The city is so tall.
I walk up and down the hills
as a vagabond.
I the creature that crawls,
clutching my drink till it spills
and runs beyond.

Beyond the suburban nightmares
of the single mother.
Past the hairs on the chin
of her eldest son.
My water runs on out this city's-
runs out its entire sprawling metropolis.  

It runs, always gathering speed.

Tell me how do I go about stopping this.

Mr Milgram keeps the social animals at bay.
Experiments on them, sedates then lets them play.
For he knows all too well how violent they can get.
And he knows that he is their council, father and vet.
So he takes his job seriously- well you would have to.
Imagine all the ravaging these savage animals could do-
digging around in side each other for love, lies and food.  
They would surely turn on him too-
At least thats how its understood.  

So with his big sharp needle- he injects each ones neck.
Dressed Immaculately in a suit, they don’t refute but show respect.  
You see by now they have all became so heavily addicted.
That they long for his visits, without him they are afflicted.
The need for authority, to obey, is so inherent.  
These fatherless children are faithless and need a parent.  
But not the kind that loves and shows warm affection.
But the kind that would ****-
Even themselves for their protection.  

So in their toxic psychosis they wander oh so blissfully.
Each moment is a marvel, their reality a mystery.
But Mr Milgram looks uneasy, his brow always furrowed.
Maybe its because he knows how deep the thought has burrowed.
For he see’s the world exactly as it is.
They see a construction, a realised bliss.  
Imprisoned he wanders in but seven shades of light.
And when darkness comes, he understands that it is the night.

He knows it’s not long till he can take away their being.
Turn them into brute instruments, blindly led to their freeing.  
To be relinquished of all guilt, but still able to operate.
To carry out without question, any demands he might make.
For their are millions of nails that he needs them to hammer.  
And hammer doesn’t question,
It just agrees with the consensus of the clamour.  
Then Mr Milgram can return to his simple carpentry ways.
Knowing that the social animals have been safely led astray.

It alway's starts with an ending.
A death. An explosion. A whimper.
Sending those into the sense of Impending
doom, as the fear of the future looms.
Descending further from understanding
We unravel as we are tangling
Up in the spinning world- to fast
to to just stay standing. We run
Knowing that it ended as it begun.
Handling our own- Two hands, one gun.

You see I'd rather bite the bullet.
than loose it or fire blindly. Aiming
neither at the mother or the egg- but the pullet.  
Standing behind me is my shadow-
He holds the gun steady- his aim narrows
And foolish he fires inside me.  
He's devilish in nature
But his intentions are pure and holy.
A strikingly dark creature
Who insists the world persists slowly.

He told me we all run fast when we're scared.
It's those who can keep the pace,
Even when the are not dared, that deserve honour,
recognition and maybe even fame.
But it' those same people who- when it ends-
Will take the blame.

I am the churning thoughts- turning
in the mind of the killer.  
You are but the stomach in knots-
burning with unease
as you watch the thriller.

I am the tension rising- the swell
to the dwelling mind.
You are but the audience- blind.
Fickly figuring the plot
as it begins to unwind .

I am the blunt instrument- and the brute
that wields the weapon.  
You are but the cross critic-
Cynically disappointed
that there seems to be no lesson.

I am the redemption of an eye for an eye.
I am the blind world it leads to.
I am the bodies left high and dry.
You are the mouth that this world feeds through.

Cut throats for comedy.
And cut close to the bone.
Speak and be honestly.
And be what you condone.  
But do not condemn those
for their differences.
Uniqueness is our reason.

"Judge not less thy be judged"

For god’s sake you’re the boat.
The battered, broken hope on which we are all kept a float.

Promises, Promises of a vast and open sea.
Promises, Promises. How it lied through my teeth.  

Upon this filthy little river, we shiver down so madly.
We hear promises of an open sea who's margins move so gladly.
And though they are just a whisper, I hear it crisper and so clearly.
And though I'm not the listener, I fear I’ve fallen for it dearly.

Promises, Promises of a vast and open sea.
Promises, Promises. How it lied through my teeth.  

The air comes calling out the caution. Warning us as often
as the boat creeks,cracks and splits. Will it be our coffin?
Lost in pursuit of a far away dream.
Where silver linings gleam from clouds that seem drawn.

I need something from you.
I have in the past, I still do now
and I will do in the future.  

So, no matter what you do
I'll be there. As the biggest
bully in the playground,
I wont allow anything to happen
to you.

And though it's breaking my heart
to watch these innocent children suffer
and burn,  in the fires of a faithless war.
I will not turn.
I will not turn my back on you.

For I still need something
and I will still need tomorrow.

And though I know you are
savagely slaughtering and starving
the innocent in the name of feeble retaliation.
I will stand behind you, as the strongest of all
nations.

" UNCLE SAM YOU ARE SPENDING SO MUCH TIME LOOKING TO         THE FUTURE THAT YOU CANNOT SEE WHAT IS IN FRONT OF YOU"

How many men make or brake the barriers?
How many more move forward as the carriers
of the message? The presage of the black dark future.
When society is wounded who'll be dressing the sutures?  

Those in suits blur truth across the canvas,
Then paint over it with blood from the youth and the savages.
Ravaging for innocent civilians, to apply the bandages.
While the man in the suit counts the loot as he micro manages.

Feed them Faceless,  Tasteless  food for thought.
Get them Pacing laceless- racing to be caught
red handed, then remanded in custody to rot
in a cell, dwelling on how poorly they fought.  

Not to quick to mention their desire for redemption.
The lesson is learned until it's consumed your whole attention
span, quick make a plan- confessing that you're a bad man
Don't change the fact that you were sweating as you ran man.

Who's this man? Who's lurking in the shadows?
The search narrows- he's found hanging from the gallows.  
This harrows the whole world for a whirlwind minute.
Until the media man has had enough chance to spin it.

"He was a reprehensible, dispensable shell of  human.
His soul had creeped out after years of consuming
peoples fears, then blaring it back into their ears.
He was mole for manics, spreading panic to the assuming"

Miss my misery is this:
Six weeks of torment, 6 days of bliss.
Undone the former by the latters weight.
Then weightless as I sink slowly.
but warmer  as I near my fate.

Quick to anticipate, I fall straight.  Laid down
Amidst mid air, I feel my fall is fair.
For its not unlike flight, I just might not
be mistaken. Cause I can’t even remember
If a last breath was taken.

Breathless like the panic attacks- the anxiety medication.
Chemically imbalanced, I was just another nothing patient.
Waiting on a waiting list,  unease and anticipation.
For a numb tongue, a black lung and an empty room for pacing.

I haven’t tasted my taste buds in two months,
But once they tasted bliss. It’s a wasted, missed misery
a deep and dark abyss.
But my tongue still twists truth like a noose for a neck.
Lie to the young in a suit- so they show the man some respect.

My brains trailing yesterday around.
Fragmented thoughts seem soft till they pound.
Carve the shape of monday out just to scare-
Then Retreat into the comfort of another day spare.

Sunday, sings softly when your sitting on the day before
But the counter price is costly when you push through
Mondays door.
Even if you steal tomorrow from today-  Monday you’ll always pay.

Hell of a hole you've dug here.
Forty feet deep you could scream and no on'ed hear.

"Well I thought it would keep us safe,
at least until the coast was clear.

"Well I'm confused what you think this is"

A black voice behind us sneered.

" It ain't no safe detention it's a God forsaken fear.
The kind
that steals your breath just to whisper it back in your ear "

NOW what the hells going on?
My friend who do we hear?

"I've spoken with him before when he isn't right he's still sincere.
And he's been with us this whole way, growing with the years."

It's not that I believe it doesn't end.
Its just the angle- I cant see for the bend.
I've been walking this plastic corridor since
I pushed through the blackened door unwittingly.
And it's not that I'm longing to walk it with a friend.
I just hope that I make it out the other side fittingly.

Because what If I've grown
Much to large for my humanly confines?
And what if all I own
Is the rags on my back and a collection of fines?

Will I pass through the doors without interrogation?  
Or be doomed to walking this squinted corridor
with nothing but a tireless and ever wasting patience?

I blinded myself looking on the bright side
of this. Now I cant look at anything the same.
You see pretending for the sake of pride
isn't bliss, it's ignorance to avoid a shift of blame.  

Aren't you the one who said:
" Take a minute. Take two. Anymore and it's on you"

Well I've sat on my tongue for two days
trying to think of different ways to say this.
And it's now aimless
Cause you're not there at all.

Watch them sleeping.
Watch them slowly drift away.
Does it feel like creeping?
Cause you're never there when they awake.

It takes patience to make a replacement
But she erased my face,
and hid the photos in the basement.  

Oh if I was to be real enough.
Oh if I was to be real enough

I'd grab her by the scruff of the neck,
lay her on the deck. And
Go back to protecting her.

Oh If I was to be real enough.
Oh If I was to be real enough.

Not just a ghostly little gasp of air

I set fire to the remains.
The stain still wont leave.
Two straight weeks on my knees scrubbing.
The stain still wont leave.

Its not all of it,
For the most part its more than clean.
But there is a corner.
A small crimson corner.

It's sitting there on my eye,
even when it is closed.
Even when I rub spices, sand and
the bleach from the bottle in my hands

It sits there like a sick joke.

Ive got a fool proof plan; play the fools
till we prove that we can.
no one will know quite where to stand
No one will know who's in command.  

They wont expect this from our own hands
its just a whisper.
something you couldn't hear
but you were jealous of the listener.
something they didn't fear,  
they forgot there were prisoners with
questionable marks on their fists, cementing as they blister.  

We broke walls when they stared at the blueprint, never stalling
nor stuttering our movement.
they’ were left chasing to our amusement,
like they were crawling and crippled with confusion.  


then we moved with the wind and its demands,
just a whisper
to every corner of the city
and the pockets of bitter history.
picking the tongues of the witty-
the lost voices and the drifters -
We’ll take the eyes of the pretty,  and the patience of the listeners.

You’re a sycophant for a selfie.            
selfish daily rants are of the plenty       
up here.                                               
(Up where?)                                           
out there in the world wide-
 who cares it’s everywhere.                                         

There’s no room for you to hide. 
so beware! and be wary of what you confide.
I’ve seen words on their heads and their intent on its side. 
Your rambles are a gamble, every un-thorough thought 
is a stance you take with pride
 on something you were never taught.  

Did you go find it out by yourself? 
I doubt that. Just loud chat from those sat out around you 
was enough to change your point of view. so will you choose? 
Or will it not really be you? did you construe this opinion or did it construe yours?

well we walk like critters crawling,
sprawlingly cosmopolitan in our nature.
We embrace all who feel to follow. But don’t
feel following should be forced on a creature.  

Stuff his lies down the neck of the preacher.
Stuff his tie down the neck of the teacher.  
Put the failed papers on his chest and set them on fire
May he rest in a relentless hell, or a cell with nothing but mirrors.

Handle that with care, my head couldn’t take it breaking.
its pretty fragile too , so I repeat 'take care'.  
you see, I used to take it almost everywhere
but now i get worked up and can’t keep my hands from shaking.
I think it means too much,  so much it scares
so much my head starts aching.  

But Its a long weekend, and I could be the one to break it.
Theres no use me keeping it in my pocket,
like a sad act with a picture in a locket
That’s why I’m giving it to you, so take it.
You don’t wanna say "i could have stopped it,
If I’d only looked and not just faked it. "

For the beauty of time is in its hands and its face,
They make me feel like I’m Caught in a race.
It’s the way they stay true no matter their place-
always behind the leader.
the minutes run on while the hours play chase.
never to seem too eager.  

So take it before I break down and beg yo

The two takers took to the start, their heads grew
with  the fumes and they thought themselves smart.
But She was harmless, too  heartless and headless to start with,
soon one was consumed and then thereafter parted.
Your Patience is a waste of your time
he kept reminding her, but it was fine to draw lines
as long as they weren't defining her. “ cut a couple
more, the floors couldn't be shinier. And do us a dance  
its my man’s first time here.”  

“I wanna make a show out of this”, “ a sick game”,
A fowl minded sin for men that know no shame.
the praying sick side of a man that cant be tamed.  
“After all she’s mine, only my mind can be blamed. “

I drew the lines a week ago today: It’s “hideous” and  
riddled some will even try and say of it
But My mind seems to sway very little on this day.
And I wont apologies for how he likes to play.

these straight lines will leave you mindless.
They’ll wind you up on the other side of kindness,
one too many times to wanna find it.

I can feel the blood in my veins.
Like cold steel. It rushes. But no pain.
Only discomfort in my quiet disdain.  
And that trembling little voice sounds
so desperate, he might as well be praying.  

So as the shaking erupts violently,
my chest caves as I scream silently.
The world sinks, it seems finally.  
Just like they told us it would:
it all ends, in ways unwieldy.

she twisted her hip as she fell, so too slipped into fit
she was screaming on the floor at the end of her wits.
This Rage, played with her split ways, each day took her deeper in her descent.
chemical imbalance they labelled the case- no intent for repent.
Because No one knew what the ******* doctor meant.

Has she really lost it? crossed the point of torment to torture, as her joints
were frosted. Honest, she talked like with her words but different voices .
And sometimes neither, she just lay there making noises.

And it’s pointless to try and help, or try and tell her that i know any better
all i can do is give her a skelp. But when the sharp points come out to play  
she turns noiseless, and stares blankly like something behind them is poisonous. sometimes she even smiles like all the while she’s been enjoying this.
A ploy amidst mania? caving her brain. so I hit her over the head and quickly cleaned up the stains.

she lay there like road ****- slain.  
But it was easier to watch her this way- quietly sleeping outside of her pain.

When she came back around, resounding relief inflated my chest.
For the last five minutes I had barely taken a single breath. Too consumed
with the thought that I’d just stolen her last. I laughed till it passed, then
resumed my calm as I asked:

"Do you want to be here?
Its hurting me to ask.
Do you want to be here? “

She spoke and was already belonging to the past.

I think we failed, sailed to no avail.
too far from where our tale began.
Well what was the plan again?  make it to a greener land
and walk hand in hand with the internet stuffed in a mannequin.  
and send them panicking, span across the whole globe challenging
what it truly means to be pointlessly rambling.

I’m no feart’ of dying here doing so.
"Haven’t you noticed no ones looking for us”

A tree on a hill, sits on top of my eye-line.  
Its roots protrude out of the ground round my feet.
The leaves are swept up by the quietest of wind.  
And its trunk is encased in a cold concrete.

But cracking, splitting at the middle it looks weak.
If I could only take a step I would climb this hill.
Or see fully, not through cracks of my sight.
I would open the tree and rearrange its insides.

Oh if I could lift these heavy weights.
Snap the shackles of nature that are sure to trip me.
I’d run like a child, chasing the mild days of summer.
And sit on top of that hill, till my mother would miss me.

She was screaming her quietest kept secrets.
Letting the wind whisk them off to abandoned retreats
with no second thought, she was knotted to the ground.
So she kept on yelling
Just for the company of the echoes in the sound.  

After days of solitude, your own voice becomes a stranger.
Sometimes she believed that there was someone there mimicking her.
Mocking, and revelling in her misery.  But a cynic’s fair voice quietly
told her they were history.  
Now in the air, with no torment they exist blissfully.  

She emptied her chest as she cried back at them:  
"Why can’t I rest,  or at least be condemned? “
It replied with a tone to unravel her to the bone.
You are nothing.
An afterthought, but from which a whole idea will have grown.