words fail and I don’t believe in silence
At least not until you’ve screamed
And in the afterlife that you’ve dreamed

It’s the heat of the moment
The warmth of hatred and blood
Spilt in consequence of my opponent
Eternity itself and I land with a thud
Unable to do a thing because it's not real
One, three, five, seven, ten: it's all surreal
The clock on the wall, it’s no good
Unhelpful as it's always wrong
A shift in reality as told by a chunk of wood
Only right twice a day; the same old song
Out of power; no more battery
Inside of me in awakes: my all-out anarchy

What is a girl to a God?
I stand before the cusp of infinity
As person, I am deeply flawed
Too much rage contained inside of tiny femininity
Want to throw a punch but I’m too afraid
Of broken bones and ****** noses
One day I’ll part the heavens like Moses
Because from my terror I have strayed
And into the eyes of all
I shall make my fall

A descent against time
Tick, tock
I hate it, I hate it, I hate it
The clock sneers on the wall; a paradigm
Of all that I rage against on lock

Numbers fall and rise
In heavy breaths, only one creature tolls for time
And that would be us: mad humanity who toils for a dime
We construct buildings of an unimaginable size
Against the hour we call home
And all for a construct of capitalism
With everything and everyone on loan
Parts of varying brokenness in a great schism

Time and time again, they chide
But we’re the only ones who remember
With pen and paper, our memories are tied
To the treasures of our ancestor

Yet how strange I find the passing of time
We’ve normalised it so much yet it couldn’t be more alien

But I refuse
It’s all an illusion

We’re out front of my house,
In the front seat of your car,
It kind of stinks in here but it smells like you
So, I don’t mind
You turn on some music
And we laugh because it’s the dodgiest track

The radio screams
My heart flutters
Heavy metal bought my love
We don’t have long hair but we’re headbanging anyway
I’m giddy from my toes to the tip of my nose

People say you’re bit of an *******
****, I’m one of them who says that
But I don’t care
My friend don’t like you
My parents adore you
Marry the boy, you marry his family

I can’t help but think it’s love
When the thought of you
Comforts me even when my best friend ain’t there
And she hasn’t been there for yonks
But what we’ve got is hard as rocks

Cloudy afternoon in a rural little street
Should’ve told you then
Better a rejection than a what-if
But I didn’t speak my mind
Only let you tease me
I wonder what could’ve happened
If I had had the courage
To take my word upon my tongue
And press it onto your mouth

Dear First Star I See Tonight,
I have a wish to make upon your grace
You are of plasma and light
Burning, dying
Yet you listen to my materialistic lying

In truth, the wish I would like to beg of you
Is far more selfless
Or at least I hope it is

Is it too much to ask?
Of you, divine being in the sky?
Is it too much to ask?
Of them, of flesh and life

I want true companions
Through and through
Ages of peace
Ages of war
People to fight for
People to fight with
Where we meet each other’s edges softly
And click
Like puzzle pieces
Smaller components
To a larger whole

We’ll laugh
And cry
But it’ll be the sweetest bliss
For we were all made for each other
The way our atoms draw each other in
We’re all made from the same stardust
Trying to reignite the gorgeous flames we once had
Soul mates the way only soul mates can be

But is it too much to ask?
I must ask for it grows burdensome on my lonely heart
Which still strives in search of the other part
My wish that I send to the skies
Is a wish of true friendship;
Nothing more
Nothing less than the best
...That’s selfish, isn’t it?

Dear first star I see tonight
I desire no grant of materialism
I just want to be emotionally catered for
To the utmost perfection
Which is why, I wish to befriend you, dearest First Star I See Tonight

Aren’t you lonely?
Like me?
So, how about it?
Would you like to be my friend, oh dearest First Star I See Tonight?

You were drunk
I was sober
The night was nearly over
When you pulled me closer
My heart had sunk

I was tired
You were wired
With feelings you didn’t understand
You were living a dream
I was living a nightmare
I glanced at my phone
And it was nearly two-thirty

You look in my eyes
I looked at your lips
I could smell the scent of your lipstick
Bright, vivid, scarlet
In the full colouring of your lips, I could sense your glory
In the absence of my own
Upon your lips, I could almost kiss you

Your eyes were ever so blue
But ever so out of focus
You were drunk
I was sober
But you got me intoxicated just by whispering sweet nothings
Into my ears upon a head so heavy with loneliness and doubt
Your words were like the cruisers you had been drinking

I don’t understand how you can see such goodness in me
When my own faith has left me
Abandoned by a growing cynicism
Broken and torn down by myself
At the instructions of others

Your fingers brush the side of my head
A curl of my hair falls out of place so you push it back
You smile
You laugh
I smile
I swoon

There is divinity in these cards
Shuffled by my uncertain hands
In search of something more in lands
Wherein dreams are true and guards
Knowledge unseen
By those unwilling to convene

I am the centrepiece of conversation
Mysticism upon a table laced
A spread of dealt cards spaced
Across a rotation
Of images and mysteries and clues
Which together will create a fuse;
A circus of circuitry which makes sense
To me but others find to be nonsense

There is a sound
Not unlike white noise
Sometimes words can be found
Other times words are destroyed
But it’s pleasant
By the grace of the omnipresent

The inked-on paper reveal of fate
A message by all which is ethereal
A message by all which is celestial
An ever-changing future
An ever happening present
A never changing past

A crucifix shadow hangs upon the light
Captured in awe before my line of sight
But of the shadowy Moon?
One may presume beauty and serenity
But that is not the truth
Illusions and anxiety
The subconscious and insecurity
Fears and the release of fears
Unhappiness and confusion

By dreams and intuition, I ponder questions
Yearning for suggestions
What may come to my life so soon:
What is next to the Moon?

How sweet it must be
To be loved by a poet
Beauty and laughter immortalised
In honeyed prose
For those
Whom you will not know
Whom you will not meet
Only those whom you will dream of
Only those who will sigh over
Your grace, your love
From the honeyed mouth
Of the poet who had chosen you
As their muse

How sour it must be
To be hated by a poet
Ugliness and rage immortalised
In destroyed prose
For those
Whom you will know
Who you will meet
Only those who will see you
Only those who will cry over
Your disdain, your wrath
From the dry mouth
Of the poet who had chosen you
As their muses

The pantheon of muses
The poet possesses
Will never reveal themselves to the reader
But the reader will already know the glory and infamy
Of the muses the poet possesses
The lovers
Perfection personified
Only known to the unconscious mind
With faces unknown
The enemies
Imps of imperfection
Already known to the waking realm
With more faces than that which can be counted

How bitter it must be
To be a poet
Glorifying and horrifying mistakes
In quickened prose
For those
Whom you love
Whom you hate
Only those who will read of you
Only those who will ignore you
My emotions, my consequences
From the careless mouths
Of the ones who had chosen the poet
As their acquaintance

Dearest Ophelia:
Daughter of the murdered man
Sister of the murdered man
Lover the man who murdered your men
This is an ode to your fictitious life

Ophelia, my love, you are divine
Oceanic and loving, you are the blessed petals
Of a plucked flower in hopes of a fortune

Irrational, eccentric,
Your whims
Become the whims of others

The ickle darling
Who needs help most
Dying a death so jarring

Sinking, sinking, thinking
Into the murky depths unknown
By the Queen’s words not shown

By rue,
By rosemary,
By fennel,
By *****,
By columbine,

By regret,
By remembrance,
By foolishness, flattery, and adultery,
By love,
By faith and hope

Her judgement most bitter-hearted
Her judgement most secretive and dry
Her judgement most sweet-scented

Lost to a fit of laughter
By the maiden’s wit
Her act comes to a close
With mermaid-like prose

At the world’s edge,
Upon a steep ledge,
I must ask the everchanging blue:
Why must I fall in love with them?

Whereupon, I break bread
With my enemies
I must ask the everchanging red:
Why must I fall in love with them?

Again, and again,
It is a dinner that ever ends
It’s the common place of disaster
A comedy of manners
Drenched in sinister designs
Beyond the grinds
Of my understanding
Of the world

It’s the Theatre of the Deranged
Laughter
So much laughter
And I don’t know what they’re after
I’m the jester
Without a wry disguise
Cleverness beneath comedic idiocy
I’m the fool
In this Theatre of the Deranged

Discussions at a lopsided table
Where only those who obey the master
May talk – all else must listen
To her, to her, to her!
Gorged on foods
I never wanted
There is nothing sweet
Left for me to eat

Mouth sealed shut
Except to laugh
But there’s nothing funny
When you’re the joke
That’s gone on too long
But the party is far from over
When you’re the court jester
To the Queen who rules the world
To the King who rules the world
To the Jack who rules the world
To the Ace who rules the world
To the suit who rules the world
To the world who rules the world

To the monarchs who uphold
The declarations of entertainment
And attend the gathering
At the edge of the world
Adorned with velvet curtains
And velvet lies
In a swirling and everchanging
Red and blue
Known only as
The Theatre of the Deranged

Dead end days
Spent by dead-end kids
Living on a dead-end street
Listening to a dead-end radio
Sing about dead-end dreams
That taste bittersweet on the dead-end tongues
Of these dead-end kids
It’s just another dead-end day
Doing dead-end deeds
In a dead-end world of grey

Dead-End Boy
Met Dead-End Girl
Born was a dead-end friendship
But the Dead-End Boy
Had dead-end feelings
For the Dead-End Girl
But the from the Dead-End Boy
The Dead-End Girl felt no joy
In a dead-end instant
Their dead-end friendship did die

Now the Dead-End Boy
Lives life unknown on a dead-end road
And the Dead-End Girl
Works a dead-end job
But in her dead-end head,
She’s singing dead-end lies
On a dead-end radio
Using her dead-end tongue so sweet
To talk about her dead-end dreams
And listening in, are dead-end kids
On a dead-end street
Their dead-end lives
Just some more dead-end deeds done
Just some more dead-end days
Done in a dead-end world forever in greys

I cherish the music
Phantasms in the audio
The smell and the touch
When it comes to you
Dear Music Man
You leave me with a musical mania

Come on, Music Man
Take me by the hand
Honey, you’re so electric
You should come with a warning
Danger: high voltage

When we’re together
It feels like forever
We’ve got a live-wire energy
An electric sort of synergy
You’re the melody
I’m the lyrics
Melding together
The perfect composition

Good music on the score
Vibrations coming up through the floor
Our ***** touches will leave us sore
And wanting more

When your hands are on your guitar
I want them on my back
I want them on my hips
And I want your lips on my lips
And I want your voice in my bones
Shaking me
Shaking me
Shaking me

Men like you
Are admittedly a dime a dozen
But like a jukebox
I’d put a dime in you
Because I love listening
To your voice
It’s like a smooth, sustained cello line
A bass line dripping with warmth
Dropping in my heart

I was lying on my bed
Thoughts of you stuck in my head
When it’s heavy as lead
I know what you’ve said

And what you’ve sung
Will get me through
The nights
And the mornings
Where dreams
Thicken the loneliness
Of when you aren’t there
Or when anyone ain’t there
Just the slowly strangulating air
Dealt by hands
Belonging to a flutist
With the deeds of a duellist
Who makes me battle

Against the song I sing
Against the song I want to sing
Against the musical mania
Against the sing you sing
Against the song you want to sing
Against the Music Man

Walking through cluttered art
A placid pace through a placid place
A green yard gone red with rust
Metal sculptures
Giant windmills
Broken, missing pieces
Wire birds twisted around walls
Bent out of shape
Graffitied and damaged
Stop signs

A farmyard
By memories of childhood
Pleasant associations
Of family and fortune
Where strangers become friends
Friends unknown
I meet the sunken eyes of my Grandfather
Over a table decked with games and festivities

A depressed omen
That hails wisdom
From years gone by
And years that will pass
Where experience
Shall meet practice

In games that doth test
Character and adversity protest
Where seeking advice
Bends the shape
Of already broken shapes
Inhumane aspect
Of people most suspect

Success and favours
Changing clothes
Changing personas
To meet the ever-changing situation
In the journey of my dreams
In the journey of my lives
I will overcome the challenge
And take my claim
Of success
And favours
My good fortune
Through
Divination of divine dreams

I caught her eye
Through her heart-shaped Gucci sunglasses
Cherry red lips
And just as sweet-smelling,
She smiled

With scarlet nails,
Upon a slender and soft hand
She beckoned me
I was nervous
She was gorgeous

One hand on a wiry steering wheel
Belonging to a pastel coloured Chevrolet
I leaned in through the lowered window
She smiled
Her other hand carded through
A magenta mop of messy hair
She laughed

She was a woman
Wet and wild
With a mischievous smile
And a lilt in her voice,
She asked me for my name and number
I gave her a lot more than that

The ocean’s roar
Against a dodgy seaside town
She took me for a ride
And what a ride it was
Seeing the sights
Rolling on a road
Through places neither of us know
The engine purrs
And so, does she
As she laces one arm across my shoulders
From the driver’s seat
My heart skips a beat

We holed up in a motel
She had bought the room
Days ago
With her Daddy’s credit card
Her Chevrolet parked out front
Our room
Her room
Amid plasticky ferns
And stinking asphalt
Under a hazy summer cloud

Vintage dresses in her closet
Perfume bottles
Glistening on her drawers
Elegant scents
In an inelegant room
Out the window
Encased in nautical décor
I could glimpse the sea and sand
I ran my fingers
On the edge of her bedside table
She ran her fingers
Along the edge of my spine

The bed bounced
Beneath our weight
Touching, whispering
Clothes on the floor
I couldn’t have wanted more
For she was
All for me
A first like none other

She was gorgeous
A dreamy goddess
I did see go
In a pastel pink Chevrolet
Wearing Gucci glasses
And an impish smile
On cherry cola flavoured lips
Above eyes
Which were bright
Like swirling, burning stars
A vivacious light
To count my blessings
And amorous bruising by

Death was in her lungs
And it was imminent
Every *******, gulping breath she took
Came with a bedside beg
Of release

I couldn’t stay
I couldn’t watch
I’m a coward
A traitor to the blood
In my veins
So alive, so healthy
To the blood
I received from her

A kiss upon her forehead
Her darkened skin
Turned to paper
Sickeningly soft
To my rough lips

Her suffering
Not dulled
By anything
Spirituality, science
People or family

A painful, sputtering sleep
In a clinical room
By the murky sun’s graceless light
On a cloudy afternoon

I forgot to say
I love you
But words aren’t enough
Words are meaningless
It is our actions
Which doth divine
Our true intentions
Our true emotions
And mine
Reveal only cruelty
And the absence of courage

Sweet sixteen and never been kissed
Sweet seventeen and never been kissed
Effervescent eighteen and never been kissed
Nearly numinous nineteen and never been kissed

Upon a hallowed eve
Night of the sweltering, wintry heat
Night of the frigid, summery cool
Words fell out of my mouth

Gratefulness,
Thankfulness,
Feelings,
Memories,
Words
Trut­hfully
I no longer recall
In the morning after

It was…
An experience
Neither good
Nor bad
No more, no less
Perhaps one day something grand
Perhaps one day something insignificant

One ought to cherish
The flattery
Of a genuine girl
And one ought to cherish
The honour
The lovesick
Lovestruck
Lunacy
Of a genuine girl
Perhaps once in love
But not anymore
Not now
Not with the new year
So close

Oh darling Flower Child, you speak ever so pretty
Your breath is like the summer wind, young and warm
However with such lovely youth, comes such a pity
Too many thoughts come and swarm
Upon your gentle tongue is such very good advice
However, seldom do you follow such good thoughts, oh, what a price

For wisdom that comes from yonder year
You do not know. What you say, I love to hear
Because I want to learn
I want to learn from your fantasised mistake
Be bold, be daring, act out of turn
Tell him you love him, Flower Child; gamble all your hesitations upon that stake

I swear by all my moons and stars, he will love you back
He would be a fool not to love your soul, untainted and beguiled
And your verdant eyes and your wit sharp as a tack
For all your eccentricities and more, you will be loved, dearest Flower Child
So, open your mouth and speak: relish the uncertainty
To the adventurous winds you speak of in breaths of eternity

Tell him Flower Child of the love you have for him
Even if your heart is fit to break at there mere thought
Tell him of the wondrous quibbles, of the loving hymn
That you wrote for him; of the words for him you wrote
Into lovely wreaths of poetry
Laced with dulcet sincerity

Quit your flower fortunes; stop blowing dandelion seeds
Your precious little dandelions are but weeds
Stop plucking petals from roses; white painted red
They do not know your heart, they do not know your head
They are but plants, dearest Flower Child
They have no sense for sensibilities so pay their predictions no mind
I know you wish to surrender to your feelings; breathe as wild
As the winds of fortune in your mouth and you may just find
That your first love may just be your first lover
But there is only one way for such sweet feelings to be discovered.

You lied,
Said Flower Child
To me
There is no escaping it
It is true
There is no flowery lie
The petals have fallen off
He loves you not

Hopes plucked
Much like the petals
You pluck
To divine
Questions and answers
Going around in circles
Like daisy chains
On your head like a crown

Despair in your eyes
Once gorgeous,
Now blank,
Once verdant,
Now dry,
For there is no love
There is no requite

I apologise,
Dearest Flower Child
But look
You have bloomed
You have changed
You have grown stronger
From allowing yourself to be weak
To be emotionally vulnerable
Heart fluttering
Like leaves in the wind scattering

And now,
Flower Child, please
It is time to regrow
Bloom brighter
Bloom stronger
Bloom longer
You will love again
The world is a garden
So, there is a good many more
Flowers for you to fancy

She was wearing a wedding gown
In a high school gymnasium
She was at her wedding
I was at her wedding
And what a sweat-stained spectacle
It was

Numinous nineteen
Not a groom to be seen
She was the sole bride
I don’t even know who was
Sharing vows with her

I was in the audience
There were many people in the audience
She was up on stage
Gorgeous in a gown
A mad look in her eye
As her wretched hands
Held onto wretched flowers
But not a priest or a pastor
Not a groom-bride
Or a bride-bride
To be seen

Not even twenty
She was getting married
And I don’t know to who
So, I thought her a mad woman
No, a girl
A mad, mad girl
She is still so young

I refused to believe
That she
Of lily-white skin
And unmatched potential
Not yet used
For she had not yet lived
To the fullest extent
Would get married like this
Inelegant and stinking
Unintelligent
When she was of the most brilliant mind

She gave chase
Because I insulted her
Her and her wedding
Her wedding more like a funeral
To commemorate
The death
Of her sanity

Are you ******* high?
I asked
Revolt and horror in my voice
She held onto my shoulders
A crazed look in her eye

A question
Of obsession
Was her reply
When I realised
I know the girl
I know her face
I know her dress
But I do not know
Her mind
Her love
Her life

And reply
I cannot
Where questions
Meet more questions
Mark my losing virtues
With a grip like a vice
With an uneasy voice
She asked:
Do you hate me?

Sipping
Assorted sins and vices
Whiskey, gin, brandy:
Whatever tastes good
Tastes alive in my mouth; like a cemetery

Watching
The prismatic shadows
Of the moon
Through stained glass
Stained like tears on our cheeks

Hey there, my love,
How did we come to this place?
And this time?
You are trying to understand
I told you
Something grave

Death of a brother
Death of a bond
And the responsibility
Lies in my lie

I hadn’t meant to hurt you
Much like alcohol
Numbs the mind
I wanted to
Numb your heart

I had my fortune told
By a drunk girl
At a masquerade ball
She stank of sweet liquors
And spoke even sweeter
Dulcet divinity
In her blood red lips

Dreams which leave me breathless
And ******
But give me ideas
To push myself beyond
The world of the living
And immortalise my written words
Etch them on side walks
With pink and gold stars

Bored with a Ouija board
Tarot card symbolism drawn
On the back of a pizza box
Spirits and stars
Illuminate secret desires
In the constellations of my mind
And it comes with such strange musings
Penned in a book of shadows

Café crème cigars
Capnomancy on a lazy lakeside
Notebooks and noteworthy slothfulness
Swirls and curls in an azure sky
Modern mythology was thick in the air
I could feel the smile
Of the sun

Little lover on a hallowed eve
No miraculous kiss
Just words that meant something
But mean nothing now
Outside of a delayed fantasy
To tell wistful stories of

Fragile city streets
Cluttered with contemporary art
And gorgeous people
From all walks of life
Walking through mine
They seem to transient
For my liking
Compared to the dusty highways
That I’m used to worshipping the world at

Rock and roll radio
Two-dollar earrings
And fourteen-dollar sunglasses
Denim jacket bought expensive
With patches bought cheap
Licence plates dated from the eighties
And stated from the States of America
Stud the walls of a small-time pub
Graffiti on the bricks
Poetry and lyrics is how I get my kicks

I can feel it in the hot air
In the summer sun
Where I bask in imagined limelight
Just like I felt glory in her lips
And glory in his music
And glory in those cards
I can feel it within myself
My glory
My story
And it is a claim I shall take
It is my destiny

Upside down
Back towards you
A solemn resignation,
Submitting to despair
Changes it into acceptance
And becomes forgiveness

A scatter of possessions at my feet
That I have since abandoned
Despite their worth
Their value
In gold and silver
But ultimately a fortune
That cannot be measured
Because of sentiments
And significance

I must move on
Though my head weighs
Low on my shoulders
And I ignore the flush of water

Waters of change
Waters of loss
Waters of purity
Waters unknown

Dressed in a gown of blue
Do I allow
The weight of worth
To weigh onwards
A burdensome tie that binds
Me to a past
Wrought in memories and mirth
Some good
Some bad
Precious all the same

But this is a memoir of moving on
Change is flowing
I can grasp the water
In cupped hands
But it escapes me
A cold and cruel dripping
Leaving me
But I must accept it
And forgive it of such fickle transgression
For such is life

The withered, old man in the dark,
The one they call The Hermit
By the silver moonlight, he wanders through
The night ever so thick with pervading questions, but hark,
He knows the answer; or will by dawn permit
Of his guiding light, by the endearing coo
As sung by birds; his only companions in this everlasting night
He will soon find answers that are ever so bright

Under this card’s influence,
You will seek to be yourself so you may follow the star
Of your own path to find enlightenment
By the lantern light, a mysterious sort of loneliness
It will take you near, it will take you far
Until all paths converge and the deliberation of judgement
Will take place
And you will find the face
Of all you need to know
And how you ought to place your pawns next; where you ought to go

I’ve often been called a pariah;
An odd little sweetie who thinks higher
Instead I watch on the outsider and grow bitter
As I wander, as I wonder, beneath night time glitter
Of the stars and moon and shine that I stroll through,
Once I emerge from my eternal night time, what will be new?
Will I have purpose or will I have pointlessly withdrawn?
If I emerge from my solitude at all, of course
There is the chance of no change upon
My body, my mind, my vitality’s force

Grown weak with questions,
My latest obsessions
There is no meaning
Not until I disturb the silence
And allow daylight gleaming
And other’s reliance
Into my pathetic excuse of a life

One day the dead shall wake
And all the Earth shall quake
From the ruin, new life shall spring
And good news, the destruction shall bring
Amid the new life
Judgement shall purge strife

The good
The evil
The rich
The poor
The sick
The healthy

Awaking,
Appealing,
The reckoning hath come
With the world reeling
Before the holy might
Underneath a holy light

Both acceptance
And refusal
An apocalyptic happenstance
Facilitated by
Divine will:
Absolution,
A change of resolution,
A revolution,
Hailed by the triumphant call of a trumpet

Divided the fallen stand
Raising to their full height
Beneath the ruling gaze
Of an Angel
Of a God

But until the fallen stand
We must wait
With the weight
Of our sins
Casting our own judgements
Upon each other
We lash out
We cry
And we lie

Our own sort of entropy
Chaos
Achieved through order
We live,
We die,
We love,
We lose,
And one day
We may have it all
Or we may lose it all
But first we must stand
And then we must fall
So, we may rise once more
As per the bidding
Of Judgement
Of those whom we do not know

Comedy or tragedy?
It’s the entertainment of death
You’ll laugh, you’ll cry
You’ll live, you’ll die
Either way, who is to say?
Either way, bet on your guess

Four points on a circle
Spin the wheel
It won’t feel real
It will get you sick
So, take your pick
Fortune is yours to make
It is yours to take

Life is a casino
You’re playing poker
Like they do in Texas
Hold ‘em, fold ‘em,
Hit ‘em, bid on ‘em,
Play pentacles
Then the cards with cups
But someone just yelled *******
And the guy across from you
Just bet all on blue
Time to go round two

**** the dealer
Dance with the Devil
Kiss coincidence
Flirt with fate
Lady Luck might notice you yet

Red or black
Get something back
Double or nothing
Best your blessings
Cut your wins
And count your losses

Until the final game
Comes down to good luck,
Bad luck,
Or something beyond control
Bet on black to start
Then go straight for the heart