Something hysterical
or maybe
it's
classical
music.

I'm in the
shower room
plotting an overthrow
this body
just has to
go
soon.

It all turns to dust,
the days are getting shorter
the night's are much tighter
I long for the lighter
mornings
to come.

Something hysterical or
me
waxing lyrical while
the sun burns a hole
in my headstone.

In broken minds do broken hearts relapse,
A burning match, the fading light goes out.
This shaky world around me might collapse,
Slowly the pillars of my life fall down,
And leave me empty, brittle through the bone.
An indecisive mess, at best, I feel,
That no-one else can help, just me, alone.
And how can I when I don't know what's real?
The life around me sings but still I can't,
Find peace enough within to say a word,
So silent desperation's where I start,
And where I stay, afraid I might get hurt.
There's one thing you should know before I quit;
That you deserve the world, and I'm not it.

Mass graves breathing,
like beached jellyfish.
Ketchup packet pastels
painting a diner dish.
I sit and imagine
so many things and more.
I smoke ribbons of grey
that dance around
the diner door.

The people move
and have so much to say.
Watch them scurry and hurry
through the invisible day.
The sun's colors bounce off
weekly washed windows.
And I suffer from the certainty
that my fulfilled dreams
will fulfill me,
as I flick ashes into the world
for the wind to carry away,
dragging shadows.

i see graves in centrifugally waiting
faces
     of vain.

    mortised to sleep, somnambulist
   of this prickly road,

   i kneel to pick flowers
   and throw them
  onto the face i long for
  understanding my eyes
     my mouth
        my body
          steelwork of soul,

   tossing as if a toast
     to our end-fate afloat
  in a raven's wingtip:

      we are all deaths
         wa
     iti
         ng.