We may bleed,
                we may fall like tears.
But all they see is the window screen of our eyes.

Never looking in at the condensation
           wondering why there are letters
      wrote in breath fading as quickly  
as they where spelt..
                    
                                       h... e... l.. p...

And then we smile,
            and they only see the cats eyes gleaming white.

Deflecting them from how
                                      we are really travelling..

I arrived home early to  surprise, but
the surprise was on me, a car in the
drive who could that be. I went in
quite not knowing who could it be.

I stepped in cautious not knowing
what would await me, I looked in the
living room no one there, but ladies
shoes and two bras different sizes
laying on the floor discarded quickly.

I heard a noise up stairs, and off i went
to see quietly, I went finding discarded
clothes a trail to follow for me. who was
this man was he big small i was about to see.

An ear to the door moaning heard, rage
did flow and I kicked through the door,
to my amazement a woman down on
my wife carpet munching like a king.

Rage and horniness both flowed through me,
as she moaned and screamed as i had found
her deceit she had been keeping from me.

Her friend did turn, Jesus she,s hot, NO
I'M ANGRY no, this is turning me on
they can both see. We were waiting but
had to much drink as you can see, this
is your birthday present from me to you
this is my friend she like both sides of the
fence as you can see.

So all ended well, naked were all three,
My wife orgasmed by a woman,  four by
me. I came home early and caught her in
the act. But I just bounced my wife and
got swallowed by her friend this is my
best birthday, I got a smile from ear to ear..

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..

You were the cement boots around
my ankles and I would sink beneath
your gaze screaming as I sank to the
                                                  bottom.

I saw the others the ones who failed
your questioning, your mind games
of unconscious action and reaction.

But with me, I screamed in laughter,
as I knew that you'd always let me
drown enough to be conscious of
                       your ever-changing needs.

We were the lime and the sand,
our words the water that would be
mixed together. We would be concrete
           metaphors of each other's needs..

And I found it slightly ***** when you
tried to metaphorically drown me in
                                       your mind.
I always learnt some depth to you the
                         longer you let me drown.

I opened them up just slightly, then in haste I departed
there creases and all that was inside spilt upon the floor.
I learnt from my first mistake, this wasn't the first time I had
opened one up. But the realization over took my needing and
what was within expelled so much held within,
mistaking what was and now spilt on the surroundings.

The next time I emptied them gently in to the tub,
I was slightly strange but I preferred to cut two open then
miss them in essence, I was hungry for what they had to give
and once I had my fill I discarded then to the side lingering
in a mess of what once was and what was partly tasted
sodden in the essence I had partaken to envelope them both in.

A few days later I had a taste for something different,
so I delved my knife into it. So seductive to watch
it break upon the skin, I scraped upon it and I licked
the knife like it was a lolly pop weeping essence on
my tongue. Then I spread it on the other then I lacerated
cutting it with a blunt knife, lusting the feel on my palm.

Do you know how long it takes to cut deep with a blunt
instrument. Time, and I adored the pleasure of the misery that
I felt when I finally ****** through from front to aft. I put the
blade down, and that piece that had became singular was now
digested within myself and it was salty going down. I ******
cereal every morning the aroma when descending exquisite.

Immersing within cardinal
    droplets, each seeping from
the veins of life, clarity of white
now drowning within a sea of
fuchsia that is like a rose petal
liquefied, its essence smelling
                                like deaths kiss.

Abstracted songs of weeping
                                  moments.
Restless that more isn't being
given. Even though to open
more fissures would smother
every light within.
           Fading with the
                      last droplet given.

Tears etched like ravines
    flowing to feed the lustful tides
                                  of her needing.
She touched upon there features
vowing that they would
                                            live on
within her, a voice within the many.

Still all were crying, but never tears
of fearful wows, as they knew they'd
                                  live on within her.

Shadows danced around the room
effigies of what had drained before
those now opening life,
                              to feed her hunger.
Death was a perfume that she bathed in.
             Putrid desolate veins rejuvenated
her carcass to a beauty only time held.
But only her voice called inside,
       the others screamed in silence.
their shadows trying to tell others
but silence dances where
                                     no reflection hears.

Chain the hands though free,
       they are bonded to servitude.
Every night they get on a knee of
   compliance to serve the whispers
                      that are never heard.

And still they wait for an
                               answer
                          that had no caller....

I will never go on my knee
                                for a thought,
              I will never clasp my palms
in bracelets that are never worn
                              but weigh others down...

The smell of sulphate,
            emanating from that
accursed thing, its aura glistened,
                  seemingly smouldering .

But when the  breath of life
                    died beneath sunset,
A Spector of ill conceived retention
                                             contemplated.



Daybreak was mutilated upon the sight.
                                            established placidity..

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.

When I wept before you
watching my emotions fall like
                               crayon colours

Painting the floor with immature
          emotions...
did you read the colours I spelt..


Or did you just see irregular patterns
                spelling out my pleas...
that were like chalk drawings
                                       to your understandings

Waking up isn't the
           challenge.

The struggle, is lasting
        the day.

To realise you have another
                  morning to feel alive.

The wondering of an awakening yet
to be versed in tales that span the
Indoctrination of youthful minds,
weeding the innocence for a folk lore
of wishes to prey upon.

A  servitude of words rewrote more than
langue was versed, contradictions forgotten
till a new verse is heard. But Ignored
with gleeful ignorance, what are words of
fiction if versed as truths? lies in verse..

Those afflicted with the fear of death,
prey to air, that doesn't listen it just moves
on. Superstition of a need to exist, cant we
just be us, not needing to look up to see what is
in front of us.. life that moves ever on.

A serial killer,
            hangs up his hatchet...

To scared of a cough to indulge,
                 in a fulfilment of a hobby..

Takes up sewing...

Last time I was hung over,
     I was wearing
               the wrong face.

Having a headache,
                  blurs perception,
     I picked the wrong me
                                 to display.

The diversity of ones
path, is a well
trodden one. But we
must sometimes try anew.

For without walking upon
other routes, we'll get
lost on the path
we've walked aimlessly on.

Though we may get
lost, we'll find our
footing. And then a
new scenery will awaken.

And through life we
may change our direction.
Each footstep will always
give us different perspectives.

Claustrophobic lullabies
collecting in the tear ducts

             He silently exits the chapel.

Her white is transparent of her regrets


He texts:
              *"I'm sorry,

Lifeless husk of ink, never given the
Want needed. Depleted of thought,
Cadence forced upon a baited white.

Weary of words, alas oblivion awaits
As your light flickers in stagnation.
Rigor mortis lifeless words inked.

When chasing a dream never
                 run up the steps.

We should always tread
                                       carefully.

As dreams are only worth
                                chasing


if we take our time.

As nothing ever comes fast,
we may misstep
                            and miss the mark
             we wanted to land upon.

Woeful of degenertaive
        Misgivings..

I walk the streets looking
       For mister right.


Then I hear Neanderthal
      Callings....

"All right darling,

Fancy some meat in between
        Then bones....

I look upon there fingers,

   Looking for a rope of shame.

I smile, I play nice..


    Pulling them into an Alleyway,

        I asking them,
          does your wife mind.

What she doesn't know
    Won't hurt her...


"Maybe not her but you,

As bolt croppers loose his finger
    From his palm..


Screams were to ensue,
   But gagged by lace *******..

Shoved deep within
   his dry throats...

Did you know gold rolls
   when its not weighted down
  

by the fidelity of indiscretions.

He'll not be using that finger on
        another's crying tears...

They came up with a name for me?
    I was honoured,

The guillotine of divorce..


I giggled as the amount of rings
          that rolled decreased..

Finding those who were single just
         looking for a night of fantasy.

Ok, some never learnt,

                       my box of collectables...
so many little lies in my box..

I saved my ladies a lifetime of lies,
    and I have a reminder that some men
                             are worthless...
  

but some are just out for a some fun,
         just like me....

Checkmate was the moves that followed me,
Each was noted as if known before I had stepped,
Frustration gained pace upon my fragile self.
Motion seemed stagnant and still,
My life was a dismal stalemate of defeat.

Your words are cheesy
        Like an unclean *******

Every syllable you tug on
        Is like cheese.

You need to clean up
            Your stiffness
And write cleanly...

I live in the basement, never venturing
upon those stairs, I hear her voice...
"Come up and see me its been to long,
Holding my ears singing my favourite song
repetitively until she is drowned out of
my thoughts. rocks tied to her voice as it
sinks out of view.

I use the stairs that open to the outside,
Lingering looking at this place I called home.
Venturing in the old ford, she lets me drive
it when food is but breadcrumbs and eggs
old enough to birth the dead fetes of a partly
grown bird. I look out though a ***** window
screen, this trip takes two hours each way.

I always wonder if my bald tyres are ever
noticed, but I'm not hindered by the thoughts
of this. So much to see when driving in solitude.
I stop at the side of the road picking cherries,
I slump them in the boot. I may eat upon this
morsel or just hang them outside watching
them swaying in the gentle breeze.

My father just looks out the window.
Doesn't talk much these days his eyes are sunken
like the titanic splintered between two pools.
I move his chair and his arm falls at his side.
collecting it, I put him palms resting on a blanket
He's so gaunt now, he was a strong man now but a shadow.

I look at those cherries lingering above the ground,
shaded from just picked to becoming spoilt, but i
just leave them swaying the aroma fills lungs with
life's eroding perfume, I breath it deeply within.
This is my home, "she never calls me for dinner anymore,
I just make my own, the washing up is festering in
my ignorance, like a garden of petrification flowering.

Saying bye to my dad, I get in the old ford.
Its time to pick some fresh cherries, the tree
is looking unkempt. Its blossom is in honour
of a mother, I hang them all there. My
Mother hung there for a long time ,but she's
long gone. So I bring other cherries to the tree
to show that she'll never be forgotten....

Hearts
are like pennies,
    some use
                   to many up..

Be the reason the chicken
                        crossed the road..

Ask it to jump
                      in your bucket...

Eyes weave tears on paper of blank verses,
                     but speak in silent whispers.

A word is a reflection given volume,
                     that echoes through every motion,

But when they fall all are silent,
                       Vacant images of children static..

Little voices of word, in charm they whispered of what they wished.

"What is it you wish my children on this darkened night,

But no voices spoke, good taught vices, strangers to never have spoke.

"Children never worry, I only ask out of alone you are on this night,

Then a voice speaks out, as I have walk further in to twilights grasp,

"Kind lady my children hunger, do you so generously offer to feed?

"Children who spoke those words unseen?

"Father told us to take this form, to earn our supper this night,

Form? as shivers perforated her mind, hands grasping at wrists tight.

**"Your our feed, and your soul tastes just this side of ripe.....

A child's
happy
smile,
keeps
you smiling throughout the day..

Wings did flutter upon a kaleidoscope in the heavens,

Grazing upon the chimes of coloured skies ink,

What was transparent, now glazed with blush,

More followed once the same now individual,

Heavens high were a blaze of colour once more .

My pen is my shield,


and my words
             my armour.

I can hear the lullaby of life,
            serenading
our movements to where
we sway delicately to its
                                inevitable
conclusion, a moment that
is elegance haemorrhaging to
                                                 silence..

*"Life is a masquerade of motions, we dance till they fade,

Chorus of the dead sing soulfully
Death falls on deaf ears woefully

Songs of the dammed do chime
Words spelling out in infinite rhyme

Spirits cling swaying upon deaths tone
Each soul is devoured another seed sown

Vocalists consume and agonies pains heard
Prices are paid sinful deeds goes incurred

Its to much to take, to always be
in pain, I look ok on the outside.
But the pain is within, muscles
ache when ever I move, like a
knife being constantly put in, is
this going to be like this for the
rest of my days.

I put on a brave face, not telling
them that I feel like crap, always
feeling tired even when I've slept
in, after 10 minutes I want to go
back to bed for the rest of the day.

This ***** as its spreading, is there
many more places for it to go, from
up above to down below, its like
poison ivy wrapping its vines around
and squeezing sensitive is my skin,
just the  tip of my finger gently on
my chest like being cut with knifes
over my skin.

Will I need tablets for the rest of my
life, will I be bed ridden as it attack
my hips from within, I will keep a
strong face, but inside I am screaming
in pain, you just cant see it on my face.

I never sleep upon the night I hunt upon
The solitude of this time where the darkness
Sulks upon shadows and I am an obstruction
Of all that wishes to bleed upon nights tide.

Ever keeping those that bled innocence on
The earth, always do they fear the presence
Never sensing the reverend of death. I am
There sentence to that eternal damnation.

The Cimmerian shade where all that is ceaseless
Creeps upon clinging earths grave, whispered
Death emanates but is buried upon earths breath
A final moment the oblivions eternal gaze.

I am the imperishable true that haunts those
Who penetrate the innocence that seeks solitude
In the places that never wish to see there truth.
We all hide something in the shadows grave.

All that thrives in the twilight of mans insecurities,
Where hidden things hide, know that their are things
That even the onyx fears for all that is blinded from
Lights gaze fears our continued eternal gaze.

Apprehensive leaning towards the flickering pendulum
of shadow that rinsed its essence over the areas. With each
sway polished appearances did shuddered and intimately
they were touched upon and dilapidated they surrendered
in quivering as all were sheltered in nightfall's consumption.

All was faded into oblivion, but what is untold that obscurity
hides worse things that agitation lunges on and devours
Those that never echo there dwellings. Forms lie shadow less
just smudges of essence like a pool of soiled onyx now devoid.

There is anxiety in the cloudless venues where things huddle
in petrifaction. Thoughts of a gesture alerting unwanted
lingered eyes, embracing despair consuming selves so not
to be desecrated by others hunger. Darknesses suspicion of self.

She was neve going to be in white,
              neutrality was never

going to be her hue.

She was telling the world a message..


Her gown, was onyx silk woven
                 like Cinderella had told the
arachnids  to create beauty in the night
unbridled
            it fell entrapping on any who gazed

upon its woven radiance.

She walked down the isle and with each step,
                                at least five were captivated

in the webbing of her beauty,
                       walking beyond there view.

All entombed within the elegance
             that captured them.

She was the spider weaving a web of beauty
           that captured every eye.

And the man was her prey, he smiled
          lost in the moment of her captivation.

I do, I do,  and both were entangled
within the
                             eyes of each.

This moment was silk ropes tied to each others
          wrists,
         and now they'll weave them every step
              

                          they collect together.

Cities are like the lungs
of a country...

But when villages decay
and towns become
oxidized
like popcorn lung..

You know that the end of  civilization
isn't so far away...

And the mind that kept everything
running smoothly became vegetated
and non responsive.

Then you know your country
became dead...
void of a perspective
living in the afterlife of echoes....

Claustrophobic meetings of
                   myself in the mirror.

I'm shut in this refection,
               when I know this
          isn't me..

Pain attacks of a realization,
                       I'm stuck in this
         obituary of looks..
                        I scream only seeing within..

He gave me the look of "really, "really,
Scuffing his paws as if covering filth.

"What's a matter snoopy?

Then looking at me, raised an eyebrow
"Didn't know they could do that?
I went to rest my head and in a puddle it
Did land soaked fermenting upon my head.

"He was their licking his fangs,

I threw a slipper bouncing off the wall
Ricocheting and face planting me instead.
I changed my pillow cleaned my hair, and
Slumbering I  once again rested my head.

"Scratch, scratch, scratch,

Morning awoke as I heard noises grating
Downstairs? I got a bat and in my white fronts
Edged down to find My EP player on.
"Hello anyone there, I know karate? "what,

A new word for scratching was born, whisks of
Clawed plastic on the floor. My best record now
Worthless recycle. And there he stood on the fire
Place his claws tapping in rhythm is what I saw.

From that day on I never gave him the cheap food
A lesson learnt, I thought I was the boss and he
Was just a pet. But a lesson learnt never *** off
Your feline friend there smarter than that.

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.

I think more clearly when I sleep,

        its when I'm awake,

                                  
that I'm overly confused???

Once upon a time I climbed
a tree, up here I was carefree.
But as I reached the top, an invite
of views now gifted upon me.

Could I breath in these views of
grandeur, as I leaned on a sore knee.
I'll never give up majestic illustrations,
this sight I gaze upon beyond expectations.

When awake I am safe, they only
live in the darkness, only when
my eyes are closed, under my
eyelids they live, the horrors of
demons the faces seen, so I open
my eyes to hide them from my
darkened sight.

How long can eyes not close, to
stay open, to not shut these eyes
for more than a moment. The
horrors I see when sight sees
darkness, the things plague the
places always waiting I need
to never sleep.

My demons wait for me, waiting
for the dark place behind my eyes,
I am haunted by these things that
thrive in the darkness, can anyone
save me from the horror that claws
my eyes shut.

I scream when my eyes close shut,
the place they can play with my mind,
where there is no escape till my eyes
open, but for now they are closed shut.

closeness evades touch
baited moments now captured
loneliness stares back