Organs of dead fellows,
       rings of white
the corpses of high standing felled.

And yet you think my diminishing
                gives you heed to throw

me stained with waste...
                     stigmatized....

If my bygone
            echo was life


I would have already been rescinded .

But back by popular demand,
                                                   nihility..


I never got past yesterday.

If your account of this is passing pages
  then I'm an obituary that people skim past,

death on paper is still

             a cemetery of yesterdays that people never visit.

I'm in this place a prison
of homely comforts,
that
cut upon the wrists
                           of  
          
                             my sanity.

I used to see the walls as collages
of happier times.
Now I just put lines of
                   I I I I I I the seventh
is my reality that I'll just start
                                 a new one.

They look like I, I need, I want
but never getting past the I...

As I know I'm in here for the sentence
             of security and life.

                          But,

why do I have to do it in solitary confinement,



I'm                   so                         lonely...

It wasn't funny,
I'd used every spare sock.

Every newspaper that had past my letter box..

I couldn't use my ******* magazine
           as the pages had mysteriously



stuck together??

So I walked like a crab
         into my back garden..

My hose pipe connected,

I know how Sylvester Stallone felt
            In demolition man,
            three sea shells..

              F##k this S##t,
but no morality machine
for spare sheets....

F#########ck....

Ok lets get the water pressure just right,

I turn it on and my ***** swing like a pendulum.
               dam that made my eyes water..

This time I put it in the right place,
a unique sensation,
                but just as I was clean,

my back porch light turned on..

All I heard was,

"Frank don't worry its cold,

As he laughed out loud.

I walked back in my ***** sore,
                                   but **** fresh clean,

even though embarrassed..

We were none the wiser, I shopped the stalls,
for bread, for father was treating us to a
                                                                ­­          luxury.

He'd been offered overtime, and we didn't have it
      very often. But he knew we were down, and hungry.

Feeling the earth move, the gods were either hungry,
                                       like our empty stomachs.
Or they were punishing us for not giving enough praise
                                             for there gestures of kindness..

We heard the rumbling of Vesuvius, like an empty belly
                                                       rumbling for worth.

Then we heard the screams, as the mountain spat its
anger towards us, we had no where to run.

To hide from the mountains anger was futile.
             We huddled together,

praying to our gods


for salvation..

But our plea's  were unheard,
   had we put our faith in the wrong god!!!


Hearing the dark snow fall like pebbles and then the
                      ash of concealment.

Suffocating in our prays, we huddled tighter than
             life's last breath... and then we
            were like statues
frozen in a moment of futility...

A once flourishing moment, buried in times
                   concealment.

We were found, shells of our former selves,
                  huddled in eternity a love.

Fossilised in a last moment,
           telling the future we died together,

a moment of love shown through the ages...

To see truth
     we must always wear clear glasses.


For ones that block  out certain truths,


             don't let us see


the truth in the shade.