THE THIN WHITE JOKE -

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, forging 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.

- THE PALLID BADROCK LOVER -

It's cold and dark but he no longer cares
probably safe to say he no longer feels
the lights are turned down dim
no sound 'xcept the wheeze of the wind outside

the walls are bare, at emptiness he stares
you only realise what you've lost when it's gone
nothing but half drunk cocktails and *******
within his callous pale facade he hides

what's done is done, but never forgiven
he gave it all, all of what could be given
they spat it back, threw it all in his face
now here he rots in isolation suspended in disgrace

conniving vultures they tore him apart
ridicule upon ridicule lashed upon his heart
bought them diamonds, gold, anything a woman could ever need
rather than love they acted out of jealousy and greed

---

once there were birds that sang at the start of every morn
right outside his bedroom window
oh how he regrets their sudden passing
their joyful tweets made this world seem so kind

now he wakes with a head crippled, a face tightly drawn
hunger being that of gnawing addiction
caring for nothing but the *Caviar and it's forbidden magic
helping him leave all the pain behind

guided like a train to its next station
total self-destruction his only destination

languishing in drugs, *******-out ***
that it was all his fault I guess
the Pallid Badrock Lover will never accept.

- THE FINAL STATION -

There he sat at the Grand Piano smoking a joint
eyes eclectic blue, narrowed to a point
a lover in season, expressing attraction in rays
woman after woman falling under his gaze

[Oh here are we, transparently caring]

shirt casually unbuttoned, chest bare, white
radiating beneath his own spotlight,
thinking he's adorable, pledging their hearts to him
with the grace of an Angel he takes them in

[ignorant to the torture at which we're staring]

a masochistic shark of society devoid of a fin
addled with ******* and getting under everyone's skin -
cutting with words sharp as razors
thanking the Lord and his many ******* saviours

hammering away at the keys he sings a song of pure devotion
whilst sorely lacking in any physiological emotion
failing to see beyond this act, succumbing to all he may ask
it's only when the drugs ran out did he accidentally drop his mask

only a quick slip but a slip was enough
the smooth facade suddenly becoming corrosive and rough

backing up from the devilish contempt that had flickered through his eyes

the crowd around him exploded in startled cries

a thin white joke he cares for nobody but himself

forever dwindling into the abyss of eternal ill-health

with a crashing bang he threw his glass to the floor
erupting with anger in a blistering roar

reaching
chasing
hands clenched into fists

laughing in the face of death he blows it a kiss

["ARGH!"]

falling to the floor

clutching his chest -

heart suddenly stopping dead and, well,

I suppose you can guess the rest.

*RIP