Death has released her
           from the chains of
                          purgatory.
For it knew that without
balance to weigh the scales,
that they would be relased
      from this eternal silence.

        At least in hell they
could have felt, but here
                           nothingness
was the reminder of their
                         indiscretions.

Death lingered on her outline,
                 neither could harm the
other, where his touch grasped
petals fell and within his cloak
did for a moment a deep silence
              sang for a finite eternity.

A debt was repaid, but there were
           many that both owed each other.
She kissed him on the cheek and flesh
was woven momentarily and a smile
                                        ventured forth
before lips turned to ash petals and
tombstone gazes looked onward.

I will rest when death
kisses
        My soul.


And my windows,
    Cease to look

up a view.


All will be quite within,
          As I am gone,


and my shell no longer fruitful,
               Spoils


over time.

Silence's deadly

    Oh my god dad.....

That stinks...

What
    Is
      life
If
It's
  Not
    Death
            In
      Slow
Motion

I tasted your breath
                  like wine,
                  and when it soured.

                  I dropped the bottle...

"I am the whisper in your last breath,

“I'm the whisper on your thoughts,

“I'm the one that feels the last beat of your heart,

“I have been watching you since birth,

"I am death and your time has now past….

Woeful of greed, she is the serpent
in the sheets, her bite ending happiness
that never saw her misdeed.

Toxicology showed that the bite was swift,
he, d been dead from the pills moments
before that he’d taken that night.

Knowing he couldn’t live with
the debt that she had accumulated,
before kissing her goodnight.

Can you ****** someone twice..

If
Death
waits
For
Me
He can take a number...

Death walked down
the
      stairs
               of
                   heaven.......

He said words to all that passed
remember
                  me
                        I
                          will see you again soon old friends....

A kiss given when
                  the lips are

cold.

I stare into there void less  eyes,
           but my touch is warm.

We mourn our final expiration
                         never realizing,

That we were decaying from
                       our very first..

Dilapidation upon a
                         very first breath..

Dying from the moment we were born.

An attire of cadaver obsidian
      hangs upon the expiration

of every fluctuation.

Weaving sorrow on every passing.


Considering the folly of her motionless
                                  endeavour.

Her garb falters and  decomposes
              below her narcistic

                                                pondering.


She is neither Earth or Air,
                but a decompaction of

reflections fading over time..

Well this has a deflating feeling but
                         a pumped upending.  

There was a little one, he was always
kicked around, but they were the best
of times, boot or hand he didn't mind.

Scuff marks marking his features,
   every now and then washed off
Mudd crusted between stitches.

If he felt a little deflated they'd
be positive pumping him up full
of air once again.

It was him and them for a time,
  but it moves on.
He went out less and less,
  it was summer and he went
           out once.
Sitting on the windowsill
wishing to between the blades
of grass. at the end of a foot and
                   a goal post.

Not being kicked and thrown
around, then it got real, he was
put in the shed empty not feeling
the air between his stitches anymore.

Then he heard voices in the back,
   don't worry you have friends,
Were all a little deflated in here?
I think some of us were mislaid.
Forgotten by mistake or we like
to think that. Hi, I'm seasonal, I'm beach.
Now I'm just missing the sunshine.

I got a puncture, I wasn't as floaty
anymore, I was their favorite  seaside
friend, you see they fixed my bobo.
I don't leak anymore, but they didn't
fill me up or throw me again.

I was put in here for another time,
but I only see them when they are
looking for lost things, but not me.

Meet tennis and his sister,
there a right pair, one always going
over the net, the other hoping that  
the other would hit so they could
feel the air bouncing between the
                            racket and them.

The racket was in here, but never talked
just time pulling at his strings,
sagging as if a smile hanging upside down.

We have been in here a while,
  don't know how long, we just
chat about the fun times before.

So they told each other stories wondering
what it would have been to be the other.
Laughing and joking at the possibility
of either hit by a boot or floating so high
in the air,  as if they'd never hit the ground.

Time passed and one day the family all
came to the shed, older than before.

Oh my gosh, I remember you guys..

Mum, I found the beachball, oh my gosh
he's still got his kitty plaster on...
They pumped him up and he went in to
the air, he could feel the heat of the sun,
and it felt right again.

They grabbed me I was a little shrunken,
  And the boy now a man, oh my gosh..
I thought I lost you, they pumped me up.
He did tricks with me, on knee head and
foot, wow he's got better as time passed.

Then racket came out with tennis and his
sister, what shall we do with these,
   Oh' no they thought are going to end up
in the trash.

But they saw racket tightened his strings,
and then the yellow siblings where smacked
against the wall, they smiled at the noise and
the feel of Racket upon them again.

The sun was beaming and everything felt
like before. But then they were put into
the car with other objects, a vase slightly
chipped, but beautiful anyway.
Books, with folded pages, what stories
they could tell us, another time anyway.

We traveled a while, hearing noises
outside, And handed to another,
don't worry we'll find them a new home.
We were put on shelves, price tags stuck
to us, we were left behind pieces that
others didn't want to throw away.
But finding us a new home, racket and the
twins were first to go,
                    at least they weren't separated.

A new face taking them home cuddling,
holding them tight, a home was found.
Then it was beaches turn, a little girl with
her mummy, she saw the kitty plaster and
was smitten. She threw him in the air
i could see him smile at the thought of
once again being thrown again.

Me I was the last, I was asleep didn't even
realise that I'd even been sold.
Rudley awoke to a foot in my face.
what the, and I could feel the air between
my fibers, I could see children and more
of me being kicked around.

I was among others as laughter and glee,
as we were kicked and thrown, it felt like
home again, not the one before but a new
one I was inflated and gliding between posts,
back of the net, and out again.

Home is where ever you feel needed,
and never let yourself feel deflated as
we are all useful in our own way.

I have to go as I have fourteen children
chasing after me, and there I go.
boot to me and in the air, I fly again.

It was the vessel  of thought it bled
Like wine from my fingertips,  scratching
Upon ****** white it did bleed.

It was consummated never to be as
It was before deflowered from white
To shades of thought.

It penetrated deep and pain was spelled out.  
It felt ***** used as it was like others just pushed
To the side scrunched up like yesterdays news
Paper then thrown away.

Thoughts not worthy, just lying naked in the
Bin for all to see. just laying there still, *****
Like tears of ink had spilled over the page.

You know they have these,
           those groups for
people who are,
          were,
        are going through addictions.

Well I was going to one such place...
I'm not addicted not like these people.
My failings are
              light compared to those others.

I was hooked on the deity addiction,
              I was raised to believe in certain
                          noncorporal
unsubstantiated constructed fear factors.

I was for many a immature years fearful of
           what I was doing till I was 7 years old.

Questions were my maturity, I'd read that
            these man made constructs, well the
top of today were all
                      with an area of minimal distance..

                                               It was like,
the central point for god creationism,
                   who had the most followers,

who had the snakes tongue, the intellect
              to make other listen to there lies..

But so it happened, there were the old gods
   fading into obscurity..
they were real for a time,
           but the thing about time, everything dies.

But the words huddled the masses,
      you see there was a religion,
religions already around that stood the
   testament of time.

These new ones approaching gaining ground,
they were either an off shoot of
                      there disagreements,
of the word of there god not others
                                                   as they weren't real...


No there's was real, but the gods before were wrong??
                                            ok...…..

But moving on and we have the oldest religions still
around. Some have the masses where some have but a
only a few followers not as many as way back when.
Here's a quick lesson in gods and spirituality,
counting down we have:

1. Hinduism (Circa 7,000 BCE)
2. Judaism (Circa 2,000 BCE)
3.Zoroastrianism (Circa 1,500 BCE)
4. Shinto (Circa 700 BCE)
5.Buddhism (Circa 600 BCE)
Jainism (Circa 600 BCE)
Confucianism (Circa 600 BCE)
Taoism (Circa 500 BCE)

So you see that there are some old that still remain..


But the thing that people forget is that in the old times
wars were fought on the premise of there gods words
were the truth and the others were distortions not the
right word of god, gods.. look down, I know...

1.Second War of Kappel
2. Lebanese Civil War
3.The Crusades
4. Second Sudanese Civil war
5. First Sudanese Civil War
6. German Peasants’ War
7. Nigerian Civil War
8. French Wars Of Religion
9. Thirty Years’ War
10. Eighty Years’ War

I know what your thinking what the fudge has this
got to do with now, quite a lot it would seem.
We have new religions popping up, some are just
plain ***... and people follow these.

But the good thing is time is awaking the masses to
the ridicule of what these old books stood for.

Hate, Love ******, ****, intimidation to believe or
                                 pay a levy or pay with your life.

But the world is awake, more than ever.
         So I sit here in this room, listening to the
stories of what made them rescind the notion
of belief in a deity, that controlled them now
                                          they have cut the strings.  

I just hope one day that we all can look behind us
and wonder why we were so immature to think
that  these things helped us find our keys,
                         but let a child die of starvation..

if you don't see the contradiction your still blind I see...

I woke up suddenly from
what was a dream, the motion
was like a tremor, I had never felt like
this before, had I fallen from a nightmare
a dream not remembered but the chill
I still felt in me.

I walked to the stairs a step...
was all what I took, but my foot stood on air
as I fell feeling edges as my neck snapped
a crumpled mess, life leaking with the last
breath I take out of me.

I woke up suddenly from
what was a dream, the motion
felt like Deja vu, what was
this am I awake, a nightmare
it seems like, a breath taken in real
breath expelled out of me.

I walk to the hall to take a
fated step, but remember that which
happened in the dream, so to the bathroom
instead.

I walk to the sink I take a first step,
then my feet I see in the air before I
felt the crunch, as my head connected
with the bath, a flash of light as I breath
my last breath.

I woke up suddenly from
what was a dream, a nightmare of deja vu.
What was really real, as I no twice I have
taken my last breath. Do I leave my room do
I even get out of bed, the horror of deja vu.

Moments pass I'm still breathing is
this life or am I still in this repeating
dream. A thought I think as I settle my
head to sleep and hopefully I'll wake,
be out this nightmare repeating
dream and in real life instead.

They thought I was an easy
target, that they could corrupt
me, trap me in my body with
out my own will and control.

But little did they know that
there are things that should
not be tampered with, ageless
a forever soul. They wished to
make me a puppet to use this
body like a coat, but mine
didn't fit so ill wear there's
all the way from hell.

I hear them screaming with in,
hell was a playground compered
to what is about to begin. I tear
not there darkness but I mix in
a little of ageless soul. now there
screams like a banshee pain untold.

Demons and angels are but children
in a playground, there are things
older than time, eternal life older
than souls, now those that were
after a husk a play thing who
thought me a joke.

Now eternal guests, hand prints
on my flesh, for they are Prisoners
condemned to all existence, or
till there darkness is consumed
by my ageless soul...

Do I have too, the world is to much
Every moment a struggle
People don't see me the way I see inside
Right now suicide is feeding me
Every moment is getting to much
So many friends, but talking can be to hard
Sealing myself in, the out side a picture
I* wish upon a *life, that I didn't feel this so much
Open me up see what's turning inside out
No that this is a illness, make a call, life is worth so much

Depression falls like rain on the masses,
soaking in the discontent of fallen reflections.

Shattering in the thoughts that whisper
ever more with closed minds.

The flood gates vent a deluge of filth
saturating the skin in delusions of self.

Never again, again never pertained to
this time repeating like a B movie reject.

I look at the world were in now, and I feel
clouds over us, even though the sky has none.

In the deep fingers waved like seaweed,
hypnotically enticing those in shallow
borders where shadows like puppets
were seduced to touch upon its being.

Whispers of silence guided all to the
yearning that stemmed from this narcotic
enticement, hooked in hollow waving's.  

Warped cravings entangled and to ash
they swam in the waters,  and depleted
they sank unseen but relished upon.
Nightfall was eternal in there embrace.

When the sun slumbered beyond the falling
horizon, a deranged mentor of those it wondered
over below. False expressions were given in tribute
to that which watched with acidic smiles of their  
persecution beneath its gaze.

In its fading they were collected in truest outline.
Negatives of perceived imaginings, pigmentation
descended from form like coloured petals
turning to dust. They were the abattoirs of this
now discoloured imaginings.

Sweetened voices of lullabies were replaced by
disorientated shrills, that reverberated within
the halls, they lumbered in there contorted abodes.
Nesting into corners of despair that blossomed on
them with hues of isolation.

Feasting on warm carcasses, weeping with
trepidation at this momentary freedom they felt.
There home of tattered souls that were cleaved
from prey, no peace in death. They hang at
the windows clinging to lost hope.

Time was a nine tailed mistress that whipped them
into the binding once more. For the arising was upon
them, they were lacerated within colour once more.
All that was flaked away and became as it was.
Smiles on there faces paying tribute to that above.

When it fades, its like a candle that ceases
to exist and so the flame was never lit..

You cherished a moment that was as
threadbare as the good reflections of us.

I look into your being and I see through
you as my heart now sees nothing within.

religion
the devil in
disguise.

Muteless voices speak quietly to me,
I hear their unspoken words,
Whispers on lips never moving

Sightless eyes look into my abyss
They see everything hidden deep,
Perception of empty sockets stare.

Unheard echoes radiate a head perched
It sensing the fragile sounds on breath,
Listen to silence screaming out.

Touched with no feeling of what was
Meant, frigid fingers grip harshly,
Contact never felt, so void with a scratch.

Dew drops of
                    imagery
soaking upon my
                         reflections,
each emulated in the
                                morning
of awakened thoughts.

Dewdrop diamonds glisten,
                  beauty in a morning,
but allure dissolves,
                                after time.

All that is left is evaporated
      memories,
                 of the morning
                                 of our life.

Once there was a pebble
                     floating within
            nothingness...

Dew collected upon it,
            lingering for infinite
                             moments.

Upon this pebble did things
                                  grow,
Coming and going in tides..

We cling, wishing to evaporate
                                  in to the stars,
can we skip on pebbles?

Or will our own,
                      reflections drown us.
being just a static echo on a pebble of dew.

In a sea of shards,
     there will always be diamonds.

Never cutting, shining beneath
     the waves of anguish above.

"Where do I begin"
It was mostly normal, then it wasn't.
I'd say it was *quick but it wasn't,
**** the pain, never felt anything
like this, my flesh as if it was pealing
One layer at a time.

"I felt clammy"
"I felt bleak numbness"
"Then I felt nothing"


DAY ONE (Death)

I was eyed open, I had pasted in
Fear, vision bleached as if
No one was longer here, but
I saw all the tears, hands upon
My cold ridged chest. I could
Make out voices as if spoken
Far, but all was unclear.


DAY TWO (morgue)

I felt each blade cut upon me,
Violating my flesh, had  I not
Suffered in life, pain, anguish.
Now they handle me as if I
Were nothing, but parts to be
Throw on scales, is life weighed
Out, no dignity even in death.
I hear the voices, footsteps pass
My eyes are still open, my vision
Of aluminium surrounds. They
Stitched me, but I am neither
Whole or one. They took from
Me, I have no heart it is gone,
They itch its maddening I need
To touch but they rub on cold
Flesh touching dead bone.


WEEK  ONE (Coffin)

I hear tears as my gaze is forward
Never closed, no coins for the
Man of the river to find peace,
I'm now travelling all alone.
My eyes wide open, they touch
Upon my artificially kept skin,
Make up to hide those spots
Where death has prematurely
Set in. They cry their tears on
Wood they fall, some are
Meaningful, sorrow sensed
In there voice. Others are just
Show boating their grief, only
To see if there was anything in
The cookie jar now I'm gone.  


MONTH ONE (Enclosed Isolation)

The darkness is never changing,
Time has no meaning underground.
I scream in silence, my lips, vocals
Do not move but inside it reverberates
Around. Nice interior, soft on dead
Flesh. I saw it land on me, that blue bottle
Buzzing around, It sat upon me, did
What it wanted, now I feel them within.
If I were alive would this be a sensation
Of being ticked or horror as they eat
What is now decaying within.

MONTH SIX (Alone)

"I miss them"
But time moved on they feasted
For what was an eternity, consuming
Me, then upon themselves. Till all
Was still, and only death was
Welcomed once again in this
Lonely place of wood and bone.  
I am pure of the mortal world,
No flesh, sight unseen that went
Long ago. I am so isolated down
Here, no longer do I sense footsteps
Above, the mumbling of voices
Silenced never returning to this
Casket of torment in the darkness
I am trapped within alone.


YEAR??

I can see why the dead hate you all,
Leaving us in these dark prisons,
Why leave us like this, why not
Cremation let us in the essence
Of ash be free. I am trapped in this
White cage of bone, waiting  for that
Time when to dust it falls. I am a
Dead man hear me moan, You hear
Those noises in the graveyards, when
All is still. it is the dead in there prisons
Never free, till bone is to dust. I give
One warning to those above, burn
Your dead lest yourself you find
Trapped within a prison forsaken in this *shell.

Hurt drives a car
        with no lights on,

And were walking in the road.

You weren't the first
     "goodbye,

   you were tasting last nights


                                  afters..

But you filled me up,
           more than the meal

last night, I spat it out ill tasting..

                              But you taste much better..

I swallowed your offering  even though

               I'm on a diet...

But I'll swallow your meal
                 cos I never ate fully last night...

Tomorrow though I may want a different
                                          taste..

You never know, if I like you warmed
                up in the morning ,

they always

say something's taste better warmed up
                                       in the morning>

If not ill just discard you out the
backdoor saying I'll reorder you soon..

But throw away the list of maybes.
                cos the first made me gag
instead of swallowing..

aftertastes are a *****,
    but you were sweet..

But you never know till i wake up,
you tasted nice last night...

          I had alcohol

                                lets see what you taste like sober!!

Opposites never so much the
Same, one warmth, one cold
Each a measurable effect on
The other.

Heat melts cold, then steams
Of passion unfold, where once
was rage, now soothed upon
By cold calm words. That breath
Relief upon radiating heat, now
Cooled but not hot neither cold.

Difference is not always negative
Not always bad, from difference
A new respect can be had. one
Warmth, one cold, but never more
the same as when love unfolds.

We are woven in
    Different fabrics.

Some may think
      This makes us
   Incompatable.

But when you wear me,
You'll see that we
       feel good together.

Some may think where
                              stained.

But where just
          not there
               version of clean.

To see one self from a
diffrent view, to see your
self through the eyes of another,
would you see that which you were
or would the view be diffrent, not
liking what you see.

Would you change or be the same
confident that you like what you
see. That no change is needed as these
are the eyes of another, not the same
of which you see you.  

Would looking through the eyes another
as the eyes looking back are your
own, cofident as the person looking is your
reflection in the mirror seeing a reflection
that in your mind you either love, confident
in what you see when seeing you.

Or as the eyes of another, not liking
that which you are hating that which
is looking at you wanting to never to look
at the person hating that which is you.

We are all thoughts that aren't
                              as tuned as others.
But even though we see through
                              different lenses
some lessons can be learnt
        from the refraction of others view.

I'm a victim of my own
                                  voice.

A ****** suspect of my
                          thoughts.

My actions are a chalk drawing
                         of mistakes..

But in all of this I was innocent,
                          not a suspect...

Under over round and round,
I look above and below, to what
I have found.

Inside outside side to side, its
how you look at it that decides
what view we see all around,
for every view will be different
perspective you see.

For perspective is what each does
see, each view will never be the
same, as the view from before
will have already changed.

We all see the world from different
places, different views , we all are
looking. But with each moment
passing its a different view.

A casket of broken views in what
was once elegance, now but cut
to thin shards of what it once was
a home. Now all but skeletal because
the view sullen in there departed thoughts.

Windows to the soul of a home desolate
in greetings, a ragged cloth does wait static
as if the wind dare not to tamper indoors.
But only cartilage of wood is viewed from shores.

It still wanders on the landscape in static motion,
doors still shut to viewing but in tarnished notion
once  in elegance it was perceived but no more.
As it sits abandoned, dilapidated is its décor.