She was nature, beautiful
But deadly, her cheeks as
Scornful as a rose, the smile hid
The thorns underneath.

Her presence though unseen,
Could be felt, like the sun's warm
Breath on bare winter skin.

She led him somewhere secret
As the night lures the stars,
As clouds gorge on the
Fragile light of the moon.

Over the crumbled bodies
Of leaves, into the alien
Land of tranquility.

When he woke, hands burning,
There was nothing left to see.
Only a faint feeling glistening
In the air, a failing heart and
A tongue full of dreams.

The sun forgave itself
long ago, for burning too bright,
it scorched our touching palms,
cheek to cheek, it burnt.*

That night we whispered
A song to the reeds,
Let it drift down that
Wayward line of memories,
Let it settle in the graves
Of each bed we slept in.

We let fate colour our
Hearts recklessly, like a
Child who can't stay
Within the confined lines
Of their drawing book.

Until the dawn began,
And we let our skin simmer,
Melting on each other's lips.
Until we are only skeletons
Embracing through a
World set in flames.

your absence is
like the aftermath
of the storm

i'm left to wonder
whether i prefer
the desperate
insanity you blew
into my life

or the deadly
silence.

this is not a death-wish
this is a resurrection.
on nights, you grow
weary of the sound of
your own breathing,
there is a fierce sun
burning inside you,
you must use it to grow,
not to scorch all you have.
you have tender hands,
why do you use them
to peel away your
conscious?
there is a thunder in
that insipid heart of yours,
go, forage it out.

A martyr to love you can hear his cries
killing the joke he's always despised

bruised, battered, bloodied, broken
dwelling in the void where hope is woven

here are we; oblivious, transparently caring
blind to the torture at which we're staring
fooling him again, injecting pleasure into his silly brain
you do nothing but smile as he grows insane

what is it I should feel now
loss, anger, sorrow?
Is it normal to feel this uncaring
fixated on starting again tomorrow?

Here am I
eyes flashing in fury but without thunder
hot bathwater rising up my face
ears blind to the world I slip under

nothing but the muffled beats of my heart,
at first she was interested
but in bitterness now we part -

the 12am chimes call shrill and loud
in the pale lover's abyss he can be found
a figment of my ego, he's cold, pallid in state
stealing innocence he twists and pulls and manipulates

dressing in suits and designer attire
luring any woman that takes the time to admire
ignorant to society, forges his own fashion
dangerously devoid of any emotion or passion

sick from the sleep deprivation
sick of waking up with eyes bloodshot red

he collects the souls of his many lovers
sipping at their lives as their bodies lie frozen dead.

Give me a reason why I should still breathe
explain what it is I should still believe -
all is not worthless, carry on even though it stings
is it not true that I had the Angel but broke her wings?

Oh here are we, one trans-androgynous moment in time
burying their dissident egos I over-inflated mine -

I'm sorry, but does my face show some sort of care?
You should know by now the world's both selfish and unfair

It doesn't need no explanations or excuses
reality is both exquisite and abusive,
as mere mortals how can we claim complete control
relying on hearts where spite hath grown?

Here are we, stood before the changing tide
rather than leap at the opportunity my heart simply sighs

Confusion! Confusion! Clarity where hath thou gone?

All is cold and dark, oh Lord why do I feel so alone?

Alas I sit alone beneath the stars
revealing both physical and emotional scars

the chance to start again has finally arisen

but do I still want to live in this world so disgustingly sin-ridden?

[Swearing Alert]


- INTRO; Angel Of Grotesque -


They say they need my help.

Can you believe it, MY help?!

It seems the crimson **** tide has finally turned - now here they are, tails between their sorry legs beg-beg-begging me for help.

Here I am, chained to a steel bed post and clothed in nothing but orange dungarees and socks - I stink of stale sweat, the odour mixing with the backed-up toilet reeking in the corner of the cell. I haven't seen daylight in over 4 years (I think) and I burn away the hours sharpening my nails and quietly ******* -

(often the latter first, don't want a paper cut down there(!))

I'm a man of no mercy. I have no 'better' nature or gratuitous soul - my ego is wholly puerile, at times pugnacious and others vile. I'm a self-centred beauty, a dancing Angel of grotesque. Grinning behind this mask of smiles, in leather and chains I love to dress.

I've long forgotten my name, there's no use for it when you've been stuck alone in a metal box for half your life - the only connection with the outside world is the crude letter box the guards shove food and drink through. Well, I say food but it's debatable whether the floury **** they give me is edible. Then again anything's edible when you're starving - toilet paper, clothing, even your hair and nails.

How did I get here, I hear you ask. Well basically once-upon-a-time in the ****** underbelly of Manchester there was this blindingly vivacious dealer who got in a teensy bit of hot water - resulting in some ******-off yobs dismembering his wife and kids for ***** and giggles. Said handsome dealer (yeah you guessed it, me) was then framed for the ****** of his whole family and locked away in some mental institution for just shy of 35 years.

It's safe to say I went stir-crazy - my brain sicked up all logical sanity and shat it out along with any humanity left in my heart.

What should a man fear when he has nothing left to lose?

I didn't **** my family, but I did the two officers when they took me to the station for questioning. I got tired of the twenty questions game they were playing so I snapped the lock on the inside of the door, slit the first copper's throat with the hook of my handcuffs (had to dislocate one of my wrists to get it free) and choked the other ponce with his own tie.

It took ages for their colleagues to get in, I guess it goes to show that reinforced doors do work.

Shortly after I was carted off to court, restrained in a straight jacket and chains (oh I did love that **** look) where the judge declared me insane and sent me to Greyhound Infirmary For The Mentally Insane.

And the rest is pretty much history from there on - I've slaughtered 4 nurses (one was an accident, I promise!) and a couple of patients, although I don't hear the Infirmary complaining about that.

I can't stand people anymore, when I look into a living face - be it man, woman or child - I see the killers that took away the only people I've ever loved, took away anything I've ever had and locked me away in a world of emptiness and dark.

All I want to do is carve the pain that gnaws at my stomach into their disgusting skin, make them feel how it is to be the freak that's laughed at, locked away, all alone.

That's why I've been incarcerated in this little metal box, left to rot away.

Forgotten.

Until today, when the seemingly dead cell door finally clicks open and I peer up at the first human face I have seen in over 20 years.

And ****, was it an ugly one!