we are the masters of self-destruction
trying to numb the pain with wine
and drugs
and smoke filling up our lungs,
we write down in lines with no rhyme
all the things
that make our souls burn and die.
our poems bleed
we drink their blood
then we write again,
listening to stupid songs all night
wishing sometimes we were deaf
wishing we were dead.
we let the doors open
anyone with a knife can come inside
cutting our hearts in half,
any tear is welcome
to create the ocean around us
in which we deliberately drown ourselves.
masters of self-destruction,
our bodies are temples where dying souls hide,
we run till our legs are broken
jump off cliffs
go between sharks' cheeks
forgetting to sleep
to dream
we bleed
we drink
we love
and hurt
it's a madmen game we play
each day
laughing hysterically
while slowly taking steps to the graves
we dug for ourselves,
the masters of self-destruction we are
lunatics
worshiping what's not for us to adore
crying
hiding
falling again
and again.
legs broken,
hearts cut and eaten
flesh ripped from our bones
lungs full of water
ears burnt
our eyes scream
but that's fine
'cause we are the masters of self-destruction
and our life is just a mad game

It has to be said that
I've always thrived in dives
And stumbled in polite society
You see, I tend to talk too much
And laugh in all the wrong places
These modern eternals hate me
Because I smoke and I'm still alive
And I constantly smell of tobacco
So I'll stick to the dives
And the undemanding low-lifes
Who, like myself
Simply do not care

                             By Phil Roberts

Look at me
Look at me
I'm scared into flames
And I feel there ought to be a joke round here
Somewhere
Hold onto me
Hold onto me
I'm flying into space
And I can't find anything that matters here
Nothing really matters

Flying high
Flying way too high
With nothing to hold onto
And needing nothing at all
Because everything is possible
So, let my wings glisten in the sun
For tomorrow I crash hard into the ground


                                           By Phil Roberts

i want you to know dear reader
that i've given up playing the saint
and it's time for a few home truths
i'm  shooting straight from the heart
and though toxic nothing will stop me
bleeding an ocean till i'm done for sure
this time my dripping words will go thud
into that shameless unfeeling love infidel
and i shall know peace of a kind at last
aaah, the beauty and the catharsis!

New home, new road
New life, new leaf
New page for me
To place my feet

New dreams, new hopes
New thoughts, new goals
Or are they old
Just like 'new' gold?

Gleaming, polished
And sparkling,
They're fitting like
The perfect ring

They've swept me up
And pulled me in,
Right here, right now
My life begins




© Karen L Hamilton,  January 2016

There's something surely burning
When I get the yearning
To be better than I am.

There's a flicker of contrition
That spreads from my ambition
To be better than I am.

My temperature increases,
My spirit gets heat blisters;
I will concoct a balm.

I'll fan the flames with sorrow,
Add the worries of tomorrow,
To burn away the waste.

When purged
I'll have the embers,
To ensure that I remember
What first ignited me
To be better than I am.

Come softly, stranger
Step inside the light
Here is home of a sort
Here is nowhere else to go

Such staggering ambiguity
Such all-consuming cruelty
I see it all so clearly now
Wide-eyed and unheeding
Unaware of double-dealing
I was an innocent
And then I was born
Wise to the lies of the womb
And with a grudge for being disturbed

                                           By Phil Roberts

Whose woods these are I think I know.  
His house is in the village though;  
He will not see me stopping here  
To watch his woods fill up with snow.  

My little horse must think it queer  
To stop without a farmhouse near  
Between the woods and frozen lake  
The darkest evening of the year.  

He gives his harness bells a shake  
To ask if there is some mistake.  
The only other sound’s the sweep  
Of easy wind and downy flake.  

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep.

the rain beats endlessly
upon the ears
it snakes it's way inside this house
wrapping itself around the grief
and drenches us with sadness
the Sun resides in a far off place
where smiles await
where joy finds refuge
in time
the storm will remain here
will darken these rooms
and blur the days ahead
what light finds it's way
will only serve to cast shadows
i will understand her grief
i will wait beside her for the cloud to unwrap itself
for she is her father's daughter
and i know so well
this storm

~

do you embrace
as ambiance,
the thrill of
winter’s chill?
or does the
blustery blast
of bitter breath
a rush in you instill?
do you let
his frigid fingers
longing linger on
your cooling cheek?
or to the doorway,
to the shelter
do you wince and sprint
as warmth you seek?
i stand here
at the window
watching passers
bustling by;
in my dreams
upon my pillow,
to the islands
i may fly,
but never to
the sea at dawn
will i walk
the foam alone;
no…
this i’ll dream
of longingly
and leave for
summer’s thrill.

~

*post script.

word play with winter,
besides, its way too cold outside.  
will leave the walks for
warm summer’s breeze
and simply bundle up inside
on frigid days like these.