Are you disappointed?
That our dislocated touch
still
lingers,
In buildings now dilapidated,
Days seen better,
Pupils dilated in dire straights.
Are you frustrated?
Our genetic make up,
Ran away
d
o
w
n
your
pretty
face,
laced with love -
but deflated.
To reveal pale skin,
Rivers of mascara flow,
Eyelash flickered like wings,
And flew into destructive mushrooms clouds en passé.
We must move,  
Fast;
To survive the dynamites blast.
Let me demonstrate this,
Now;
Do you still see stars in my eyes?
Is it constellations,
Or conversations behind turned backs you wish to have?
Out of order,
To betray with sharp knifes in spines,
In spite of the time we spent
Fermenting like fine wine.
Are you still mine?
Or just disappointed?

I'm just pointing out the obvious,

In an ominous motion we
burnt
out
like
shooting
stars

alas

We made it this far,
You
whispered
into
the space i used to take up in your heart.

The blade runner,

The blade told me to calm down,
Stop seeing red.
That moment lasted momentarily,
The blade ran across me like an ice skate,
On grooves already used before,
Protruding into the skin and floor,
Momentarily,
As we see red.
Then replaced by new cells,
Or related like ice plains,
Like a new day,
Coincidentally.
Scars remained
and like my palms,
Lifelines that tamed the desires
To be,
Famous,
Or aim for the place where I won't wake up tomorrow.
For the moment has passed
And I'm shattered like glass with tiny pieces of blood drop pouches that decimate the surroundings as they fall to the floor,
I'm sure;
I never asked to be the blade runner.

I bet you wouldn't put those tattoos on your gravestone

Not that's it's any of my business,
But you look like an idiot,

And I heard you say that girls name and it ain't the same as the one on your neck as your necking today,

Is it mate,

And I don't mean to come across boring,
But I'm sure your mothers name ain't Tory either.

Necks covered in angel wings,
and misdemeanours;
I hope there's someone watching over you to see you make those mistakes.

It looks pretty cool though - make no mistakes.

But I can see through your thick rimmed spectacles.

Making a spectacle of yourself when you can clearly see.

A small package bugling through your skinny jeans
And of course Dr Martens,

And a quiff that's bleached.

Farewell flower child,
Don't look so amazed and glare,
When people stare at you and your down right ridiculous tattoos,

On the platform after me that's a par for you,

I was only passing through,
With naked skin,
Untouched by ink.

You would think I didn't want to leave a mark in this world were in.

I Ran

She had this hedonistic Houdini nature,
She escaped from Shiraz,
Her personal Alcatraz,
She laughed as I asked;
How did you escape?

"I Ran" she said "I Ran"

She was particularly Persian,
Beautiful soul,
Perfect prose,
stunning, gorgeous,
My dreams came true,
As we ran the gauntlet between our acquaintances judgemental glare.

She walked through the door,
With shallow breath and a panting chest;
Windswept hair.
Late.

How did you get here I asked?

"I Ran"

She came so far,
To say I was her King.
Her shy Shah,
She said.
The concept of this,
Flew over my head,

As I asked where she was from,
she paused for a second

&

told me she came from Iran.

would

in the screaming breeze,
a whistles sound forms,
in the winds,
the hibernated scorn of hidden violins,
strung together the suspense.
In the aftermath of silenced stare;

the glare from colours crystalline,
the subtle manipulation of light beams,
in nice dreams,
across the shallow lake,
whilst opaque clouds fade, pale.
In the sound of the backgrounds snarl;

in the woods darkness, black,
the music chooses ehoes between branches,
dangling in tone in the malarkey of
the pain of the mandolins gaze;

each pieces together with tiny,
frost bitten childs sized fingers.
The icy touch lingers for the seconds of death,
that last a pastime,
a lifetime of lust,
in the blink of the dust in the wind.

Still water runs deep,
But the puddle remained,
Ripple less
To take turns to look in the reflection,
of the backrounds sound that reverberates across the landscapes.
Twisted invertebrates,
You still got my back?
We’re stuck in the mud,
up until our waist.
As the sunsets' behind,
I can’t look over,
my dislocated shoulder,
blades,
slice and sharpened,
by pebbles grains,
and then
skimmed across the puddles
so only ripples remain.
Though they soon disappear,
into the stagnant grasp
of fear and statuesque
placid, tranquil times.
In a hushed halycon,
hedonistic slices of life.
Still water runs deep,
but I drown in the shallow aqua,
in the afterlife of undulation.
The aftermath of the ripple effect.