The words I speak are scared of my tongue.
They feel deceived, caught, strung.
They have meaning, rooted as an elderly tree.
But they cannot control their speaker,
and such a sickly, twisted speaker as me.

'The mind's just a sky. The mind's just a sky.
Life's just the lie that we live til' we die.
Hell is in my head, but heaven's there too.
I quite like them both; so should each of you!  
The mind's just a sky. The mind's just a sky.
We will float and fall through it, learning to fly.
You can’t loose the sky, or be out of it
(and If you can you should be proud of it).
Oh to walk in the heavens oh so high and out of it. "

He crashed as he landed, and banged’s hollow head;
it shattered like glass and began spilling
out thoughts onto the carpets itching thread.
His ego bruised as theres savagely fed
on the headless body that was left- filling
themselves full with the foolish words he’d said.
They are the foulest of the foolish,
                                                        the cruelest kind.
Ego's without heart, brains without mind;     W

Backs
           without                                                       A
                       spines,
                                    teeth
                            without                             ­          L
                      bite,
             actors
without lines. Down the stairs they climb.        L
To the top of the bottom, only to find
that the endless sky, is the very thing that confines
  
                                      US
                                     ALL.

The mind's just a sky: another endless wall.

If the bogey man should come tonight,
When your tucked in safe and tight,
and his cold hands creep so slight,
how would you like to be a baby girl tonight?

Or an unconscious, intoxicated woman?
He slips right in well she isn't moving.

She wakes and she wishes it away,
But still the spinning eyes of his face
turn her sick as mind starts to to race.
How would you like to feel like you have no name?

You're the Unconscious, intoxicated woman,
nameless and shamed, and no longer feel human.

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.

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.

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!

My plan is not to have one.
My style it will not stay
trapped in another's method:
I separate and sway.

I drank in the red skied morning before trying to step onto the busy street. The moon was still in the sky, my head was in the stomach of last night, and my feet were feet from the ground. I couldn’t walk on the street, rather I just floated along without physical effort and instead just a little mental encouragement. Then I arrived all of a sudden at the banks of there river. She was laughing frantically at the birds for trying to swim and I kept saying the same thing twice. Then we fell in.

We swam for a while before it dried. The sun had eaten the moon out the sky.  But we felt happy, ye know, close and that. It was a nice feeling.

Im a moulded mind,
shaped from junk mail and scam sites.
I’m a point that I can’t seem to find.
Caught between it and an apology,
caught between my natural state and drawn rights.
my poetry doesn’t fit in a ******* box.
Natural flows of emotion. Wankers posting
their unique feelings. Just like everyone else.

Guess what?
I do too. so ******* sue. Then buy yersel a ******* clue.

" For me, it makes sense to write nonsense"

I need to get right the **** out of here now!

We hadn’t spoken.
A silence, birthed from misery,
choked us until
we were Voiceless
and  spent our time
drifting apart as twigs
on a bullying sea.
Thoughts like echoes
bouncing between church walls
rattled around my mind:

“ If I called, would it be the same?”

“ If I ran to her, would she open her arms?”

It isn’t the same.
How could it be?
We’ve both changed so much.

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"

“ Give me it all” said the old blurring wall,
as I struggled to think why not.
We seem to have ****** it again lads, call
another hour off and push on till it’s had.
“ Have it.” “Have wit.” “ Have it.” said the wall.
His voice couldn’t be mine, yet it was too close to call,
So I called out and asked for his name;
“ Its me” “ Its you”, we’re the all in wall.  

“ We’re the all in wall,
  We’re all in the wall,
  We’re the in, all wall
  In the wall, we’re in
  The wall we’re all in,
  The wall we’re in, all
  The we’re all in wall.”

Then I really hit the wall,
First with my hands, then my head.
So I decided that it was time,
and willed the couch into a bed.  
"Ahh sleep, carry me off,
I would like to rest before Aurora calls."
“ I could chatter till you fall asleep”,
                   said the old crackling walls.    

Gone, he goes, going mad.
“ I’m not going mad, Ive been there and back.
  I don’t want to go. I don’t have what I had.”
Gone, he goes, going mad.
“ Well maybe I’ll run. Then I won’t be going anywhere”.
Off he goes, gone, going mad.  

He runs through the old wall, from the bad to the bad.

She’s got a china smile. She’s got China stare.
She’s got a china comb to comb her china hair.
She’s got a china man. He’s her china spouse.
They live a china life- two china kids in a china house.

He’s got a china boss. She’s got a China cooker.
He’s got a china ******* and he’s got a china ******.
She’s got some china debt, he’s got some china money.
He’s got some china stress and she’s got that china honey.

And from this broken china house two china children lose their ways.
Until they step out onto the concrete streets and leave behind those china days.

They’ve got a concrete hunger.
They’ve got a gravel gut.
They’ve got the blood of the streets;
They bleed bricks when they get cut.

Waiting can be a madman clawing his own skin.
It can be drying paint, dying libido, or crying dogs
at the window watching a car roll off.
Sometimes waiting is just a phone that never buzzes.

I’m still waiting.

Hunks of meat swinging and forced screaming,
I remember, would always do the trick.
Now it sends a hollow feeling rushing to nowhere.
Now I feel like I’m watching a reality show.

SOME SCENES ARE CREATED FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT.

This programme contains product placement.

The pair of air Nikes she keeps on while bent over.
The Maurice Lacroix watch he wears while spanking her.
It is a nice watch; they are nice trainers.
She is beautiful; he is handsome.

But, I’m still waiting.

The predictable ****** comes and goes.
The conclusion’s always the same.
It never used to bother me, the farce of it all.
It used to do the trick.

But, I’m still waiting.

Come meet me when today blurs with tomorrow
in the house with no way to tell the time.
Come with a present that no one will want,
and a kiss that feels more like an insult.
We’ll laugh like we’re happy,
We’ll cry like we are sad.  
We’ll sing the words of songs we’ve never heard.
We’ll tell the stories of people we’ve never met.
Just please don’t be late.

Im pulling the better version of myself
from out beneath the wreckage.
He was stuck in the wall until It fell
and crumbled with its message:

“ We-Dream-Till-Wake”

For years I’d stared at it knowing
it was bleak and dark presage.
I thought I knew, and knew too well,
so I never let my mind start guessing:

“ Maybe this is a lesson? Maybe a problem?”

But I just carried on through, stayed
true to myself with an honest belief
that within you and me was purpose,
and to my noisy head it gave some relief.

But at times I could hardly breathe;
This world can choke you against the wall,
It can crush you as you are forced to
hold its weight while in its circles you crawl,

And when you fall and your on your knees
and your beliefs are like bubbles popping,
And when your heart beats through your
chest like its building up to stopping,

And when your minds been abandoned
and your thoughts are left and rotting,
and every rush of blood feels thick
and visceral like its gone stuck and clotting,

Thats when that voice whispers in your
ear and quietly begins his plotting:

“  Let me take you from this fallen world
   and fall just that little bit further.
   Give in to sin, give in to deciet, give in to
   me- to be free is to be a server.
   You were not meant for truth or virtue,
   You were not meant to be a studious learner,
   You were meant to walk with chains.
   You were meant to accept this pain”

And I swear I started listening intently
to this charming and confident speaker.  
His words like a breeze breathing gently
through my busy head to make it weaker.  

I’d never lived in fear of life or in fear of the reaper
but I feared persisting, existing in this torment.  
My head often heats in a hopeless hollow fever
And I needed an escape, to obey and lay dormant

beneath her- My love and long lost reason,
my absolute zero in a world I couldn’t figure.
But I couldn’t even remember the soft curves
of her face, they would always twist and disfigure,

Her skin would slide off her bones, her eyes
would sink into her head to avoid my stare.
I was turning her lakes into pools of oil,
making twisted fantasies out of her every prayer.

I didn’t belong with her anymore, I was sick.
I couldn't turn moments int marvels for her,
I couldn’t find any beauty in our spinning,
All I could see was decay as we would blur,

All I could see were devils swimming in my
ageing reflections jaded and sad eyes.
All I could feel was myself slowly sinking,
All I could hear was my faiths dying drowned cries.

All I could smell was our peoples flesh burning,
and thats when I really started learning:

There is no Angel that will lift me from here,
Nor is there a devil thats dragging me down.
What pushes me under is my own fear,
Heaven and Hell are in between both my ears.  

So I spun myself ten times to be free’d
from the prison in which I had built the bars.
I rose from the soils of my love and land,
to smell freshly cut grass and gaze at stars,

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.

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.

New nothings are here,
and nothing will ever be the same.
But there’s no reason to fear
that animal coming to maim
you, with it’s sharp drooling teeth.
Sit back, and marvel at the beast.
Let him take you down,
and when he does let him feast.
There’s no reason to fear,
For the new nothings are here.

Arrogant in faith and blind in sin,
Virtue without and hatred within,
Flavourless in taste and foulness in rhyming.
Crude in diction and metre-less in timing.
Headless in form and weightless in meaning.
They never sleep, they stay awake ( half heartedly dreaming).
Where have the poets gone?

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.

Watch this thought walk up the wall.
Watch the creepy crawly creature creeping higher.
His waste trails after him, sullying the paint.
Before long the whole room reeks.
Watch him watch you now as he sits on the ceiling.
Is this really how you want to spend your day:
watching your thoughts walk circles around the room?
You used to entertain yourself with lofty notions.
You used to write to some of the thoughts down.
Now look at you looking at some sickly creature,
and trying to find something to say.

Watch this thought form a cocoon.  
Watch the sleepy drawling creature sleeping soundly.
He is gestating, growing, becoming while you just sit there.
Before long he’ll be something more than you.
Watch him and listen to the sounds of change.
Is this really how you want to spend your day:
in envy of a creature who’s life barely lasts the whole thing?
You used to entertain yourself with clever colleagues.
You used to fool around with funny friends.
Now look at you looking at some sickly creature,
and trying to find something to say.

Watch this thought hatch from its slumber.
Watch the bouncing, buzzing beasty birthed.
His wings spread out and he flies down from the ceiling.
Before long he makes out of the open window.
You ask yourself: is this really how I just spent my day:
imagining a life instead of living my own?
I used to write poems, and I thought they were profound.
I used to tell myself that they might mean something to you.
Now, look at you looking at me looking at nothing in particular,
and try to find something to say.

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.