I think about packing my clothes in a guitar case,
drinking enough cans of some energy drink to not **** me ,
                               and catching the first bird outta here.

"Fly me into the open mouth of the horizon
And let it swallow me whole until I become nothing,
                               Maybe then i'll be smiling".

What a **** joke.

I was six:

On the steps
Of the small
Carousel

Stood the old,
Greying haired
And mustached

Man in a
Ratty suit
Smiling and

Anxiously
Peering out,
Waited for

Me.

"He is your
Father, say
Hello please"

"Hello" I'd
Said to the
Stranger who'd

Introduced
As father
Yet I hadn't

Met or seen
Before or
After and

That's where it
Ends.
The one,
The only,
Memory
Of him.

Good riddance
I suppose.

My girlfriend
Recently
Moved in with me
So she decided
To call her friend,
Who was also
A close friend of mine,
For a couple of beers
In the now 'our' house.
Carmel Scotts
Arrived, knocked,
At around 9,
And girlfriend let him in
And his motorcycle
Sat outside near my
****** old car.
He was a skinny
Ill skin tone guy
Due to his being a
Poppy aficionado,
And he dressed
Like he belonged at
A London punk rock
Concert in the early 80s.
He came in
With his huge mohawk
Flipping God and the system off
And his boots
Knock knock knocking
On Satan's roof.
'Sup' 'Sup' 'Beer?'
'Yeah man, of course'
And we drank and drank
And the now 'our' clock's hands
Moved and struck
12.
We were quite drunk.
I put on
That record
By The Stooges
That we loved
And went to take a ****.
When I came back
Iggy was moaning about
Some Deathe Car
While on the now 'our' floor
Carmel crouched
Like a tiger
Above girlfriend's opened legs
As she too moaned
Being eaten alive by
the now 'our' friend.
They were really going at it
And didn't notice I was back.
I was mad,
Really ****** mad.
I was about
To slam him
Off girlfriend and beat him
To a pulp
When suddenly, I woke up.
I remembered
That I don't have a girlfriend,
(I never have had one)
And I don't have a punk friend
(Or any friend really).
So from mad
I turned sad
And got drunk without both of em.

My room is a mausoleum
Housing this living corpse.

The windows are always shut
And the lightbulb stays off.

A fan on the ceiling blows,
Though not hard enough, 24/7.

There're empty water bottles
Discarded on the floor

By the dozens serving as
Unofficial decor.

Filthy clothes everywhere
Mingle happily as

If ****** with the ramen cups
And chocolate wrappers.

A skyscraper built from books
Raises it's ink stained arms

Up towards the concrete sky
Pleading, crying, to be read.

Crumpled papers, like scriptures
Belonging to God, yell

Unfinished lines of poetry
During the Dead's strolling.

The aroma of burnt cigs
Stains the air and green walls.

Another wine bottle hides
In the closet, elixir

For the trapped. A skull, candles,
And a pack of tarot

Sit expression less and
Calm inside the nightstand.

Posters and poems line the walls,
Their eyes observe the goings.

A bed, the coffin, stands deep
In the peering darkness,

Stiff and terrible, alone,
A headstone slab pillow,

Accommodate the carcass.

Daughter of Lilith,
    Night haired succubus,
   On weakened knees and
    ***** like stupor
     You've left me fallen,
         Seductive caller
      By smiling howls, led
     Towards highest cliff
    Where trees bend in peak
   Agony and King
     reins the dark and rot,
        Amnesia strikes stiff
          The bled mind and eyes,
     And somewhere above
  Lay the physical
    Figure of some fool
       I once knew, once was,
          Wasted on the streets,
      Empty, discarded,
    A cold useless shell,
Lightning rang and lit,
     And down spiraling
   Through the nothing, down,
        Into arms of fiend.

The fog was thick that morning
The forest wept in silence

We walked towards the kitchens
The smell of food struck the air

Footsteps marched ******* the stairs
Echoing down the green mountain

The metal tables were set
At the end of the hall, ghosts

Pouring the meals on chrome trays
Hungrily we hurried, lined

Each receiving their own
Then we sat, ate, on metal

Not one word was spoken, quiet
It was cold, not one complain

Food finished, the ghosts came back
Carrying off the gleaming plates

It was only us, alone
Once again, we stood and left

Through the doors, down the stone steps
The forest fog swallowed us