Chemicals of the heart,
                     mixtures not quite precise..

Now reacting, corroding devotions
                        Ill emotions corrupting.

She was the venom I wanted, collecting within mind.
My thoughts corrupted by that slithering smile.
But all I wanted was that look dissolving my will,
her bite corrupting my weakened will.
Her voice corroding my resolution of that smile.

Looks that could give a stroke to those of weak inclination.
Her touch would climb upon contemplation and weaken
the perception of all falling within her gaze.
She was the poison that I wanted corrupting my sweat.
Have you ever kissed something so sweet that you
go blind, the look that erodes my will...

I wanted to touch every moment, but my senses
were being influenced by her hypnotic glares.
She gave a reflection of love, but they were eroding
my senses of what was safe. But I couldn't touch,
because she was the venom on my brain.
I wanted to touch, but her sweet venom numbed my brain

Looks that could give a stroke to those of weak inclination.
Her touch would climb upon contemplation and weaken
the perception of all falling within her gaze.
She was the poison that I wanted corrupting my sweat.
Have you ever kissed something so sweet that you
go blind, the look that erodes my will but I'm fine...

We are blank pages,
and every time we read
                        something new.

It scribbles on our subconscious,
and then the page turns
                   to a new experience.

To once again learn something new..

Our minds are a
                        maze
while our
                  thoughts
are but a hallway
                  with one door...

Burying my past,
never staying as asked,
A ***** swings descending
blood pools almost unending

But mistakes can always be unending
because nothing stays buried were only pretending.

Bonjour whispered out of my verses as we
pondered on the smiles eclipsing our eyes.
We bathed in the pools of each others carefree
waves splashing upon the others guise.

She spelt out her intentions with soft palms so
gentle on my face, its like she was taking
my breath from within me, and I adored slow
reflections of our au revoir gazes which were breath-taking.

Her cheeks are still blemished,
smudged makeup leaving
                                 silhouettes
that never fade.

But I will always cover them up,
                                      with my smile.

Her eyes dug deep within,
    buying me within a coffin heart..

All I could think about
                             was that kiss..

He who believes lies,
         will be the one who shares
   it with others

Only to make himself feel
                   less gullible for believing,
          and realizing its not the truth..

But a fabrication extended to a bigger untruth..

In a empty bath tub,
       I washed you forever away...

The plug hanging silent,
       As tears collapsed downward...

A hollow basin awash with regrets,
      cradled within a vacant space.

I dropped my jagged reflection,
                 not letting it cut into me..

The only thing scaring this emptiness
                 are my tears, as I walk out stronger...

Others voices were finger nail melodies
on a chalk board of incoherent cares
                     each scratching ever deeper.

Hearing others whimper, was like
a cat being strangled slowly..
            So I drowned them in a bucket of silence.

I now have a collage of broken promises
on my shoulders, weighing me down.
                     papier-mâché regrets I want to burn.

I could never read
                             tealeaf's,
because I thought it tasted
like nicotine flooded ashtrays..

translating censorship was like
                                         morse-code,
for every breath serenaded my
                                    lack of interest..

Were all metaphors,
people cant read us all the time,
             and envision what they want to see..

So taking us in abstract moments,
reading us as a metaphor
                of there first impressions..

Not reading further..
finding out that were more
           than just what that first paragraph said..

I used to water my speculation,mixing it with liquid imagery..
then I'd blend it around with subtle stirrings of my thought.
Watching it change from a blank emotion, to something more.
Collecting I used my fingers clasping a way to collect a thin
film of musing swirls and then I'd gently blow..

Little shimmers would collect, floating delicately around
my head. Rainbows of perception, gently encompassing
a moment of a clear rendition. but a reflection only stains
the image held for so long till it dulls in moments before
evaporating in to tears of mist decaying into oblivion.

But then that place where my perceiving waters gently
flowed now seemed more arid than what was previously
perceived. No longer did rainbows form spherically..
No I was just a salt lake of tears, collecting white flakes
of bleached nothingness. My moment was weak, last week
I was serenading imagery now I'm just a dry lake bed.

"My words floated, but now there just dry renditions of
a drought going on in my thoughts"  

*"Were sometimes to thirsty, not realizing that we drank
to fast and the basin of our thoughts have run dry"

Never could they gently part,
always forcefully, but the gentle
touch was needed you would find.

It was the gem sitting in-between,
soft, delicately waiting for the touch.
But for some it was to hard to locate.

Precious was the this gem between,
for those who could feel its moistness
knew they had found the jewel in-between.

A collection of walls
are only as small as
                         we think..

For everything's  bigger within,
                              size is in the mind..

She was sewn into my thoughts

      Weaved delicately in my heart

She was slightly threaded,
                  but that made her unique to me.

Life is a fall, we just got to realize that were
the ones picking up. And the only defeat is
when we don't try.

Life is getting up, and knowing were the ones
that stood tall, without hands out to others...

Were the ones that lifted ourselves up..

So who ever birthed this version of
mans needing to blame another...
regrettably we seem to blame another...
but when it was stitched into the verse..
to many cooks cooking to many in verse..

But then he slipped in free will, will
he let us grow our own apples but
now he let us choke on our will
to eat what we sewed, then we said, but...

Shoved in the cold, but still our path
was pre-written, but his spelling missed its path.
Now who can sink and swim, I'm not a fish?
but now those pre-written, drowning food for fish.

I'm confused and insecure, that I'm but a string
that just pulled, now tie in this piece of string?
What I'm just tied in a story not of my own.
But then I unknotted myself my stories my own.

I found that a path isn't just one but a crossroads
of my design. How many paths are crossroads,
how many fall between dead ends I don't care,
my life is my own, no abandonment issues to care.

I'll eat every dam apple, I want to eat to be me,
sulk to my freedom of thought ill always be me.
I'll walk this collection of glances, and look up seeing
the universe clearly, it a life of chaos that I'm seeing.

I ponder the reflection on the night sky,
gazing at the finite moments that gaze
upon my eyes. And I shed a tear, for I
brought these in to my existence.

I'm a singular person, a lone voice...
but I had a chance to voice my opinion,
that had past dead trees were our
currency.. Dead trees sealed there sap,
sealed our future frozen in there ending.

For our time could have been wonderment,
but we stayed silent. And now our sewed opinions
fall foul of the breath our kin's breath..
A world of wonderment turned vinegary to the
taste, as blind thoughts bleed into what we breath..

I wanted a better future, but vocals are severed for
we fear of our moment, not those we give life to.
We care for them, but not the moment for after
were gone. We forget this is a place we left for them,
it was meant to be grand but we made mistakes.

This was a reality turned in to famine, breathless
nights, a moon no longer shimmering dulled by
forefathers greed. But what did it pave, that time
has not passed. So stand now, or those of our future
will huddle in cemetery's of actions instead of just breathing.

I'm but footsteps already fading
even though I have taken many.
People may not realize that this
is but a collage of many footprints
wishing to make theirs stay a while.

But everything is but a collection
that is sold off to time.
It's worn down, till not a memory
of its imprint is left, just a silhouette.
But shades change and new ones cultivate.

Some, only a few.. Collect enough on the
motions of others, that for every few that
fade, one clings to the reflection of others
eyes, and they walk where you walked.
And then another moulds upon one before.

We are then not just a faded footprint of our
time, but a memory. Kept clean by those who
remember our steps, never letting them
corrode but stay visible. For it only takes one
to walk in ours, too know we lived not just a memory.

Woven unto the reflection of majestic mirages
as the sun awakens to the nights fading upon
the landscape bowing elegantly out.

For within the other reflections are withheld
as a new beauty is seen in the furrows of moonlight.
As when sunrise awakens the slumbering world.

Reflections of self are collected in pools of deliberation
for is one not better at seeing the flaws incorporated
within a reflection and seeing that not everything's perfect.

The sun rises and we see unto ourselves what was obscured
with the dimness. But light gives us refection on things
not seen and we see the reality of so many sunrises.

We were huddled up, resting in a vacant lot.
Her eyes singing to me a serenade of sorrowed
embroilment. She was a moment away from
being a glancing thought in my mind.

We collaborated on our misfortune, designing
what we could to rebuild. But the lot was vacant,
and everything we tried either subsided or just
collapsed in tattered folly of what was tried.

We, us, each other.. just weren't like that which
was built upon the understanding of the other.
*** holes had collapsed leaving vacant spaces
that we once filled together...

We tried to mend bridges but words washed
them away... we tried to hold each other,
but we were like magnets. Close but further than
we thought, she walked away, I just stood there.

Our moments of silence
                  meant more than
vocal outbursts...

We lingered heads gently
                  leaning on the others.
Thoughts, just smiling ..

Were a mess, tidily wrapped within
                    each others eyes...

I see beyond the façade of emotions,
         washing upon your shoreline.
I still dip my feet in settling your tide..

I see you beneath the waves,
                   cresting on my thoughts..
But still you are you no matter the tides.

When the bereavement  of a seasons passing
                                                                     lingers,
leaves fall like haemorrhaging droplets.

Tree's like skeletons of past life,
        waving in the wind.
Shadow now claw longer than before.

As life decays, beneath..
      frigid breath crawls along the landscape,
those left above entombed in decay.
mortality of surroundings..

"Your eyes sparkle like stars
                           in the night sky,
when I stare into them,
              I feel like I am soaring high."*

I said this too her, like every word
was a shooting star.
                       Burning up
in the atmosphere of her heart.

Love shined momently bright..
                      skimming on emotions
but, what happens when stars fade.

Alone in the dark, wishing on
glimpses of our moment.
                 The heavens now empty of us.

When I was younger an infant of
the illusions of the world, my mum,
"She was a lost sheep trying to find a herd,
Church was my Sunday destination.

Drinking and eating though it was the
blood of a fallen man, people in lines!
Like waiting to pay for something,
its the UK we line up for everything.

"if there isn't a line don't trust it,

I used to pray little hands clasped together,
but then mummy and daddy argued..
so very loud, I prayed for silence
but  anger travels, voices echoing in vacant halls.

I asked on Sundays "why doesn't god help,
"Why doesn't god breath,
"Who created God,
"Why does he not hear my pain,
"Why doesn't he just stop the devil,

"Free will of man he gave,
"Because he is everywhere, he is the breath of the universe,
"God has no creator, for god created everything,
"He hears everything, that all speak,

My mind thought on these answers, even though
young my mind collectively I was thinking,
"why does he help others yet not me,
if free will is ours then isn't he violating it
by helping the few and not the many so we
have no free will at all??

Sunday came around, and I had questions to
ask my mother was cool
"A mind is a journey, and thoughts are our footsteps,
My mum was deep, and also loving and silly..
I walked in a now not seeing this place as before.

Eating the bread disc it just felt stale in my mouth.
Songs were sung and the plate was passed around,
those with little gave much "Later I would understand,
Then I walked up to the priest, nervous of my questions.

Sir, I thought of the words on answers I asked.
My question like water flowing out my mouth...
I told him of my confusion at his answers that I
had thought long and *******..

If,
Everything has a creator
God created everything
God doesn't have a creator

Doesn't make sense the last cant happen
without the first, then I continued...

"God gave free will, our path is his chosen
he knows our life upon our creation,

"But then why does he help others?
Or so they say, isn't he breaking that pattern
on non interference, or is the reality that nothing
Is answered its happenstance, our will is our own.

"If he hears everything, sees all, would that not
make him non omnipotent as he could stop the
playing of the devils tongue, as he lets children
die at cruel hands, sees those  **** innocence but
just watches like its pay per-view.
                          
"Wouldn't an omnipotent being have the power to seal the devils fate, but if not in choosing is he no better than the one he warns others about?

The gentlemen just stood there and had to
think on my questions, and his answered
sealed the position I stand on now
                                  "God has a plan for every one,
I knew then as a child that this was just a herd
of sheep gathering in a waterhole of falsehoods.

My mother excepted my stance, for her she
had a needing for something more than herself.
But life is the something more, to attend to yourself,
friends those around you helping strangers when
the need is needed.

I wasn't only going to be good for what a book said,
Fearful that some are only that way, not because of humanity,
but the fear of spoken words that they'll go to a fiery place.
My mother was cool, an open book of thought, she delved
into a few religions, spiritual gain.. she past a while ago...

The proof of my thoughts confuse some, I say that those
stories as a child didn't hold water, but we all grew out
of the tooth fairy, Santa. but still believe a story that holds
great contradictions, from a time long ago not suitable to this
day and age. I see the world and see more shedding the covering
of there eyes.

Were growing up, leaving our cradle of ignorance and
superstitions behind. I look up at the night sky, never
thanking some abandoned father.. But just looking at
the universe realizing I'm just a spec of dust in the motion
that are happening around and above. I glad I'm still here,
but that could change at any moment. Then I'd just be
a memory on others thoughts, just hopeful that  I made
a little ripple to make others lives, my children's, my wife,
my friends better, worthy of the time I was around ..

Well what can I say, he says I'm an ****,
I just told him he was just full of air..
But we were the closest of friends and were
always found close together like pees in a pod.

"So what's the plan for today windy,
"We just going to gas? or we just breathing in silence?

"I thought you were pulling the other cheek,
But all that comes out of you is crap Hahaha.....

They were always getting each other in trouble with
one thing or another, if it wasn't **** holding wind in,
it was **** whispering in a lift. But not so silently,
more like a  tiny trumpet going off for moments at a time.

There was one time were **** was letting off as usual,
but he let just a little too much out, and in that moment
he told ****.

"That was close, I was one **** away from a poo,

**** couldn't  contain himself and amusement turned
to horror as laughter had loosened both there grips.
And now Mr Poo who usually went diving in
the porcelain pools was now frequenting  upon both.

I think I'm going to be sick said ****, **** laughted and
then another friend of Poo's joined the party, cleanliness
was obsolete, now as it was like a food fight in close quarters.
Poo slipped out to freedom down the trouser leg and "SPLAT,

**** and ****, stunned by poo's lack of grace. "Could have
stayed for a while, But **** conceded that he would have
just talked crap, like he did every time he popped out
to see his friends.

Well what could be said, a wet wipe, and **** forgot poo
had even been there. But his odour still lingered gently on.
**** was gassing on and **** clenched so not to
expel to much laughter.. especially in enclosed areas.
**** was just gassing, this duo were always going
be the closest of friends.

We are embers of the universe
          smouldering within existence.

Till we fade unto the finite weavings
                               of frail flames..

But we will always be somewhere,
                     Just not here...

We focus on out of reach
                       moments.

           Losing sight of what
                            is in front of us.

See what we have lost..

A voice is like a raindrop,
       lost in the downpour.

                It is easily washed away.

if I gave you a penny
              could I catch a kiss.

if I gave you a smile
             could I catch your lips.

If I gave you my breath
             could you hear my words.

If I gave you my heart
             could you hear its love.

If I gave you everything of me
             could you give it back..

If is to short a word to use,
          could you just look at me
saying the words *"I love you,

Collecting memories
in an old book..

       But fragile thoughts
             erode within..

I had a book once,
so many colours...
      
        Now there blank
                  like my thoughts..

Reflections fade
after a time..

       My body is here
           farewell to me reflection..

I know longer know
who stares back at me..

          Tears fall, I know not why,
                         but still they descend.
                    

     I'm a book of many pages
                      but all the ink has gone dry..

I thought the world would go out with chaos
and zombies, at least the walking dead,
it would be like wow.

But alas it wasn't meant to be,
it went out with silence. Well near enough.
The day before I was being my usual accidental
self, I looked right, the way the traffic was coming!

Yes I didn't look left, who knew some pensioner
wouldn't look at the road in forgotten pools
that shimmered sight on there eyes.

Look listen, look again my mother used to say..
Now as I traverse the air, I feel myself broken.
But in a flight almost unending, till I land, limply.

I thought the world would go out with chaos
and zombies, at least the walking dead would
be like wow...

But we take many steps, we walk so many in life,
then we die. but some imagine there life as continual
that they'll have footprints that will last.

As I lie here feeding the pavement my life,
every step is a chosen one. We must not waste them,
for it takes only one step to become static.

I see people rushing over to my fastening breath,
how would have thought that out of the millions
of steps I had taken this would be my last.

The ideas to some would verse on the loathsome depravity
of humanity. But in my line of work what can I say there are lines,
fetishizes that even a calm exterior camouflages within
the proportioned exterior. But where the concept ferments on
there conceptions what if I could just once.

I had spun a myth that you could call for the latter fake news,
that to partake on those still exhaling life while feeding
upon them could in essence harvest their youthful years.
and to an amazement this was perceived as truth of word.
But I didn't mind, feeding dark fantasies was justice enough

I would move around in a covered lorry, it was quite
the thing to see not like a slaughter house on wheels more
a bistro, if you can envision it black reflective tiles where
the meat would be  cut. "yes they liked to watch their food.
but I had organized it so it was easy to dispose of evidence.

Admittance to ones own errors in judgement is ones first step
to learning. I had invited a select few to see how it would play out.
You could never quite tell, I had vetted them of course before hand.
Seeing if their fear would procreate to me being an jumpsuit lackey
of the orange tint variety. But my faith in humanity was resorted.

For I had taken precautions these tables were rigged,
what you think I'm just a cook? I was in university years of
wasted youth, but I learnt much. Knowing the foundations of
what I was doing, lets just say they'd be static if I were betrayed.
And for good luck, my beautiful little lady slept under the counter.

They watched in admiration for my art, asking the questions
of "was it alive. I had left a drainage hole for the blood to
seep warm to a holding bowl. Some had versed that they
wanted not only to taste, but drink upon this special occasion.
So they to gorged on life's rose bouquet and adored its tasting.

What I hadn't perceived was that to keep them static of
motion was not a wise choosing. They say to much of
something is a good thing, they weren't joking.
The blood had to much sedative in it, luckily all had slumbered
on there drive home.The coriner had a busy night.
But all had tweeted its success before become as dead as lunch.

This time it was different, I just created a gag to muffle, but to
also verse the whimpering murmurs of there ill begotten pleas.
Did they not think if they were this deep in the rabbit hole?
There was no way of digging themselves out of this..
But people liked the noise while eating there meal.
                                                                   "silence is death,

The only way it would end would per say, once I broke down.
sights not meant to be seen, murmurs escaping there captivity.
Nearly happened once, "ONCE, is enough  the mechanic
finished fixing my engine "Dam spark plug, but as he
wondered on to next appointment in life. A silly notion
of my ignorance, bumps loosen bonds, and voices loosen
to the sound of another's presence.
"What was that, "hello are you ok, "Sir what's going on,
Last words not befitting, now I have two meals to prepare.
Luckily a local to the place now a missing poster somewhere.

I travel this country of mine, meals on wheels of a different
kind, giving those of unique human traits there just taste.
If I wasn't doing it others would have and not in my good
taste. Do you know they say that the flesh taste like chicken?
To those who follow me, they think it extend there finite
moment on the rock hurtling to oblivion some day.

Me, I just enjoy my skills, cooking is life, you are what
you eat. So if you have a strange friend who invites you
to a once in a lifetime meal, be careful for those of squeamish
inclination will only see this once for if I sense there needing
to snap-chat.. to food **** my creations on social media.
horrified by the unique blending of my creations.
Think for one moment? is this other really your friend!!
Or do they wish to partake on your flesh, a delicate aroma
of your live being drunk upon.. they smile as you fade.

Woven upon the stiches of elegance
both hang upon the fabric of eternity
the brother and sister of motions.

One collects on the luminosity of
daylights shimmer, bringing illumination
to those below, wakening those of
sloth motions, gliding upon waters deep.

Birds glide upon the refection's of the skies
refraction, like gliding in the heavens but
only notable feet from the shallows of sea.

Then as one delved beneath the waves
another woke to the rhythmic musical of
the waves motions and lingered silently.

Whispering her light upon the darkness,
not to suffocate it but to silhouette its beauty,
Not every can be seen by her brother now clear.

There are times when one will playfully linger,
so they can see each others majestic stance.
Then there is the loneliness lingering on
every sunrise and sunset moments hide away.

Two opposites reside in the heavens, one
of light one of illumination of a different kind.
Brother and sister, a cycle on our finite lives.

Look at your own
                       doorstep,
before wiping your
                  feet on others.

Let the winds claim your thoughts,
reflecting on the imaginative echoes
that flow from the breeze of the mind.

Knowledge is the pebble forever bouncing
on the waters of imagination, every ripple
splashing more on every thought.

Towers fall and the face you seek
is your own arrogance.

A stone is a single thought,
but when you build yourself
                               up in delusion,
there is only one conclusion,
                                              a fall.

Every bite was venom
on my flesh,
                   corrosive,
making me weak to you.
Then you kissed
                          my lips,
the remedy.

We are all caterpillars
       waiting for that moment.

That transforms  us to a
                 butterfly of reasoning.

We will in that moment,
              fly higher than ever before.

Slightly collecting on the singular
lingering moments before I was
able to pause and watch them bleed.
screaming verses muffled with duct-tape
haemorrhaging. They were my toys of
every pain I had suffered. But I bled
random thoughts on their flesh and sighed.

We are only strength in ourselves,
for the tides of others will only
wash upon their shores.

Only the wind of their  reasoning
with blow our currents a certain way,
but we may not hear its gentle whispers.

We are all raindrops
               never touching the ground

but each others hearts.

Woven in silk depression even though pure,
I hang slightly on every strand.
I could weave a moment around me
                                        and hang static.

Would anyone notice the slight stillness ensuing
on my web of thought. Or would I just be
a cocooned memory hanging on my own
                                               web of depression.

Only feeding upon myself... A trap of my own doing,
feeding on the misery that I have woven not
realizing this web is  
                                  to capture myself.