Lying here, with plenty
                   of time to think,

Do I go for the bottle?
less
      work, but feels fake.

That place where we are close,
  Natures giver of love and warmth
                 best medicine for me to drink?

Bottle
Pro: I can be lazy, just suckle that fool all day.
I'm held by mummy & daddy.
Cons: No closeness even though held,
the bottle is no substitute for skin on skin contact.

Milk giver
Pro: I feel mummies heart beat, closeness of her
giving, us time as a wonder of to sleep.
Con: trying to grip is like holding a pickle slippery
and when you think you have it slips again?
                                                               "What's a pickle"
Trying not to be suffocated by those things,
                              A kid has to breath....

I contemplate these thoughts, I chat to my friend he was born
5 minutes before me, thinks age brings wisdom.

"for me its not the bottle I need my mommy next to me"

"don't you miss you daddies smile"

"what's a daddy? I haven't seen one of those"

I cry as who wouldn't want to hold us.

I ponder my thoughts, bleary vision, but I hear my parents
talking. And decide that I like the bottle as it brings me closer
to mummy and daddy. Even though feeling mummies
warmth, and being serenaded by her heart beat.
I love the feeling of hearing and feeling there voices
holding my closely.
And I tried to feed off daddies milk givers,
his were hairy,  tickling my nose,
                                          I'm not trying that again.

I showed you friendship, I
showed you trust, I gave you
respect, but you gave me
none of the above, I tried
my best which wasn't enough.

I helped you and in turn you
stabbed me in the back, not an...
inch but to the hilt, if you could
you would have pushed it further.
Unable to pull it out because you
stuck it in so deep in to my back,
where was the trust.

How could you betray me, was it a
must, could you not respect me
enough.

Having this imbedded hurts enough,
but the help that was given repaid
this way hurts the most with the loss
of trust.

I hate the cold, I hate the snow
I hate these lights that flash and glow,
I hate mince pies they taste to sweet.

I hate the fact i gain the weight as
There is to much to eat.
I hate to diet I like the way I am.
I hate  carollers that cant even sing,

I hate the thought of happiness and joy.
I hate the fact that 50,s films are played
On Tv is it me or do they just bore.
I hate that i have no chimney.
I hate the reindeer pooing on my welcome
Mat, doesn,t santa know how to clear up
His mess instead of me.

I hate the season but the cold one the
Most I hate that Christmas isnt in the
Summer when I tan and enjoy it the most.

I hate lots of things its clear to see,
But i do love my presents that santa leaves
Wrapped under my *Christmas tree.

Even though my syllables ballerina
may falter, my metaphor's never
                                                  falter.

I balance my wording between
the lines of reality and
                                   fantasies realm.

Dancing upon the imagery of
others thoughts and lives.
                           Living their words.

I'm a ballerina of imagery, feeding
there visual needing, I dance upon
                           their needing of word

My Crystal *****
  never say that kick
coming....

Now when I look at them,
        there is a hue of
            bruised reflection.
that sometimes the future
is hidden from my sight..

And when I try to look at them
        I just see my past mistakes..

Barren raindrops cultivated
             desolate eclipse's
that over shadowed her.

A thousand seeds fell
                  like snow
evaporating before growth.

Her fields were barren
                  and her tears
                          sorrowful.

I watered her gardens
       but a flower never blossomed
       only dead seeds
wilt within this patch.

Her tears fell like rain,
        hoping that realising
her worries would cling
           to a moment never changing.

I watered her gardens
       but a flower never blossomed
       only dead seeds
wilt within this patch.

She wished me to tend to her
                  garden but in the
end I couldn't bring life to
                          with barren seeds.

I watered her gardens
       but a flower never blossomed
       only dead seeds
wilt within this patch.

For it wasn't her garden, for
seasons bled and past.
           But it was me, the Gardner
My seeds were never buried deep enough.

Barred behind bars of moisture that versed
the sullen motions of what was flowing like
a musing of tides.

Evaporating from the verses luminous pages
were painting the heavens with droplets of
conciseness that barred radiant stanzas.

For when heavy dew does descend it will
collect on the page, cresting on the shores.
Again wiping the reflection clean for a new verse.

My daughter fell in love with a potato,
                        "A potato.......
My mind was confused and my face was a picture...
of why would someone ever love a potato?

I asked this myself in my head then out loud.
     My darling how have you a fondness for a potato?

He is the only one for me he is so soft and never
has a chip on his shoulder..

A chip? really, how did you meet my little lady.
He was just mulling around in a mash pit,
The music was the spud rock and he was my root.

I will have to meet you new boyfriend,
Dad, I love Barry, he even let me  wear his jacket
it was so fluffy inside...

Fathers out there would have the same look on
their face as I do now!!!!!
"OK,  as I was waiting impatiently to see this lad.

She walked in hand in hand, I just gave the daddy
look, hi Barry he stared in a starch looking gaze.
my daughter spoke "I'll just get my bag,

I spoke in my sternest voice,
"Barry if you don't treat my daughter right,
"Lets just say ill mash you up, understand....

And then they left not the gentlemen of before
no jacket to lend her, just walking out the door
like he had just been roasted by my words...

Hours had past worry in my thoughts then my
daughter came back, tears in her eyes.
"What ever was the matter my darling?

"He had steamed off because I wanted to know
why he never leant me his jacket,

"He said I was being a dumpling with him,

"So I told him you were right and that he had
a chip on his shoulder, he replied I was fried,

I told her that potato's can be a little mashed, and
a chip they will always have, because you cant change
a potato they will always have a little starch inside...

Beginnings of pain
And the suffering of one,
Started early for one so young,
Terror in innocent eyes
A* punishment for nothing,
Rained down fists fell hard
Dead I wish you were, ******** forever in my eyes

Illegitimate words that are owned
by no other, sitting on the page.

A ******* in there birth, no one loves them
for they were fathered by unknown seeds.

Now they  grow in unthoughtful words,
conceived in random homes of nothingness.

She was like art still and silent
Beauty in the water, like a mirror
The essence of her shone from the
Halogen lights above.

She was like a picture, motionless
But still, her brushstrokes were
Grace upon skin, her moment
Was in this place, pictures taken
Of her pose of her posture frozen
in this place.

She was a beauty in the bath tub,
Her face in this lake of red, hiding
The deed, buried in temped water,
No longer pure, tainted by a final
Motion, claiming a last breath.

She was a beauty of refined allure,
But now her crimson glistened, refracted
Upon the light shining down a rainbow
Of shaded reds now greets all through
The heaven white doors.

She is the bath tub beauty now dead..

Some are like caged hens
banging there heads on the
        metal metaphors of desperations.

Non confirmative to the needs of seclusion,
as they were once free range.
           The eggs of doubt and walking in
secluded circles,
                 can drive one to
desperation!
or even to the moment of silence.

We all are meant to be free range,
             and now were battery hens,

running out of charge..

Wings migrated to this point,
it was just a passenger on this
journey of inspiration.

Exhalations of past moments
carried it upon the many exhibits
of  wonderment befalling its senses.

Fatigued wings collect on delicate
petals, slumbering it awakens to the
ethereal  mirage of beauty before it.

Majestic droplets refracting the
imagery beyond the luminescent
pools of peaceful retrospection.

Fluttering its delicate motivation,
deciding this is the place for it to rest.
For life is moments silently contemplated.

We are only woven as strong
       as the silk that binds us.

It may fray,
            it may discolour,
    but never will it break.

For it has a beauty that
            will still hold beauty,
    will be cleansed of any impurity.

We collect our weaves of silken humility,
                  for our humanity is soft and pliable.

It may fray, be discoloured,
            but It will always be strong.
Humanity is beauty beneath the dirt.

It leans against the cold wall
Of darkness, On the fringes
between twilight before all is
Consumed within either

"Darkness"
Or
"Light"
  
As everything is enveloped
It notices through the cracks
That vent between both.

"A butterfly"

Delicately  corrodes with in
This colourless void,
But as its colour diminishes,
Forgotten, it caresses those last
Fleeting moment,s A stray beam,
Particles of light perforate  
That butterflies last moments.

It shades that upon the wall,
Subtle colours, of wings glance
Off all in the void. But as light
Moves past so does the kaleidoscope
Of radiance, it sheds a dark tear,
Touched by what momentarily
Brought beauty too its eyes.

It sits in the darkness, against
Its hollow walls, but where there
Was only black, there are now
Among those that sit, no longer
Alone as shades of grey not visible
But seen. Showing them that for a
moment, for eternity, they are not
Just one, not for eons alone.

I was disguised upon the reality of what I perceived,
my life was an incomplete picture. But what filled
up the holes of what couldn't be camouflaged in
in reflections, was that I was unable to visualize you.  

My face wondered on the elegance of what was a
mirage of my essence. Even though my world was
imperfect it wasn't in the value of what was seen
without witnessing. symmetry was my guide dog.

I visualized the delicacy of ever word what was
spun upon the weavings of air. It was knitted
within my reflections even though not seen
I saw ever word you wove on to my eyes.

To envision all that is but a canvass yearning a
paint brush to touch in visions of what speaks
more than sight. I'm incomplete but I visualize
more than you could possibly conceive.

*"My world is incomplete, but I see more than I did with sight,

beauty is bestowed
creations still masterpiece
she nurtures each seed

Beauty is braille
written in the fingertips.

Never reading a word upon you,
              as my palms were pages.


And you were every word on them.

Glimpsed upon, hideous within the standing
others thoughts turned away.
For what was inside was perceived as inner
beauty, a collection of actions and feelings
portrayed within not the falsehood of exteriors

That which hung on the feature's deemed
those as shallow, unenduring a collection
of porcelain frailties  in compositor.  
Caring upon there grandeur and not the
reflections of others only gorging of
there own painting of perfection.

Repugnant of the stereotypes of before,
now those born of perfection frond upon.
Are we not on a merry go round of reflections.
Finding others of difference, not as we want
to perceive. Beauty is sometimes the curse of
those that wear it, for beauty is on the inside.

Sheltered in whispers it hung featureless
in this forge of bleak creation. All was
hidden upon retrospect that had past
but lingered within this envelope of slate
undertones where all was neither free.

A lingering shade upon the breath of
unheard thoughts subsided from its
pedestal. And incoherently wondered
the featureless ocean of nothingness
below. Like a beacon calling it inclined.

Like a branch extending outwards it
collected itself on this form. Within
its incandesce was form corroded by
the tides of charcoal suffering endured.
Each just momentarily lingered on this.

Enriched by what was depicted by
expression on each others features
they just stayed static. lingering in
this concealed moment and to each
others sight they saw only beauty.

Wisps of lingering Cimmerian shade
Succumb to moonlights glaring decay,
Angels feathers arise in onyx death
Beauty taking final breath.

She stood at the gravestone a shard petal
Fell cutting upon the air. It littered the floor
With tears of wine, falling and spilled on the
Found staining the memory below. She gripped
Upon its stem in a hardened stance of tears.

Her cowl draped over her soft hair in the
Scattered winds it flowed and from her
Grief did vengeance flourish. shadows
Granted form trod upon the ground.
Beauty in darkness bled upon the land.

Hooves trebled on odours that were seeping
Scent bleeding a trail on the land below.
There onyx alicorn cut into the wind tasting
The vengeance that would bleed upon there
Moment of satisfaction as shadow feed cold.

Hooves were separated, as the hunted greeted
Foe, shadows were separated and in to mist
They seeped back to the cloak. Fibres torn
From the impact and bled darkness on all
It graced upon. She felt each of there pains.

One still galloped on, ever seething in connected
Grief of its fallen parts now concentrated in its
Raging torrent of remorse. Each that had fallen its
Location bleed into the sky showing each the
Position of vengeances handle well grasped.

Rapid breath did concentrate on a veil of
Misted wisps as in site that which felled the
Love of one in shadows trawl. Now as blade
Swung for a third strike hardened by fallen
Before it glided on concentrated form.

Majestic beauty seethed in onyx fought for
What was owed in blood. It  needed to be fed
Upon its quivering movement, not sullen as
Before, for each learned from the fallen before
Swifter and fluid motion formed and flowed forth.

Her main was cleaved into oblivion as wisps
Drifted off. Hooves took on to flesh and connected
In true form. blood urged to be released as lips
Gestured forth and expelled raindrops of pain
On self and the watching earth silent below.

It clipped with its etched alicorn flesh tight
And willing to be cut upon, as tears of life
Draped ever faster she was called to this
Calling to venture into the known finishing.
In elegance she edged slowly forth unto him.

I was in a beat of another draped in essence of
Loves grip. You stole the heart that held mine
And it fell shattered into dust. I claim the right
Of loves vengeance on that which was taken
Now entombed  in eternal stones grasp.

As the last steed faded into recollection and
Joined her cowl now whole. Its horn now
A knife of blood rose thorns ready to drink.
He went to venture words but her finger
Silenced anything seeping forth.

"Love was my light and you extinguished it,

"Now darkness collects it dues on that death,

She plummeted it into his chest and it drank, as
A husk knelt before her then dust graced the
Gentle wind and she stood alone once again.

"My love as yours was stilled,

"Now they do not breath breathe,

And she hilted her dagger and once again
Stood over the stone that held silent thoughts,
And a heart that still beat but not of life anymore.

We should
    Never think
We're better
        Than another.

But should always
strive to be
better
       Than ourselves.

In the morning we crawled
            in the afternoon we walked

In the evening we reminisced of
                                      early times.

When night fell we where silent,
                                   cradled in death.

But before it all began
                                   was the dawn.

Where we were just a thought,
       arising to a potential
                           no one knew about..

Woeful symphony's collide within this after dark melody.
Before this tapestry of auroras that like a spark huddle within
its congregation, like moths around a flame waiting to be but
extinguished.

My wings encompassed this reality of shadows, elegance
wondered the shallow breath of eternity plucking black
orchards and seeding them on these pebbles of cold rock and ice.
So did these embryo silhouettes dance exquisitely in silence.

There is a unseen beauty that only the blind will ever envision
Where we whisper nothings but this song is always heard.
But time is a dull motion where there was nothing to play
upon. A dance of contours only visible to oneself becomes futile

So for the auroras to whisper shadows I bathed this once
beautiful place with eclipse of form. I scattered my feathers
to far flung voyages ,where now quills write on the stars
of my tortures but now my silhouettes dance a new form.

For there cant be light without darkness, heat without cold.
I breathed upon this existence, these pebbles of light in
a sea of oblivion. All pebbles will eventually sink,
till there is but perpetual twilight once again.

Collecting on the emaciated
entails of what is mummified,
it falls.

What cracked under the sinews
of momentary starvation,
now indulges on the fallen sweat
of obscurity hanging aloft.

Immersing what was once fragile
moments of decayed reactions,
now drink deeply within the
tears immersing senses of rain.

P
  a
    s
      t
      Meets present
                             Which looks to the Future
                                                                ­          O
                                                     ­                    n
                                                               ­         l
                                                      ­                y
                                               ­                   ot
                                           ­               kooL
                                        sdraw­kcaB
                                       F
                                       o
                                       r
                                      Answers that were before their very eyes..

Beware for it is coming
Everyone will soon see,
For it is upon us now,
Old young, new born
Reach inside yourself
Every moment counts.
-
They think its all *"OK"
Hell on earth will fall
Each persons moment.
-
Will they *crumble
Or rise above this all,
Reap what you sow
Leave the material
Death is following
-
Every last thought
Not everyone's the same.
Do you want to be alone?
So the world ends, but stars still turn.

We are each a particle of light
       illuminating the surrounding
                                          landscape.

Each of us energising the emotions
       of others solar panels of reflection.
                                     were all star dust.

But before we supernova to oblivion,
      we help others grow to fulfilment
                            in our light of knowledge.

We are beggars asking for scraps,
                  but our words are unheard because we don't
                   collect forged notes that never mean much

But hollow forgery's.


I will only give those worth the reading my cents
                                                                ­           of truth.


Never false notes that seem worth on the outside.
                          But then you truly try to spend ,
knowing there merely worth less than the paper
                                                                ­        there wrote upon


Cant we read a wet piece of in for its worth.

                                          not for the forgery that

collects on the venom of who liked it before because they
                                       viewed you without even a constructive


comment...

                    What I misspelled that, hats off thanks for the

constructive comment, not the book of consequences,
                that flowed from a there, to a their?
                         yes my English is my first language,


but what I made a mistake but you want to witch hunt
                    my ****, burn me on the mistake of grammar.

what I misspelled that, ooow,
            I had a few beers but my muse kicked off,


and this is what I wrote, chill we ink. W elove what
          we do, a release, a channel of anger.

           For me its just my hobby, I like to ink what ever

falls from my finger sometimes I'm like  of the limit,

    but I still drive my words, even thought some swerve,



you understand where I'm coming from.

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.

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..

Believe
   In
Your
   Self,
Let
   No
Others
   Decide
For
   You

Those who try to belittle you
           do so because at that moment.

They are feeling smaller than you...

           words hurt, but a smile ****** them off...

I inhaled upon it
like above,
It filled my lungs,
Washing over breath and
I felt calm,
As life exhaled upon the surface .

Every life is worth
              never having
a knee upon it...

Cant we all just stand tall,
    but honour those
with a knee who died
                                unjustly..

Though the glimmer of
           evanesce shines aloft..
lighting the wayward
                      wonderers path...

Always remember that below
             every shining moment
that there is always be a shadow
                         under every candle.

Though I smile, look between the gaps
   and realise even though  
                         every thing seems white.

That there are gaps between every smile,
                         and these hide the true emotion
                                 bleached beneath the white.

But you need to know that there is always
                           shades that never get seen.
Sinking us underneath the waves of smiles,
   that can be like calm waters

As a last moment never washes up on a shore of regrets,
that where obscured beneath
                                     the waves of pearly white waves.