A round of a-pause on automatic notions of thoughts magic potions,
jury agrees, Faith succeeds; we'll all stop unanimously.
Thinking that clocks will melt and we will not,
Speak on not to save our manners for
other matters.
But the clocks do melt,
along with us.

The body is dead,
but the brain just has yet to notice.
It dreams, thinks, and  reminisces.
Visions of unending life,
Self-serving endeavours.
So fantasy deep, it doesn't notice
the change in the weather.

Nor the twist of time,
cause's or causality.
Just dreams onward;
inner centred.
the most unenlightened  form of mind
masticated meditation.
Just thinking onward,
moving casually
into fatality

Poor old Howard.
He's a Cornflake coward.
Jumps art the sound
Of each crunch
And brittle bite.
Giving up the fight,
In his act of
Guttless confession.

His mother was a
Breadcrumb beater.
His dad was a
Post box persecuter.
His sister a sadistic
Spider spinner.
And each night they
Ate cornflakes for
Dinner.

Cornflake coward;
No need stress at
Their crunchiness.
In time; milk
Will soften their design.
Giving you a chance to
Chill and recline.

An unknown artist's
unfinished masterpiece.
Hangs on an easel,
in a cold private room.

Waiting on the next
brush stroke.
Resting on the time
passing by.

The unknown artist's
muse has gone missing,
waiting on her call.
In his cold private room.

Waiting on her next
words spoken.
The phone still quiet
in his lonely hand.

Wrap yourself up in the night,
with wingless silent flight.
Up, up into the
Pin-pricked speckled sky.
With that glowing blank-faced
lunar loon.
Beyond the dark, into dreams.
That morph and shift, pour and flow;
As if the woken world is
something you can un-know.

We bare each other's brunt
and weight.
Was this our hormones
or a game of fate?
The moon a ****** on
our heated moment.
For that passing passion,
we were the prey in
each others hunt.
Familiar through the night,
but strangers at the
break of day.

Shhh, don't tell anyone.
But,I'm not really here.
These aren't my words no, no.
Everything is a total no-show.

I'm only what I seem,
when I am not seen.
A shadow in the darkness,
in days of dis-ease.

Shhh, you're not you.
You never really were.
These words are not for you.
Just born from the void you grew.

Don't bother to think, speak or share.
Tomorrow doesn't care.
Not a glimmer of smile,
a whisper of a laugh,
to selflessly share.
Tomorrow doesn't care.

With unbound marching malice,
we're all swept away.
A scathing truth,
leaving surgical scars.

All our thoughts, dust in a sqaul.
Answering tomorrow's call.
With bow tied words,
a flash of a lier's teeth
and mind's growing small.
We will answer tomorrow's call,

With unbound marching malice,
we're all swept away.
A scathing truth,
leaving surgical scars.

I don't know if I have any talent.
Or know if what I play, write or draw;
is of any value.
Most likely not;
to the world at large.
I just do that what I do.

Will it bring me my bread?
pour me my water?
No, not at all.

Will the money flow to me?
No, clearly not.
So what does it do?
why is it worth it all?

Because; it is my reason,
my love, my need.
The spark, the birth,
the seed.
My lover, my heart,
my child.

If we let it,
reality will eat us whole:
then **** us out.

It grows grim,
that's quite clearly true:
it's hunger's boundless.

A slight chance,
to slow it's rapid charge:
or to turn it's tail.

It lays in us,
a strong counterweight:
small hopes spark.

If we remember,
What brings it power:
is our self doubt.

Something like a tear,
but unseen.
Runs out between;
our space.
Tracing the clouds
from our silver lining.
To a feeling that
is in need of defining.

I'm sure da Vinci,
would be proud.
To see his name on
this toilet roll dispenser.

Because of course;
grand designs,
genius vision,
Are a clear fit;
for ***** behinds.

In lieu of you,
I take an image of
my minds eyes vision.
A perfection
of such delusion,
In lieu of you.

Though she's softly gone.
There's no watery eyes,
Despairing sighs;
From me.
Just the remembrance
of her touch
and her words.

With affection.
slight melancholy.
That come
with times gift of clarity.

I cannot curse the time spent,
the talk and chatter.
of sense and nonsense,
about what does
and does not matter.

How could I ever see
her in any other light,
when she's the one who
gave these words
to me?

Not a could in the sky.
Oh why, oh why.
I am as blue as
the sky?
Oh why, oh why.
Is the there no
reason to feel this way?

Must be something deep,
deep in self pity.
Must be something in this world,
Full of self pity.
Or just emptiness is the life
of this city.

Stuck in the patterns
of the day.
Don't stray, don't stray.
Chewing on another broccoli day.
Don't stray, don't stray
It must mean something,
for us to feel this way.

Towns mean frowns.
Pounds mean sighs.
People are just mean.
Hands are stained.
Minds are clean.

I guess life
is meant to be
such a bind.

Stuck in the patterns
of the day.
Don't stray, don't stray.
Chewing on another broccoli day.
Don't stray, don't stray
It must mean something,
for us to feel this way.

We'll never know which of
our mistakes were lucky breaks.
Or if indecision;
was the right choice.
All we know is where we are,
if not what we are.
Even if;
we've made a mockery,
of the world's tickery tockry.
So walk on, sing strong,
with a heart in your voice.

The grim reaper thinks you're a keeper.
with glint of an invisible wink,
twill of the sythe.
Deaths lets you know ;
What the point between
new and old life thinks.

as a rose with no petals,
Post mort charms.
or a bird without wings,
you fall unto deaths arms.

You'll never need to die
again or seek inmortality.
just take this lipless kiss,
bonefull *****.
just let go .
Give your self to something
other than a yes or no.

As we ride through the tide
of the ever increasing us.
It quickly becomes clear,
that the dead aren't the
only one's who died.

Living as an imprint
in the sand.
Temporarily there.
Whisked up,
erased by the air.
Just as if;
you were never there.

We're just strangers,
who recognise each other.
Time squeezed us together,
then pushed us apart.
But we go on living.
Change is,after all, life's Art.

He smiled weakly,
though it was sincere.
Sighed meekly,
burnt out; completely.
But still;
there is something
that made it
worthwhile to be here.

When you think of all things that are bad, that you can't change.
All that which is negative in your mind.
Don't get caught in anger, despair or hate.
Just be kind.

Ah, how long it's been.
Century and century of unoriginal sin.
We've lied and killed,
****** and been ******.
Grown out and up then round and back in.
Our head held high ideals,
over our dirt grounded feet.
The terror we've seen,
Each person we've ever been.
Looking for something beyond unoriginal sin.

Love; my friends: is dead.
Though yes, it's corpse still
has clean smooth skin.
Warm to the touch even in death.
Eyes both bright and bold,
all in all perfection unfurled.
But still and Lifeless it lays.

Whatever comes,
whatever goes.
Whatever sinks,
whatever floats.
It all still grows.

even in the midst
of change's
ebbs and flows.

It bears repeating,
friends are fleeting.
they come and fly by,
with the out a glance.
Or a care in their eye.

Goodbye, to you.
Even as each tear falls,
when the past calls.
Goodby my former friend
goodbye.

Talk is cheap.
To you; I'm cheaper.
It hurts, you know,
evey time you go.
And it hurts the most
when you go for good.

You don't like the way the mirror's
looking at you.
It's looking right through you,
at the true you.
With it's pointed pique appraisals.
So you just turn and walk away.

Oh, an image's sweet deceit.
Mirror refracted reference
of truth; incomplete.
Full of speaking,but;
Silent now in meaning.

As every proud cloud,
hangs heavy in parallel.
In each lie's dowry.

Carbon bleak black streets.
Night bitten breezes blowing.
With countless; lonely heartbeats
Car lights speeding.but:
Not a sound is speaking.

As each lithe light,
Travels a blinding path.
But only, to be lost:
swallowed by the night.

Hush little one.
No one will hear,
over the sound of the gun,
the panic on the street,
rule of the ruthless,
speech of the insincere.
So hush little one,
share you silence with everyone.

Some people come,
some people go.
Sometimes I shrink,
sometimes I grow.
And other times;
I just don't know.

Could I turn from this,
from this unconscionable kiss?
Do I dare to care,
or switch to off?

Steady states,
Cold motion.
Passions rush,
grow devotion.

While tied tight up tight,
So tight this blood won't flow
to inure to endure,
Shun the spur.

Steady states,
Cold motion.
Passions rush,
grow devotion.

Some people come,
some people go.
Sometimes I shrink,
sometimes I grow.
And other times;
I just don't know.