Staves and mineral deposits
may  disjunction my cartilage,
but inherent and  derivatives
can never impair my reasoning.

My lover of the night she was a biter,
what can I say I liked that way she
****** on parts other than my neck.

But I threw caution to the wind, I had
a cold, eating breaded mushrooms.
She was coming around as night fell.

Mouthwash not wanting my breath
to smell like the undead on her lips,
she is eternally flawless in moonlight.

I guide her downward towards my
stake, she can bite off more than she
chews, and then some more.

I tell her to take it in taking it all, but
then a scream as I expelled my life blood
as my fanged beauty turns to dust.

I wonder what happened no light or
garlic? then I read the empty wrapper
garlic mushrooms, this really *****..

Tethered to her, it enveloped her.
No harm even though in tattered
Relics of painted thoughts she saw.

She had called for him. She held the
Hand once known, "I love you,

But from peace it was pulled and
Now not as was before, but she
Still called it **"Father,

The liquid light embedded on my cortex
and I was lingering on the precipice of the
voices that shined so brightly within.

Burning there thoughts deeper into my
subconscious like butterflies wings
scorching on ever moment of intention

I'm a moment of conflicting interests
and i sway from the light to the twilight
places the voices take me there in silence.

Rain, rain go away  I,ve had enough of
You today, you met your friends near
The river bank and thought it would be
Fun to come up and give me a wave.
  
As you fell and friends did follow, you
Invited yourselves in through my door.
  
As more did follow, a house party of
Wetness invited, once dry objects now
Soaked, ruined by the unclean that pushed
Their way though my letter box.

Not even knocking to ask to come into
My home, drenching my settee and my phone.
  
Rain, rain has come to stay, ruined my
Things now being thrown away.
  
I don,t mind a drip a sprinkle or down
Pour, but I don't think you again should
Come knocking at my door.

As time passed he watched, his
Eyes glanced upon space, fluid
Moments, motions heeded by
Ever expanding views.

He could momentarily slow a
Ever changing fraction in the
Life span of this ever expanding
Place.

Everything needed attention,
Seconds, minutes kept in tune.
For without the tuning a second
Could take an hour, a minute
Would be a lifetime.

Tick, tock goes the universe,
Everyplace a different moment
As distance still had rules.
Galaxy time, solar time, each
Different juncture on the hands
Of an ever moving clock.

There were places where even
The hands had broke, never a
safe place moments colliding
Space, time not the same. An
Error in creation it happens
Sometimes.

He was the watch maker of the
Universe, and he kept us all in
Time, all in a moment never to
Repeat unless the hands broke.
But he was always moving time
Forward, each at its own pace.

Woeful of our wishes that fall
               on the shores of despair.

             We may walk, but we will never run.


But only fall into the sea
           of discontent.

Never realising
                                                that we never left
and drowned in our own misguided dreams.

I see you and I think you need
a stroke, my hairy little friend,
purring as I stroke you gently
my nails caress your skin,
heightened purring teasing you
no words need to be spoke.

I move my fingers side to side,
your starting to get excited, you
love me teasing you more, I
glide my fingers across your lips
wet juices start to flow inside.

I caress in-between my fingers
feel you wetness excited are
we as my fingers explore, I
touch that spot, side to side
my fingers caress you moan
saying you want more.

My fingers explore further
down my tips find that point
and dive deep in to your pool
of wetness.

As in and out not  all the way
motioned to keep at it more
juices flow around and on to
the sheets below.

You tighten up and I know
the time is near, you crave my
fingers even more one more
push and you explode, my
fingers wetter than before.

I feel you tighten around my
fingers shock waves flow over
your body I push my fingers
deeper finishing you of as you
lay relaxed and fulfilled, now
its my turn but she says she
to relaxed now,

''HOW RUDE''

I say, but she drifts of to sleep
fulfilled, open mouthed I ****
her juices from my fingers the
only action ill see, your juices
now cold on my fingers as I
**** the last from my finger,
before I too go unfulfilled to sleep.

I'm drowning yet I stand in no water,
civilization is the curse of my existence
it weights upon every aspect of me.
Do this, don't do that, I am man I am free.

But they do not listen for greed is upon fake
prophets that only think of what they can
accumulate before the reaper kisses there soul
and all that is left is regrets and nothing more.

"Spin the wheel your fate is there's to play,

Be one with the world, live life, don't do as
your told freedom is your chosen choice.
We are now like hen pecking in out squalid
corner, when really we shouldn't be drowning

My thoughts are an ice cube,
Melting in the midday sun.
Mostly idle thought, that like
A stream running off to nowhere.

But then those moments of clarity,
Join a stream a particles not seen
But there.Waiting to be absorbed
Or to join a cognitive droplet.

Then free fall, landing with a gentle
Tap on my mind. No longer is it solid
But liquid dripping through ideas
And draining out in thawed form.

When I'm down the sun never
seeks the sky.
                          Just a dullness
that hovers  beyond the grasp
              of my need to rise above

my pain...

I only needed that ray to hit upon my
                                 sighs...

                         I need to not hurt like
before, I cant keep this smile aloft..

It's falling like a shooting star,
   bruised when it hit the ground
             never again found.

   I'm dwindling like the stars caught
                 between the dawn and nightfall.
But never
            a light flickering before its
radiance is just an echo like me..


You'll find me, that star that fell,
        but never wished upon.

Just cold never seen,
               here but missed,
   as I fell from a moment of height
  to a place where I'm low and alone.

Observant misconstrued glances weaving conclusions
of what is above your paygrade of perceptiveness.
imperfections of what you glance upon.

A child in the confinement of misunderstanding,
Only the turbulence of reality like ocean waves.
Solitude of emotions then surges of confusion crash.

Lost in the tall trees of emotions as the leafs of
disorientation venture to cloud a mind of needed calm.
The conciseness needs the rhyme of routine to balance.

Heed this thought those of ill-conceived notions that
when this little miracle has a moment of uncontained
emotion, it is not for your misconceived wordings.

"My little one mummy is here, daddy too,
"Hear our voices like a calm ocean over you,

A mother embraces the worries of your thoughts,
easing the confusion of the world away..
Others may stare in ignorant stances.

*"But nothing is wrong with you, you're our baby
cuddling the confusion of your surroundings away.

It was the children I tell you,

"That was my last moment as a free bird,
"Now I sing behind caged walls.

They were there in the moments of my spiral of despair,
I first heard them, saw them when I took the bottle.
Counting them like sheep,
1 sheep,
2 sheep,
.
.
.
.
.
.
32 sheep more.
Then I stopped momentarily.
The world was a mirage of my thoughts as I threw the
empty bottle of whiskey on the floor. Lets spin the bottle
see where it lands, I watch it rotate on empty odours.
Then it lands base up, I stare into the white emptiness
above my head and see nothing. Fluke of the spin I thought
till my eyes descended down.

"Hi Elizabeth such an old name, for such a young soul,

She must have been no older than ten, OK, the tablets
are making me see things I thought in my mind?

"No Elizabeth there right here,

Partly dissolved white stones linger in her palms, why did
she do that? and how did she know that these were buried
within me. I thought for a moment then asked?

"What do you want from me? why would you save me?
"I was ready to leave this place to sleep in oblivion,

"Were not letting you go yet, we have things for you to do,

"Why would I do anything for you child?

Because I'm not a lone,

"Around, around we go, while were here you'll never go,
"A tablet will never fall, a wrist no blood will kiss the floor,
"You'll hear us whether night or day,
"We'll visit you in slumber and seed your dreams what may,

"Why would you do this,

Then the world became a spin cycle and It was the 90 degree
wash, I woke up sweating, my clothes dishevelled.
I was clasping onto a empty whiskey bottle huddled onto
it like it was a favourite teddy from when I was young.

"Jesus that was one weird whiskey educed dream,

Getting up I noticed what was a jingling sound in the base
of the bottle had I put a ring in the bottle again? I looked,
my skin shuddered and my eyes widened as I saw what
must have been at least forty tablets laying in recesses
of the bottle. I turned  my head to the floor throwing up
what whiskey still lingered in my stomach,. What the hell
had I been thinking?

Footprints so many footprints in a circular dance, and two
more just static in the centre, I looked at my feet I still had
mine on I throw them off in haste, or was it fear? I measured
them in size to mine and they fit like gloves a perfect mould.

"No, no that was just a messed up dream,

"It wasn't our Elizabeth,
"Who the hell ar......,

I wake up again my clothes dishevelled but this time
an added bonus blood, what the hell happened I
thought. I checked myself over and to my amazement
none of it was mine which left me to the more panicking
thought who's was it and where had it come from?

******* I feel sick as I assume that this is one
persons hardened essence now secreted on my being.
I shower and then dry off, I run to the toilet as I *****
multiple times, I cant remember ever eating that?
Where had I been? how long had past in missing time.

I just binned the evidence there was a communal burning
bin. I waited till it was dark, I knew one of the  lights was
temperamental at best so i waited till it failed...

"Come on go out,

I thought aloud, then like a fading star it did the usual.
Flickered and like an ebbing star slowly died out . I ran
like it was a race for life, I'd put lighter fluid in the bag
and threw it in.

"I missed,
"I missed, what the hell,

The light flickered on again I was out of the reach of
its view and noticed another come towards the flickering
embers.

"O' crap o' crap,

Thoughts collapsed like dominos in my head, then he picked
the bag up and all I heard was, "Messy ingrate cant even throw,
Then like in slow motion it glided like a wingless crow in to
the fire. Within moments the bag ignited like a phoenix he lit up.

It was like nothing I had seen before he had stood to close to
the fire when he'd throw it soaked in liquid it went up as well
as him the surprise on his face was intoxicating i watched as
he danced the tango of death.

Then I snapped out of it fumbling to get my phone,  but this
moment passed and he was lifeless smouldering on the ground
I could smell him cooking slowly. I ran inside, grabbed my phone
again to ring the police.

But I looked down and it was still recording.

"What I cant remember pressing that,

"We did it Elizabeth,
"So you could watch your work over and over again,

"Your not real, your a child,

"O'dear elzabeth if that's true then you did this all,

I rewound the video, wait there was more than one?
I watched each of them horror spread like an extinguished
Sun as darkness consumed it. But I felt myself smiling,
I looked in the mirror and they were there all of them.

Counting them like sheep,
1 sheep,
2 sheep,
.
.
.
.
.
.
32 sheep more.
I had closed myself in the bathroom, locked them from view, it
wouldn't be long now. I awoke again, sluggish to my surroundings.
I was again in bed my clothes as the night before, holding a *****
bottle empty and Ii looked slowly and there were 31 pills and a note
on the side.

"We left one in so you could have a good sleep,

I threw the empty bottle and clinging note into the fire, i could
hear that song that I first heard. "Nnoooooooooooo, "No,
I ran for the kitchen for a knife, then I heard a knock at the door?
Within moments it was off its hinges and I was running at them
knife raised, I thought death at last, but instead 10,000 volts I felt.

Awakeing i heard voice not the childrens but others,

"Hello,
"Is anybody there,

A hole opened and two eyes so caring looked inward,

"Hi Elizabeth, your in Hardy Oaks mental asylum,
"We saw your tapes, your a poorly girl it seems,

"It was the children I tell you,
"That was my last moment as a free bird,
"Now I sing behind caged walls.

The hole slides shut and then I'm alone, but
they are here with me I could scream, but I just
watch then encircle me, and sing their endless lullabies.

Could I see in their eyes, as I clean up this momentary
lusting, for their inner demons to released this way.
I had visions of them shouting "4,

That was going to need a ladder and I hate heights.
Well up I went in slow motion, I saw the spaces between the
claret splashes in frozen moments of nothing. Now just a coat
cold and unwarming. From up here it looked like an
abstract painting I called it "echoes of relentless madness,

It was another call out this place off a million lights  
only a fraction were braking into havocs grasp. But when
their final instant came, till it was a single moment or an
eternity in seconds, the end result was the same.

I wore a fresh suit, each being deflowered within
moments. Others lives were centimetres from mine.
They were with me through out these moments, then I
threw them in the bin like a one night stand. I left them
behind , no reason to remember names.

This  one was different, the other one was just like a
water balloon of finest red had been tossed around the
room, this one...  Charred shadows of where like a wick
They had become a light in the darkness and consumed.

Not as much blood, just dry lumps of god knows what.
I breathed quickly, a hand print on the table slightly
scorched, but the hand print still visible reaching out.

This was more a scrap and polish like cleaning spilt
cheese now carbonized on the bottom of the grill.
A hot mind is not a good thing specially when a vent
of release givesthis pressure a release. I look at it and
think to myself? I called this one "charred thoughts ascending,

I once again leave them behind, this is beyond the
ordinary job. Knocking off for lunch i see the next
piece off where my work will take me. I see them
walking and in quietened haste I lunge and inflict a
flesh wound so some may think, but an artery I have nicked .

So gently I  grazed, wouldn't want then to bleed too quick
or to slowly for that matter. I abscond in my van, knowning
the call will not be long versed just another clean up
so many in this city of lights where I calmly change
each one. As to be repetitive there is no art form in that.

To be a cleaner and to see art where others only see death
or tears. I see a deeper visions the latest in the collection
I called them "Life running dry, this was an easy clean
up, but ill have to give it a rest i earned enough from the
clean ups to sit back and watch the world move by.

Till next my artistry is mused I will think of others that
have twerked my needing a suit hangs up, each with
the name of that creation. I can admire them anytime,
and just think of the anticipation that was needed for this
depiction of my thoughts and how they bled out.

Woman have
                  more ***** then men
most of the time.

       It's pity that

men are bigger *******
                      all the time...

It is purest before the scratch,
A stain on white,
Like roots it grows beneath,
Not seen but  there till the
Point its pollen Comes forth,
And with each shard
Shattering on the purity, 
Till like ash crushed to black.

My mind is a cauldron of
thought, always is some
thing spilling out, I have
to be carful and not let
them spill on the floor

Never to be an idea spoilt
in dirt. I just skim the foam
of thought that boils forth
and then sip to make the
thought an idea.

For while my cauldron of
thought, is stocked by the
flames of letters burning
that saturate in to the cauldron
to boil in to thought.

For this is only a time of ideas,
for the flames may one day only
glow, not burn and the cauldron
may only simmer and ideas not
full but not cold.

Till the day the fires again once
stoked, and the ideas boil with
thought I must capture that
which boils to skim it for
thoughts to become ideas or more..

What can I say I'm cheap,
I couldn't afford a 69 so I went
for the cheaper 59, 10% off.
      
                      Ye off the end result.


She was like tongue me deeper,
                    and she blew me.

Not like a vacuum hose,
more like blowing a birthday
                        candle out.

I'm moaning, she's coming.
Then a gust of wind in my face.

What can I say, she called me cheap!
And you get what you paid for,
I don't know why but my ***** are singed.....

To realistic for my liking that *******.

In exhalation
                       my life
was breathed
        on all I knew...

Sniffing her **** cloth,
                    so fresh..

Hanging in the wind..
            
The moon shows him,
               there like flags on
                        a hill top to capture...

She wakes up in the morning
             to find that her Frenches

have gone a miss...

Hearing the sneezes,
             from her next door
but one neighbour..


"You perv..
                "Watch out what you sniff,


Her ****** never went missing after that day,

                           but her eyes did water a few
                                                              da­ys later...

Forgetting that the itching sneezing  powder
                                      wasn't in only one..
  
           and she giggled as she gently scratched.

Though we wish,
             can we ever find our
                    prince charming..


A shoe may fit, but is it comfortable.


And our happy ever after is but a moment,
         of chemical imbalances before we realise.
  

That we should have smashed
                                  the happy ever after.  
As glass always cuts deep
                                   it only takes time.

The immobile carcasses of plastic babies
litter my child's floor, never seeking there
birth mother as she was a statue of recycled
imagery. Of illegitimate children holding this
abortion of weaved construction that sings hollow
words of  "mommy, mommy,

But they look within me, in cold eyes they stare in
to nothingness heeding the words of wanting
but their cries diminish to a silent lingering buzz.
Barely heard but I white noise succumbs to dreams
of a lonely child in stress, but recycled voice spoke.

I kicked the abortion of sickening similarity and
wonder back as the form of a child, baby, I have just
kicked. But still it weeps for a mother that is as
fake as the calls its synthetically calls upon a child.

Inanimate objects that stir in repetition, I will be long
gone when you will still whimper in a landfill,
calling in static, batteries last moments and you
still call out "mommy, mommy, no one answers your call.

Mindful of others, but always deeper in thought.
You call it the folly of an inquiring mind,

Concern some may say diving to deeply
unsure of where this may take me.
Regarding the complexity of a frame.
I just see more than those who
open a door, and only see the other side.
So if the the hinges hold it what was behind.
Is it wrong to have an interest in more
than what others see as normal without
yearnings to find out what was, what's more.

Where I wished to delve deeper was only
an excuse for others to want it to wither.
never would I intrude, but my searching
eventually causes some unintended pain.
So I relent, I'm curious of the outcome some say.

This wasn't what he'd expected, since a wee little one,
       contorting the edges of fallen wood made thin.
What was rectangle became a triangle,
           what was just plain became more.

No fingers were used, a mind is a wonderous thing,
                                 Never wasted on this little one.
    
Creation, Imagination, as parchment clean crisp,
contorted to conception. But when it went wrong
            it rained snow flakes of ruptured imaginings,

Jagged and torn, papercutting those close.

Tears fell from his eyes as sorrow for skin bleed
not deep, but any more would have been a torment.

A thousand papercuts from a moment of
            frustration could turn paper crimson.

From that interim, knowing the power paper
had, be it words shapes, meaning.
       Learning that contours have potential and
wording on it was a powerful influence on others.

So began his journey as origami butterflies
             fluttering around him, calmness followed.
            Here child, as he handed a swan, and it swam
upon the innocence of there hand, and he walked onward.

A vessel of infinite imaginings woven
in the kaleidoscope of innocence,
seeing you for that moment,
as life breathed you into my arms.

Fluid motions of gratitude, as noses
met and a smile versed on daddies
eyes. Wonderment that this innocence
had a mothers beautiful eyes.

You were a little box of crayons,
the randomness of your expressions
drew smiles upon a grateful parents
faces, gazed at you with gleeful reflection.

You were a gift to our memory, a story
to verse on your years yet to pass.
Your our little box of crayons, waiting to
see which colours draw upon our lives.

I'm three years old,
        my mummy asks me?

"What ya wanna be when ya grow up,

"A serial killer mummy,

After that she hide the knifes?

[Puzzlement] covered my face, now that's
a big word for someone who's three, spell
check if you want to see.....

"Baby you ok?

[Puzzlement,] "I know go me. She looked
as I did was this look was it somewhat
[contagious] "I know I'm three,

"Yes mummy I'm a cereal killer. I plunge
my spoon in to my breakfast till it seeps
milk then when I've finished I bury it.

"Bury it, yes in the bin mummy there
remains rot and make fertilizer.
"My mummy looked relived,

But I didn't tell her I bury them in the garden,
in the little black bags in the flower bed.
Decaying cereal feeding the flowers nourishment.