Heller told me I could live forever
                                 or die trying.  
Despot told me I could be rich
or try dying.  

Life’s a lie but it’s when you try
and pursue truth that you fly the coop.  

But what do I know eh?

My head is just a borrowed mess
And I’m just a high liar, dire trier
                tried too much again.

All my friends are strangers
who’s behaviours vary,
scary times indeed, indeed.  

I’ll pick apart their heads and feed,
and I’ll  be there for them when they need.  
I’ll quench my thirst upon their tears
although its bitter in its taste.
I’ll force them to face their filth and fears,
and alongside them I will waste.

This world is lonely if it’s only you.

For we’re all just spinning madly off
and I’d gladly stop if someone else would.
Our problems are reversed- no **** for a ***.
Our tongues and wit are dim lit and crude.

Stop stopping me from stopping things from starting!

I took my devils out and broke
their hearts. Took them out for
dinner and watched them starve

Feast on your beasts.
Feast on your beasts.
Feast on your beasts

Till deaths done its part and parted us.

Torn apart at the shoulders, rolled heads
like boulders. Hold her head till the end
                   till its breathless and colder.

The last devil sat down with me civil
and said that she was fasting anyway.
So I ate my dinner- she watched, then paid.  

Feast on your beasts.
Feast on your beasts.
Feast on your beasts.

A rotten little written thought walks across and of my page before my eyes. As I am speaking to you now he walks with a whispering little shadow that mistakes his place and purpose,a cold and cowardly projection of words. But this is what I throw at you each and everyday- I throw the better half of my head, I throw my tongue, my lungs and my every hope and hate filled accusation. I toss begging questions until I’m tired of having to answer them on my own.
I am finding it a lot harder not to be alone.
It’s interesting to see what your head looks like when its spilled out across a hollow blue light- a cold computer’s stare. I do not wield a pen, my thoughts don't talk in ink. They remain in the memory of a busy little computer. They sit their among music and photographs and videos of friends, yet exist without them and unable to interact. They dwell alone until they turn rotten and walk up and off their page.  
I apologise if sometimes they offend or intrude, or if sometimes they take things without asking permission and lie about it afterwards, but they are only just finding their way so please show some compassion whenever your paths cross.

The neighbours never took any notice
of his silence although it spoke loud.  
He was a man shrouded in mystery-
not a part of anyones history, he blissfully
existed, persistently kept to his own space
distantly. “ Did you miss me?” he asked
his greyhound the same day he was found
dead- his dog didn’t reply, so he put a bullet
straight through his empty head and on his
corpse the dog fed for two weeks before
the smell reeked and leaked up stairs
and half the neighbours fled instead of
calling the police. But there is only weeks
left on his lees and soon the landlord will come
to collect his overdue fee’s:

Now he arrives with a knock on the door.
Something isn’t right of this he is sure.

But it’s just another case of Dennistoun Door’

This time, this time

it doesn’t feel like he’s mine.

This time, this time

he walks without a spine.

Straight through your mind

to tangle thoughts into winds.  



This time this time

it doesn’t feel like he’s mine.

This time, this time

he walks without a spine.

Straight through your mind

to tangle thoughts into winds



and as you heartbeat falls behind

you find he’s ticking on without a care.

He’s everywhere, anything and many

things even I  wouldn’t dare to dream of.



Each is lost to his taking

Even when clocks hands

are braking or the earth is shaking.

Our fathers rather impatient.



And in that spirit I’m not waiting



To Catch And To **** Time.



Some will follow the projections

of a hollow blue light.

Others run without direction-

off into the black night.  



To catch and to **** time,

Detach his head,

rip out his spine

sending him wandering

as clueless as us.



Whats next? Whats up ahead?

Whats round the bend?

Have I got another minute

or is there just a second to lend.

Is there another way over or out?          
I can’t seem to find patience, she’s gone
and fallen from before me. I could shout
but I shouldn’t wish to disturb anyone.  
Their ears have been twisted rotten, I know’t,  
And so I’ll save my sore throat and tongue
and let my lungs breathe from the back of
my head. I'll stop to start as we slow’t.  
             What a disgraceful tongue I have here in
my mouth; It shouts foul words and breathes in sin.
It utters thoughtless thoughts just as they begin.
And without a man sharpening their edge,
They run up the hills to the knife of their peak
just to fall into the hands of a better mans pledge.  

He takes thought and flies far off with it.
Out past the poets and the puppeteers,
Where words softly sing busy heads asleep,
Where the young puppets are bought and sold fears.  
He does what I cannot and does so with pride;
He takes thought to the sun so it can shine
on this world.  I only ever curled or ran to hide.
              Now To myself I ask questions and with answers I confide.
But every question’s like glass left on a stove,
and soon fragments fly in every direction,
sticking in the wall and cutting those they
cross, they're filthy, they soon spread infection.
These questions leave men gasping as they pray,
They leave mothers crying over corpses every day.

Strange how the same thought thought out by him
instead of me turns those laying corpses
into dancing puppets- Cold staccato limbs
flinching from the will of their old willer.
Find me times killer, I’m sick of this cold.
Find me his hands- He has a world to hold.
I want to show that what I do does have reason-
                    I want to hold him before us- to watch “ Change” season.
"Yes its ‘change’ now, strange how it changes
how you think ‘bout things that are thinkers
but stray to sinful little ******, alchi’ drinkers.
I’m not apologising fur ma tongue
son, I’m not following a ridged line
nae’ ******’ mare- I found my spine. “

But that voice- mine! Not mine now to own.
Change was robbed by fearful old neighbours.
The fabric came loose but back together now is sown.
Old men wept, young men slept, their saviours
found their secret and now its quietly kept alone
between villains. And maybe we need villains.
Or does this arrogance deceive me?
        Perhaps it blinds me in my walk? Others talk
too loud amongst themselves to hear or believe me.
I conceive sweet thought and nurture it
till it turns rotten, infected, weak and sick.
Then I look for a cold arm with hairs to *****
and run off only for another thought to retrieve me.

I have a gun,
I keep it under my bed
and just for fun
I decided not to tell anyone

But it weighs heavy

Now when people
get under my skin I don’t begin
to unwind and
let my patience wear thin

I just think of my gun under my bed.
I think of a hole going straight through my head.

My Heads just a borrowed mess,
I’m just a high liar, dire trier
trying too much again.  
You see friends
in strangers but behaviours
vary, yes its very scary times indeed.

I took my gun
out for a walk or maybe he
took me for one
when the sky showed sun.

And it weighs heavy

My feet still shifting, my stomach still
swelling and contracting in itself.
I cannot look down. I cannot look down.
I can almost hear the steep fall below me.
The echoes of birds haunt in the their
fading song. But I stare out high.
High out and above this city- across its tops.

The peaks somewhat cheapened by the red sky.
It falls over them like a blanket, tucking it
in and keeping it warm for the night.  
The bricks, steel and concrete are weak
in their worldly nature. The sky swirls
and spins colours to the wanders of my eye.

I want to scream but words betray me,
My foul tongue and dimly lit wit stick-
stammering and fail to wrap around a thought.
I’m caught between a point and an apology.
I beg for symbols to tumble, for angels to
lift me from this roof and show me truth.

But they drop me back inside myself,
I still sit staring bare at this city.
Smoke sticks in my throat even though
its a few miles down from here.
Fear falls on me with the night
and the city’s soon enveloped completely.

But bright lights from high rises,
twenty-four-sevens, taxis etc. Blind
in their boldness. Their grotesque in nature.
People seem to be simply just match sticks.
I can only see them as far off as the Tesco’s.
By then my sight blurs and I dizzily have to steady

To keep from falling off the edge.

We are the witless wanderers.
Pondering our own existence.
We are Thieves to time and his borrowers.
The future that makes the past get tense.
We are common without sense,
sentenced to life in the prisons of conscience.

Oh conscience, conscience, where would we be?
He Said:

“ I’ll tell you if stays just between you and me”


“We’re in the depths of dying giant.
The hand that once fed, says
we’ve became too reliant.
So we’re going looking for the silent,
who’s quiet is loudly defiant.
We’re looking for those heads
that find soft beauty in violence”

And so we travel on true
through pockets of our history.
Making moments into marvels,
bland realities into mystery.  
Picking up the tongues of the witty,
the lost voices and drifters.
We take the eyes of the pretty
and the patience of the listeners.  

We take the hearts of the false starts,
that long another redo.
Let them no that its their part,
Life is really but a read through.  
Theres no failure, just behaviours
we regret and will learn from.
Theres No angels or saviours,
just our selves to earn from.

But whats within us is holy,
holier than now. Now is just
never in the time frame of forever.
And  you can take your time.

So Take It.

Take the clocks hands to his face and make him brake it.  
Take this world to its creator, and watch him forsake it.

You can take your time

SO Take It.

A poet, by necessity, cannot be a genius. What most poets are, are manics with a knack for finding a consistency- logical or illogical- in the human condition and the world around them. A poet, within themselves, has the ability to create something that otherwise could not exist in the tangible world; a thought, a feeling, an idea, a hope, a lover, even another world entirely. But a poet is not a genius. Or at least cannot be perceived as, or believe he is, one. For poetry to have poignancy, emotion and sense it must be selfless and selfish, sweet and agonising, peaceful and anarchic. But it cannot ever be the work of a genius. Geniuses are absolute in themselves, poets are abstract. Genius is the work of a researcher who finds a cure for deadly disease, not the simplicity of words. However poets can bring faith, sympathy, and even light a fire within their reader. But poets are not geniuses. They are wordsmiths that wind this world into something better or worse in their minds, in the hope that someone else will see it too. A poet cannot provide absolute truth or reason, therefore cannot ever be a genius. Their work however can be ingenious.

With blood we ran through the city like a river/
The givers gave out and stared madly with a shiver.
" You can take your time... So take it"
screamed the clock, so I had to brake it.
The glass pierced the skin, my knuckles began
to bleed and joined with the river as it ran.

The plan was not to have one. To be a man.
To be good, or thought of highly. But the
blood keeps running on by me / I know
in this I''l drown. Spiral down to the underworld.
To be hurled by the winds of punishment for
my lustful, spiteful, vengeful acts of selfishness.

No doubt theres bigger fish to fry,
but I'll be burning along side them.
In truth I only ever told a lie.
So il wait here until the tide comes.

I am, not be, something I can not see.
And it turns me tormented to face
my own reflection, over and over,
closer and closer, to cutting that nose
from my face. And laughing as I do so.
But instead he mimics my lack of conviction.
And he winds fictions of me falling slow,
trying to hold the curves of the world as I do so.  

Even Atlas' strength was humbled by it;
The weight of this world could never have
been on my shoulders. But thats where I feel it sits.
So selfish, so arrogant. I am but not be.
I do not ever tell of this weight on my neck.
Instead in quiet torture I find my own respect.

After you’ve fallen for that old foolish belief:
That we live In our heads. And in his head we sleep.
It starts to make our secrets just that bit harder to keep.

Even our dreams; Are they ours, or through each others can wee creep?

Can we quench our own thirst upon another’s tears?
Or is the empowerment bitter in its taste?  
So wastefully we throw words in exchange, but so
right it is do so? Who knows he who knows? I envy you so.
For him I went looking, for her I did too. Young pity
fell in and through my pockets, Now I’m lost and need you.
I need you to reveal where the conscious of it all wakes forever.
I need signs to come tumbling, I’ve scoured to long.
I’ve delved past the devil only to write a few songs.
I need reason and poetry, and logic that makes sense.
I need a future that doesn't make the past seem tense.  

Can I belong to a moment with this world as it spins off?
Or is the vanity in wanting to do so decrease my odds.
Well if I could stop that clock from clicking in my head,
I would,
but it proves much to fitting in it’s dark little room,
In which I’m consumed by a rambling of thoughts that stops.
Only to start to gambling with my will as it fills the ceiling to its top.
Now I could drown, or swim back to my life.
Out one room to another, back to baby being mothered.
Colour me yellow, I swam down again.
I’m afraid I can't keep from falling with little poetry in my descent.

The same that had fallen into and through ‘Alisdair’s' pocket.  
The key. The key. Where has it fallen? I’ll scour the place.
I have fallen through this world for it. Now I lay at the bottom.
For amidst my lack of bright wit, with which I did fall.  
I often thought I’d found it. Something to free me, all
but free from everything to a solvable small problem.  
But the bottom is bottomless, as it often was above.
I’ll scour this fallen city, till I’m sour, to find young pity.

She fell into my lap. With the key around her neck.
Not out of nowhere, nor from above or below.
But fell none the less. And so of course I had to check.
I pinched myself twice, but she still lay staring deeply
into my eyes as until her eyes turned sleepily.
And then creepily I wandered through her head while she slept.

I tried to try but my eyes fell heavy into my cheeks.
I am weak, a fallen freak who walks these streets
looking for the future in each turn, but never now do I seek.
Incomplete, I’m an embryo who doesn't want to develop.
I chase stars in the night sky as it falls and I it envelopes.
Though I cherish the downfall like within it there is pride.
I relish your sympathy until it’s intent falls on it side.
Theres no place for me to hide, At the bottom I unite,
with every kind of side of myself, and each I name fright.

The first fright is gentle he understands me better than I.
But his pity is passionless and so I watch his fire die.
Until the second fright turns and tells me I’m a fool.
This I understand though he does not understand me.
“You’re a shell of a boy” adds fright number three.
This I believe I know to be true. After all I cannot fool me & you.

The last bark scares off the little kitties.
The full picture broke into little bitties’.
The horizon fell and crashed upon the cities.
The best friend of man is tired oh his cliche.
But feed him man does. Need him man does.
Him needs mans love. Man’s love needs him.
For he is without  sin while we try play to to win.
We are flawed, He is pawed and simple in step.
Oh the past! Is it tense?
Does the last laugh hold suspense.
Does the fat lady return home once she has sang above us?  
Push came and shoved us. God came down from above us.
But the dog lay still, breath soon did escape, never to return.  
I wonder if amongst this silly feeling I have a lesson to learn.

IS this your tongue twisted round breath from blackened lungs?
Your foul words betray you when you stare down the eye.
I see your nights spent wishing, missing the moments behind you.
But where do I find you? Where in this mess of the masses stress?
You don’t seem to peek from the pockets of your bleak cites.
Nor do you dwell among the sad caves of young pity.
Hit me! Hit me! Like an apple on my head. Hit me!
I need to find you even if what I find is already dead.

We can revive this. Life might flow through us once again.
The pen, as a weapon, once more is being used to defend
The will of times killer,  while the crowds wish him condemned.
We can and will fight for the pride of the distasteful tongues,  
the wasteful young, the collapsing lungs that coughed last words
As they were lead to be hung for the killing of time. Just as the bell rung.

I figured where we fit on this little journey:
     In the middle of the start just as it’s about to end.
     Hire a gun! Hire Gun! Ah’a but can’t we be one?
     Fixed- the fickle have a sickly sweet dream to spend.
     Let them follow breadcrumbs all the way to the sun.
And as the 'fat whites' are watching, we too watch them burn.
    The woken dead poets sleep as we owe them it.
    But yet I feel disgrace as I chase their tongues wit.

   Fright learns a lesson when he hears himself gurn’.  
   Now he’s pouring himself sourly across this page.
   Disgrace! Disgrace! can’t you fit each word in its place.
   Foul taste! Foul taste! my words are forgotten,
         with his forgotten waste.
   But time as it takes, takes my breath slowly with it.  
   Till my last word is winded for another tongue to spin it.

The conscience does creep when wake feels like sleep,
But dreams could have never appeared as such steep
     steep a hill as this woeful wander,
Past the dark caves of pity to where the sad fellow saunters.

With sleepless thought they wake there forever
In the coldest of knot tied apart and together.  

The hollow will follow someone else on this journey.
But we stepped so careless with our caution less selves.
Made a game out of the danger. Got going a wee tourney’  

Past the poets and swore we would return to their shelves.
So far out we fell of some kind of edge they swore disproven.  
Now Down past the devil our story meets us at it delves.

Welcome to the world that stays still as it does its movin’ .
We scribble on each others faces the reasons for our still.
Chill burns, time turns back and forth for the sake of doing.

Have you ever filled yourself much to full upon a fill?
Have you ever dreamed a different morning sun?
Well I found pity- she was sat at the bottom of’a hill.

I begged to bring her home but she had only just begun,
She wanted to hear my head in his bedroom stirring,
But with pity it collapsed him as he heard's sad song sung.

The hill looks less steep, less frightening from the bottom.
Conscious lost himself from me as I came tumbling down.
I could have sworn Id fallen like an apple from tree to turn rotten.  

Everyone who walks here, walks here with crown.

"speak that i may see you".
The weak and the brutes do free you
to elevate to where they can’t see you.  

Yet I see all with clear view.
The bumps ahead we steer through.
Yet without the burden of knowledge

I fear you

All of you, all of me does envy.
All of me and all of you is plenty.
So all of me to all of you I lent thee.

Drink this cup and toast it to hearts
who long to taste the end just as it starts.

If we’ve got anything. Anything at all.
Anything at all. We’ve got issues.  

If we’ve got anything. Anything at all.
Anything at all. We’ve got issues.

You can take your time so take it.
You can take your time so take it.

Welcome to our world.
Curled toes on the newly matured.
Are you sure you wanna stay?
The girls heads twirled, then they hurled.
Then they were invited back to stay.  

Creeps prowl the streets like wolves howling for sheep.
Sexualise the innocent dream, split the fabric at the seam.

The naked reality might not be so real in actuality .
That glistening woman was a young victim assuming
the man in the suit could help her in her pursuit.

Consuming the explicit. Cross the blurred line to the illicit.
Its trick kid! do you want to swallow or spit it?

She draws your eyes at first when you look/
Her soft hair falls like water drawn by electricity.
In the corner spines try and strangle books.
Or some sort of bone- might not be a spine.
But they are forcing them shut. Such crooks.  

Creeping in the corner of the warmer side of the room
Is a man who stares like he longs to be her groom.
I assume he’s the focus that your not supposed to notice.
“Don’t try and draw meaning! It’s useless to do so”,

Cries the voice in my head as I try and make my thoughts slow.

I shall just gaze emptily. Theres plenty to please
my eyes without meaning rotting my brain like disease.
But theres need to unravel why he glares at her crimson.
Why crimson? Why Crimson? I have to listen.

“ Perhaps his face is the blood that runs through us.
A symbol of lust? Love? Or Mistrust. Lets discuss”/  

I must shut this noise at once. Enough.
I can’t start tying this to myself or my own health.
Ignore what is felt, focus on the symbols with context.
Think of what is in front of you not what might be next.

“ But whats next messed before. ******* it right up.
The man had been hexed in folk tale made up!
She stole the symbol and painted him to creep up.”

Regardless, Lets part with these thoughts and just focus.
Theres locust that leap beneath her feet we didn’t notice.
Now Locusts can be hopeless but also denote somewhat biblically.
Perhaps this plague lurking is his misery? Represented Physically

“ By a woman on a hill painted with locust covered feet.
A crimson man behind her sat creeping perched on a seat.
In the corner theres a pile of books with titles you can’t read.
And spines try and choke them but instead they somehow feed."

And all this by a woman who I know could not see me.

Way hey! Way hey!
We slept through the day.
We missed the mayhem.
And it wasn't here to stay.

Our strife! Our Life!
Its over now its night.
We can bathe without light.
We can talk without spite.

Spill. Spill. Wilfully ill.
Thrills till we're full with our fill.
****. ****. Skilfully drill
A hole in the day for the chill.

Everything is talking to me
and I need it to shut up.
Cut up the seams of my reality
and strip off the clothes to naked

normality.  

My mentality is beaten by my morality.
For life, in seconds close to finality,
makes us strive toward normality.
Forced behaviours- just another generality.

Don’t put me in a box!
the walls will start talking to me.
Shouting at me, spilling drivel
filling the level all around me.

I’ll drown its words.
My last words will be heard
ringing- "This is not what I deserved”.

Im just a nerve trapped in this society.
Cant keep to sobriety without the anxiety
creeping quietly form silently to violently
in matter of seconds defiantly.

It's hypocrisy to preach democracy
When you know it's not at work.
Aristocracy is nothing but a mockery
Of the real leaders who lurk
In the dark and write in the shadows.
Because once they barked and they were straight to the gallows.  

Now people don't know what to think,
Or even how to on their own.
Do you know how the worlds now a sink,
And money our water? Well check your phone.
I'm honestly ashamed that I am too a clone
Of this breed of dumb that allows influence to be overgrown
And split amongst a few.
But if we wash ourselves away, maybe we can start a new.  

Down the sink, down the drain.
We'll laugh at the day and dance in the rain.
We'll forget the night before and the stain
It left. Oh the hours we'll gain
When we flush all this away and seize the new day.
Their clock will be ours and our hour it will be to reign.

Where did they all come from?
These activists Once were pacifists.
Now they’ve turned ravenous for fair
Political practice.

And it wasn’t no accident.  They’ll
soon beat down in their heavy handedness.
Demand the mess is cleaned up.

As they scream :

" this wasn’t what we dreamed up”

The doctors cant give you anything for the pain.

Drifting minds unwind till they find
Solace in the simplest of thought.
Other minds can drift from time to time
To find reason where reason is not.

I’m not going to tell you
you’re more than the sum of your parts.
I’m not going to tell you
the thing that I’m after is your heart.

But I might ask to take you home.
Only because you look like you live alone.

In the morning I won’t ask
If I can stay here just a little longer.
Because We’re not in love,
We’re in fear of it and thats stronger.

But I might ask you to give me a call
Whenever you are feeling down or small.

Cause thats when you like me best.

Stealing defeat from the jaws of Victory.
A feat that was tall, fought for then slipped away.
The Scottish way it seems, to let it disappear.
To come so close with hands open as we near
then through our fingers we let slip another year.

Disappointed and down, we maintained a disjointed crown.
We could have swam for freedom but in the open water we drowned.
The lochs turned to black, no clock can turn back:
Freedom was for the taking, but under the pressure we cracked.  

Scaremongering, propaganda. Down right lies.
The told the feeble to stay together, and there would be a prize.
Hungering for a land. A place to call home.
They listened. Now no longer can they roam

Or swim in open waters that are their very own.
They are bound by unity yet completely alone.  

So from a foreign land I think back to the time.
when I felt a part of it. In land that was mine.
But no desire to return. The lesson I learned:
Fire always burns out. We had heart but no spine.

We- The streets that fathered the lost freaks. 
Let them step on us, **** on us. Now the whole town reeks
of defeat. The concrete crumbles under their feet. 
Splits and cracks now the living and hell dwellers meet. 

Soulless creatures cut the preachers nose from his face. 
Tie his ******* knot to stop the loud talk. 
Then chase the lost children away from gods grace 
to taste lust on their young tongues. To waste breath 

    with blackened lungs. 

Half hell, half town. 
Can’t you tell we fell down? 

We- the town that belongs down here now-  
Watch the children bow to the man with the crown now. 
Red skin, black suit-  and it really burns how
his tongue twists truth like a noose for a neck. “Bow

      Your little heads”.

Half hell, half town. 
Can’t you tell we fell down? 

The little flowers in full bloom don’t long for a groom. 
Instead they swoon for the creatures and take them to their room. 
The smell of sweat, lust and perfume. We can only presume 
That it won’t be long before theres a monster in the womb. 

      An Ungodly creation.   

Half hell, half town. 
Can’t you tell we fell down?

The first baby is born- and every parent is mourning. 
The devil has sworn that by the time his hairs thorning
he will be all knowing- they will be saved by his fore-warnings. 
Unless, torn by his human half he seeks a quiet cold morning 

     above ground. 

Half hell, half town. 
Can’t you tell we fell down?

And What can a parent do? Staring at the cold truth
in their fiery endless doom, they can only cry for the fate of the youth.  
They can only obey the orders of the red crown and black suit.
They can only watch as he takes each and every single tooth

    of their young.  

Half hell, half town. 
Can’t you tell we fell down?

The new mother struggles without a man to aid her.
Her earthly father smuggles food to try and save her
and her young two week old son from their slaver.
But caught, he’s left to rot and told over and over he betrayed her.

     His blooded hands cease fighting.  

Half hell, half town. 
Can’t you tell we fell down?
    
 We are the redemption of an eye for an eye.
We are the blind world that it leads to.  
We are the bodies hung high and dry.

*You are but the mouth that this world feeds through.

Passing through people
Is scarier for me than it is them.  
They feel cold for a second.
          I feel infinitely alone.

I shake them and they don't move.
I try and kiss her eyes closed.
She doesn't even blink. I sink
              into my nothingness

I think just as they do.

I feel like them too.
But whenever our paths cross.

I pass right on through

Today:
My heads a little cloudy.
Don't think it will rain though.

Run your mouth till it runs off
and bites off her tongue.
Words flung like phlegm from
the bottom of blackened lungs.

The singing hero becomes the unsung.

The name don't ring bells,
it breaks down the house door.
Lays the residents down flat
on the floor. Panicked to their core.

Then cracked tiles snap.
Falling through the floor, as the
water pours. Floods the basement,
drowns the poets and the dwelling.

Smelling the decomposing, the
neighbours dread the scenes gore.
A simple drug scandal?
Or the ****** of a *****?  

For years they couldn't bare
to think for any more than two
seconds about what stories played
out behind that door.

But their tongues twisted truth
like it was a noose for a neck.
No empirical evidence, yet told
all when the police did inspect.

Funny how the mind winds fiction
out of nothing but simple prediction.

One for the morning.
Instructions in the same print
as the side effect warning.

One for the pain.
Another into the vein.
And another,
just so every day stays the same.

One to fill sunshine
In days consumed by rain.
And another
as you lay in bed cold & slain.

Overdoses- the closest
You ever came to seeing it.  
You're able, already a being fit
for purpose.

Our arrogance deceives us.
It blinds us in our walk.
Those poor souls believed us.
They recite us as we talk.

The circles are in motion,
The potions all been taken.
The purpose wasn't spoken
It was entirely mistaken.

Misinterpreted; lovers hating
love like it was over stating
itself. And harvested wealth
like it was the only thing
more important than health.

We are broken.
Our arrogance deceives us.
We are not chosen.
Why did they believe us?

There’s a place in the corner of my eye that is only for me. It’s cluttered, a real mess, with things piled on top of each other precariously.  As much as I try and ignore it it is always there lurking reminding me of things to do, things I haven’t and things I will never do. And this corner is growing, taking over my sight;

Pretty soon I’ll be blinded by my yesterdays, my fears, my dreams and my love.

But at least one eye will be kept clear and I will try and see clearly through it. Until the yesterdays become today, my fears appear real, my dreams drown and my love succumbs to pettiness- tainted by green.

Without sight I’ll soar through darkness; spinning, twisting and evolving my other senses. Melody will paint my memories to keep me pushing through my plight, Hair pricking soft fingers will flood my head with colours.

But that fowl stench will linger. The cluttered abandoned mess doesn’t rest in its decomposition. It will invade my other senses until my false expectations appear real.

blood thin. her arm was at ease,
but cooked in her mind were beings like fleas.  
They only grew fowler, more putrid with the heat.  
she only grew weaker as you do in defeat.
well when you accept it anyway,
Ive known a thing or two about it
but she couldn’t hear me through curses she was shouting.
I guess that was the hardest thing:
My mind would keep guessing
as the fleas were surfacing.  

So thats why I put her at ease.
For her head was for bed,  so take her now please.
My own head is sweating, I need her still and to sleep.
So take her now please, before they burrow deep.

I picked the pieces to put you together
From box on a shelf I’d forgotten to remember.  
I Stumbled upon you But was drawn too you
Like you were the dark and I was December.

You're real! You're Real!
I made you up.
You’re real. You’re real now
I’m mixed up.

A puzzle sat before me and only for me,
For I was the one who wanted make believe.
I put you together, thought it took me some time,
Four late night phone calls and 2 bottles of wine.

You're real! You're Real!
I made you up.
You’re real. You’re real now
I’m mixed up.

It swims in his eyes
without worry of me watching.
A kind of crazy spin stuck
like blood clotting. The rotting
space of a wasteland for a mind.
Where memories of people jump
      from the eyes they lie behind.  


I’m just trying to find a place to focus.
The locust leap from withered grasses-
hopeless. But land on greener pastures  
which denotes this time the enemy might
be closest.
         Closest, too close & under heavy dosage.  


No sign of sedation. Eyes boat racing.
Words flung from a tongue like first tasting
lust and embracing your own disgust. Chasing
thrills, gorge pills
                        By the bottle before replacing.


Crust flaking from wasting skin.
By eyes still wild, captivating with
a maddening spin.  
                           It can’t end.
If It didn’t begin.

Ten a day. It was the classy way
to **** ones self.
Swords and pens, pens and swords.
Let out the smoke- it’s quiet grey
Presence only whispers bad health.  

So entranced by it's swirling movement.
I forget what it might be doing-
Or not doing.
Whichever way the ash settles,
That way my health will be ensuing .

I’ve grown tired of worrying now-
Heard all the caution the doctor spouts.
See my life is tied to this ashtray;

It’s full of little doubts.

Angst! quit wasting whats left.
You're not falling through time.
What you are talking of is theft.
We cant take that amount in our
Chest. I stress. Please get some rest.

What's to be when you awake?
A sad key on the piano?
Or a distressingly violent shake?
Or just another soul,
one which some lord would gladly take?  

Even sleep seems too steep a' hill
one which I dare say he will fall down.
I tried to keep him from his will,
Cause in his freedom he will all drown.

Patience has taken it’s time to consume me.
Awake, waking, drifting off in time taking
Hairs from my arm as the hands are braking.
The broken moment entombs me.

wrapped in a fraction of a second.
Achieve consciousness, a flooding
collection of memories and senses.
Just to break back to start at the ending.

Crashing against.

                              Re-living life over
and over. And over again. Fence me
to myself, to forget and remember.
For only a fraction of a second

In my mind its September.  

                               'Times on it’s
ridden race again’ say's Rabbie .
But I think it’s either stuck or turned
Madly.

Stories boot' boots an' ants
over beats of boots and cats.
The social rants dinnae' stop
till the cats oan the mat, wagging
his tail at the horrendous chat.

Sloppy cotton- rotten rollers rolling Autumn
into Winters bottom.
Forgotten Summer- runners run wearing hats
with bobbles on them.

Gotten tired of talking? I'm walking winter
back into the sea, you see Springs' a knockin'.
And we'll follow him to Summer even if he
thinks we're stalking.

All for two weeks! What a cheek the wee **** has

The quirky wink of the laughing tortoise.
Too much silence, screaming loud noise
at the people so used to having bullhorns  
in their voice box. The tortoise talks of tickling
tongues with songs sung by an old irishman
after fishing for patience. Talking of whisky tasted,
and the faces of the woman who used to pull the
strings on his back.  The tortoise laughed and laughed
and the little lizards had little to say back.

Today I woke and had already let some things go.
It was a day of nothing, and It filled me with it.
I walked through the park and stopped on a bench
to roll myself a quiet cigarette. I looked at the life
in the pond and pondered the implications.  I thought:

" There has to be a poem in here somewhere"

Late night dreary- clearly should've shut those eyes.
Neck hold my weary head! I cant but I will try.
What use are the shoulders, boulders bulging on our
thinning frame.
Singing the same songs my mother sang when I was
Unborn and without a name.

I think I'll watch the dancers and remember how I used
to do the same.