There's a sickness in me, something I hide
At night I log on and search my inside demons
Low grade image on HD monitors
Guts and glory

I watch the videos, and smile, post a comment
Boy's body torn to shreds, eighteen wheeler destruction
I see you in Mexico, gangland violence
Remove three heads in a four minute clip, machete madness

Lean back in a leather chair, comfort in freedom
Adolescent boy, hung by the ankles
"Allah Hu Akbar", whip his *** ******
Family takes turns, mother holds a bedpan

Black man beats white woman, dominant dictator
***** shouldn't have kissed another man
Beat sense past the bleach on her scalp
Sister apathetically asks him to stop
Weak willed humanity

Who were you, before your face was gone?
Fighting this war, none shall win
Cannot see your brothers
One steals your wedding ring

There is a sickness in me
I derive pleasure from these pictures
"Zlo'radstvo", the sick man vomits

What jail cell is this
That one shoots up so freely
Gambling ***** cash
Am I, a free man, allowed to do the same?

Poor boy, cut the noose from round your neck
The poor girls are fighting in the streets
Childhoods are lost
It's hot out here, getting hotter still

Police brutality, gas station punch-up
Families fight, prostitutes steal
Streetlights are gallows
and the town burns to ashes,
with a skeletal man stumbling through the smog

Incestuous family, filming sick fantasy
Little sister scorned, crying to sleep
Bleeding orifice of a broken *****
Bleed for daddy, bleed, bleed

There is a sickness inside of me

Terrorist, hooded infidel, story to tell
Death to the west and other such messages
Bomb your city
Bomb your school
Upload it all to YouTube

A couple thousand hits of a girl beneath a truck
Dead-eyed cameraman zooms into a strewn liver
Back to her once pretty mouth
Anonymous comments, ****** deviants

There is a sickness in me and I want it gone

Secret currency, pays for a secret vice
I enjoy watching violence erupt,
Warring girls in the schoolyard
Cuts her hair, kicks to the face
I *******, feeling disgraced

Grainy suicide, bounce from the ground
Racist attack on a bus, perpetrator not found
Baby ***** in a crib, video with no sound
TheYNC profits from this,
The human condition keeps me coming around

There is a sickness in me
I call it humanity

Hours whiled away, begrudgingly sordid pixels
Opening new links, delving into insanity
Curiosity got the better of me
Tonight I probably won't sleep

With wings like barn doors, perched upon the tower and scathing
The king fell, the Earth moved and let him drift slowly to death
Bukowski on the bedpost sang rosy melodies through tin can headphones
and the daffodils of a thousand fields wilted at the news of her death
Needles fall from the *****'s arms, a rain drop escapes

Coca-Cola bottles strewn on a green carpet, smooth under foot
and the festival casualties drift aimlessly to their scorching cars
Pills fall from pockets as a forlorn criminal collects coins
The clouds disperse from the estate, reggae disrupts cats making love
Bass that resonates, crumbling cars and the warring between neighbours

Lay with her as the coffin descends, gun crime statistics
Spinoza makes accusations from beyond, ethical misappropriation
Stop talking, for your voice could make an angel weep
but the children still scream, running, frenzied on the lava streets
Cracking bull whips at the backs of a slave, ******* passion, weeping
and the sun sets in the East, proverbial ******* to the populace

Franzen now teaches me how to live such a lonesome life
While the night holds me like a mother once would
Until I pass,
and the arms of Susanna Blamire beckon
Hold me close
I'm scared

The women in Pakistan are all dead
Men are hungry,
butter their bread with lead

Cartel gang ****, death in Venezuela
Girls bleed, crying
Shadowed figure screams "Impale her!"

America hates women
Women love America

Generalisations of a generally confused man

Man jumps from UK office block
Painted tarmac,
because she refused to simply **** his ****

******* figure hangs from a tree in Japan
Aokigahara hikikomori,
The human condition destroyed this man

Single father, taking his daughter to a park
Accused by a stranger,
Jumping to a conclusion, rather dark

Hooded man runs the world
Masked by power,
Money is bigger than Jesus
Knowledge destroys prejudice
Rock. Paper. Scissors.

"They call him a magic man"
"There's no such thing as..."
"As what, magic?"
"..."

And the coffin hit the banks in Burma
Mud on the feet of a white man, stranger
"I came in search of truth, can you help me?"
The two men sat awake, drinking alcohol
Fermented and brewed by hand and the locals watched
Flaking hut, the bamboo was broken, he wondered how

"They say he has the power to heal"
"And yet I don't believe you"
"Find him"

The trees were dusted and the Antelope were grazing
In the Kalahari I found my guide, we smoked and died
By the fireside, I lied about the tide
He took my hand, I lost my stride
The Nile ran red and I awoke covered in sweat

Phantom structures of glass and brick, apparent not to I
A world of stars and the translucent eyes of a *******
The grinning dawn was mournful as we fell from barriers
The guards were boiled alive but their guns survived
And the California beaches were beckoning

I lay down on the road, calling out to Kerouac and receiving nothing but a jolt as the cars massaged my flailing back, and the monkeys were howling as a witch doctor calls

The small boy read the lacquered book with glistening nails adorned
The tide was vile, washed him away with a sly smile

A great **** at the doors of a church, masks discarded
The preacher man watched with a snarl, upturned lip
Gripped by fear the small boy clawed his way to the banks
He banked on life
Gambled with a choice and won

Burmese man-child, hashish in the pipe
Tell me of the story of your life
The bamboo pipes

A lighter falling through space, as the astronaut suffocates
Nicotine daze and a greyish haze, through the eternal maze
And we lay awake for days and days

A tank would fall from the mountain top
Crushing just one daffodil
and the bamboo mourned

Muddy river ran dry
Today, the day I die

The words are cement that stick to my tongue and the roof of my mouth
Molasses is the apathy that oozes from every pore of my beaten body[1]
I watched a man enter the bus, the same time, everyday, his wife waited
Today she was not there
His ring too, was gone[2]

I grow tired of writing, as I grew tired of speaking years previous
Semantic satiation of my everyday life
and I lost the will to live

There is no form, or rhythm
A shame considering the beauty of language[3]

She sits and stares through the wan window and wonders[4]

I avoid eye contact, physical contact
I refuse to acknowledge your existence
Solipsist *******[5]

What does it feel like to **** a man?
It hurts.[6]

Resonant alley beside a block of council flats
The bass booms from a car with three doors open
Four spliffs burning under flickering street lights
The British winter rains drench our hooded heads
(We plan the heist)
Deafened by the disenfranchised rapper from the speakers
Blinded by the darkness of the car and my peers
Balaclava, hoods up, gloves on, tools out, smoke out
Jump from the whip, vexed boys, looking for a payday
We move rocks by day but night time comes, we get shady

(Gunshots ring out, the bells of death
Never forget what you did
A life on the hands of a boy
Blood on the sheets as I cry myself to sleep)

Jump back in the ride, laughing with careless disregard
Count out the stacks and divide up the product
Pull up at the dole office and smash a few windows
Sirens fly by and give them the finger
Fast enough from the scene and we're back in the yard
Waking up the kids with the banging of the doors
Waking up the fiends as we dish out the draws

(It's a war out here and your people are dying
I killed a man today and felt nothing
Breed your soldiers and look the other way
Just another careless life that we lost today)

Fall into bed with my girl and some bud
Burn it all down to keep the insomnia at bay
I tell her I need to get out the game some day
She tells me she wants a new handbag today

(The rain never ceases and the kids wake in tears
Every day on the road, is a day full of fears
There's no real reason for any of us to be here)

Come and sit with me for a while young boy
I'll tell you of the lives of the people
and how they're just a marketing ploy

Revenue is God in this new world order
(The governments profit through pain)
leave your loved ones dying at the border

Don't be indoctrinated by this mortal coil
(The capitalist beasts wait in the shadow)
given a sense of freedom and brought to the boil

For you see my child, we are already dying
(We're all suffocating from birth)
But that shan't stop thee from trying

Run home now my cherub faced angel
(Steal some bread along the way)
Take your seat and dine at the table
The corn has all been poisoned today

Late night, into the morning, in a lonesome bed still yawning
Vest on my chest and a tingle between my legs, I'm mourning
It's a confusing feeling, the thoughts in my brain are calling
Seven years old and the appealing feelings are appalling

Vexed by the *** that my peers are having
I stay with boys, on the corner, hanging
Moving crack rocks, ******* slanging
But my hormones know and leave me panging

Caught by my father as a guy goes down
Kicked all around and thrown of of town
Homophobe Dad don't want me around
Now I'm just searching eternally for a sound

They called me immoral and assumed my brain unsound
Moving product, all I ever wanted was to wear that crown
Like Omar on The Wire, King of the streets, feared all around
They have no love, after being caught my life crashed down

I traveled the street loathsome and alone I always dined
Until I met the man I adore and we saw the changing times
We marched for freedom and worked within the lines
Now I have a love that I can say is all mine

Walk with me into the universe
The chaotic mind of a ******
Speak with me as if I am your father
or mother
Take these pills, sip the syrup
Inhale, exhale
Tinted prose, purple and proud
Leaning with the lean fiends
Tumbled from a cloud, cotton mouthed
The aspirin works well, **** the pain
Again and again and again...

Fluidity and the fluoride fangs in your heart
Mind-control of the masses, missed me
Yet I feel amiss
Craving the release, intravenous peace
Smoke my peace, from my piece
Brown rock and the fire is ceased
Morning beckons, return to safety
These streets are no place for the sensitive soul
Handfuls of pills are gloves in the ring
The bell rings, another round
We're drinking now
Numb the pain, all around, the round
That sweet brown, bring it around
Sing it, the sound, hit the ground
and spun me around
Come down
Never come down
This flight is space bound.

I saw the faceless youth, with hoods and hats, and weapons tucked safely
I smelt the lingering odour of apathy and the tobacco on their clothes
The sadness is a saviour, comforting on winter nights while the owls are crying
I grow tired of writing this drivel and wonder if this is the end
It's not. It never ends.

(Continuing with smatterings of self-absorbed garbage, the keyboard groans
But I persist out of habit and I think of my future, the lands I will never roam
Just roll another, perhaps a key I shall find, in my mind, that narcissistic dome.)

I care not about conventions, writing, social, spiritual, physical or otherwise
I am a free spirit, just as you are
I am weary of my words as I am sure you are
I use the pronoun "I" excessively because I am all I know
I am sad because of that
I am sad also because I feel robbed of existence, mine seems convoluted and unnecessary
I feel - as I am sure you do too - that we are broken, perhaps irreparably
I also loathe the sound of birds as they chirp in the morning haze
and I often lie

Do you,
Dear You
You
YOU, U
(Worry not about sense making, this is life, it makes sense never whence to)
Garbled signals are signals nonetheless.

Redhead on the bus, your smile seemed so pure to me
I wondered if you were married, I saw no ring (I never cared much for the patriarchal imprisonment of singular digits, perhaps you felt similarly)
Are you my soul-mate, is that even a real thing?
Your copper waterfall was radiant though, and I admit to missing my stop
I did not help you when your wheelchair became stuck
I too was stuck, the eternal cycle

Dear Mother, Dear Father, Dear Brother, Dear Brother
I don't know you. That is all.

Dear Me
Don't read this. It's destined for the trash.

Dear Me
I hope you recycle. You should brush your teeth and take a shower. I am bored of you today, do something.

1. Write the world

2. Begin again

I saw the faceless youth and I was chased down back alleys
With sticks of wood and pipes of steel
The shivs to the sides were endemic endorphins
and I cried tears of joy at the idea of feeling

Weary of words today, I stay silent and watch the world
Weary of people today I stroll the woods and find a soup can
Weary of writing today, so I wrote this.

Brown powdered litter, the brain, with ******* I love you more each day
Jumbled, sale, say shell, it's a command from me, the ******
Echo chambers and the maids that dust around the reverb
(Count the errors)

She sang to me, I decided to change
I am a woman now
He sang to me, I fell in love
I am lonely now
I abused myself
I am happy now

Asymmetric skin, a definition of life and the compulsive disorder I never could explain
The outpouring of empathy from loved-ones fills me with ice and I retire to solitude
Tear down the flag and burn it for warmth
Eat the land and smoke the desert
Don't pity her, she is happy

I saw the faceless youth in shattered remains of a black screen, reflecting my apathy from the damp cement of the street as I tore clothes from my body, screaming, wild-man, the world will never know my name for i denounce it.
And the sand fell from my ragged beard as i emerged from the dunes to the city as he burned.

The blind Parisian has never seen the tower, or the lights that illuminate his city of birth
The deaf Italian never heard the opera, or Core 'ngrato from a Tuscany street corner
I never looked into your eyes and saw the cosmos
I am distracted by the power of corporate America
The unflinching pacifist still stands atop a suit of armour with his arms outstretched
and Syria rejoices as the stench of liberty matches gun powder and familial genocide
Oh western world, have you forgotten your past so soon?

Explain to the deaf man how her voice sounds
or
Explain the colour spectrum to a blind child
and then deny the tears that water your cheek
Tell the dyslexic that words are meaningless for it gives him comfort
and turn your back on the monetary religion of which we are indoctrinated
Take your ******* industry and bring it to it's submissive knees
Your weapons too, they are a disgrace
Empathy is universal
Love is blind
[Cliche]
[Cliche]
End.

A return, or a refrain, addendum to the ideas thenceforth
It's enough to leave a man crying in his coffee, Starbucks specialty
**** your poets, burn your books and gouge your eyes
This world is not broken, we are.

California highway buzzes and the searing sun shines on the beach towel as I stroke Walt Whitman's beard
Transcendent and alive, but dead, still dead as my brother and his brothers, the 19th Century posse
We know the world better than them but are less learned, as the schools are a failure
and the business is us, but not the same as the industrial business of yesteryear
We are here to consume, consume and as we're dying of consumption , we consume more.

Alcohol, cars, phones and laptops, tablets, tablets, pills and more pills, condoms, liquor, ***** and brews, women, men, more women, more men, razors, lasers, heaters, coolers, snacks, rucksacks, ex lax and nick-knacks. They sell us dreams and nightmares, movies and bomb scares, they sell us news by the hour and power as they exert their own power. They give us gifts and incentives, draw us in so they they can stick us with a pin or a bracelet, and we too can sell to our friends on group hangs or as we stand still listening to our favourite bands. Billboards scream for our attention, or the buses stop at the intersection, and we're supposed to open our little phone and buy whatever is advertised. Why? Y?

They call us the Y generation too, why? Perhaps we ask the question  too much, perhaps we haven't asked enough. Perhaps the X generation simply ponder why we are so consumed with the technology they feed us. Why? Why must they question us, when we are the next great generation, we do laugh at that too. The internet is the new religion, bow down before Google and drink from the pixelated chalice, my child. Any question one could need answering is answered by the internet. The Bible is irrelevant in our society, burn it and download a bible app on the latest smartphone, the Qur'an too, hell, try the Tanakh, the Smriti and the Pāli Canon, for we are enlightened ******* It. And we want more.

somenonamesarcasticasshole@yahoo.com
RE:PARTY TONIGHT!!!!!

Hey yo mane some warehouse downtown has this dubstep DJ from like ******* Iraq or some ****. *** down, gonna be hella ******* there
xo

What music do you like?
All of it
Films?
All of them
TV
I don't own one but I watched every episode of The Wire on Netflix
...
I am a pansexual being riding the ever changing dunes of the Sahara, like so many great poets before me.

Digital immigrants and immigrants of empathy too
How serious do you believe us to be?
I am not using sarcasm as a form of wit for I have no wit.
Stoicism and rejection of education, employment and training.
We surly are the neatest generation, how can we make a mess if we are not awake most days?
Save for the endless party that is life, as we throw used glow sticks at women we desire
and ***** over car windows before getting blown on the lawn

lol dat wuz cray last nite
xo

Die young poets we have no desire for your kind, pacify us with Kerouac and Ginsberg so that we may emulate intelligence and impair the senses, for we care not about the real world either
Our world is the only one that exists, yours will soon crumble
We have trained for the end with extensive views of zombie flicks in coffee houses

@SomeFacelessJerk Follow for follow

Hey OP, you are a ******.
Why yes, yes I am. Does that bother you.
No, OP. You see I too am a ******.

Do away with your hurtful words they have no meaning today
White man died and lost control of his precious dictionary
We are here to save language by replacing all vowels with X's and O's
We are here to consume and in turn consummate this marriage,
the marriage of ignorance and bliss.

This is not poetry.
I'm sorry to disappoint.
XXXX ** *** XXXXXX.
X'X XXXXX ** XXXXXXXXXX.
OOOO OO OOO OOOOOO.
O'O OOOOO OO OOOOOOOOOO.
This is not ironic. This is what we are.
xoxo

...and they told me that you were to die within the week
I took your hand in mine and held you ever so close
Setting a bed for you to lay with your weary head
Your muscles are trying, your heart is sighing and you body is weak
I read your beloved poems and adored with you your favourite prose
But before the day's end, in mine arms you were dead.

She told me leave I asked her how long
To wake the leaves I walk all alone
The day is dark and the nights feels distant
Lately I've been sad for no real reason
And the lamppost sighed at the vision
Follow the white road, follow it alone
The brown road is a detour
and you're left needing more

Air in my hair, ere to be here and there
Sniffling, solemn, saddening sarcasm
and the city sleeps, a ******* paid well
With my arms outstretched and wings in my mind
Time to tell the time, time and time again I told lies
It's time that tests my altruistic timbre
The pebbled road is illusive but filled with freedom
and it shall lead you back home

When we were you we'd sail on great bicycles, through fields and over the car parks
Crashing down at the corner store and fumbling with change to buy sweets and crisps
The old lady, incomprehensible, would threaten as we ran, pockets bulging and laughing at the wind
Back to the skate park and we'd giggle as we caught a breath and the boys would be fighting
Ah, I remember climbing the solemn tree atop the hill, looking into yards and tearing our clothes
We'd steal shiny jewels from the wheels of cars parked on each street, and trade once we were home
Do you remember the magazines we'd read, the popular lyrics being recited 'neath a sturdy table
Waking with the dawn and lighting matches on the climbing frame, letting fire fall through the air
Dear friend the trouble we'd cause and the trouble that followed
I still see the faces as we ran from street gangs attempting theft, our mothers would never allow such things
Yet we disappointed them, and the tree was cut down by the preacher man
We'd knock every door and scatter to safety, heartily laughing at childhood innocence
Oh and hopping from garden to garden, free spirits and free from concern
I wish we were still young

But life broke us all, the town collapsed atop us and we suffocated
I remember your blonde hair in the wind and the way you smelt
And how we'd kiss as we played life in mattress houses
Now I see you about town with the boys, and you're now a boy
Hooting at the ladies and jeering as the Reds concede another goal
Your face still pretty, bright and freckled, I'm still confused
And I, jaded and alone, sit here and ruminate on life's folly
The sadness that our town bestowed upon me still weighs heavy
For the abuser still walks these streets and I still cower
As the powder takes another victim, more battered faces
I curse the poverty and all it brings.

Remember those days
Those ****** days?
Days and days,
she says, she says
Remember those days?
The daze for days and days
Yet we remained, we stayed
for days and days
in a daze, confused, the haze
and days and days
Each day we fade
we fade and fade.

The ****** remained
but we laid and laid.

Stood lonesome beneath the old floodlight
Sweetest embrace, the Gods shone down
Forging great dramas in steel slabs
and returning home with a picture of Hollywood
I, sad-eyed fool, asked after you, and heard nothing
Though, in Benzedrine dreams I was gifted your scent
and awoke to the stench of ******* *****, and the powder dissolved
Ah, I have heard your voice
Yet you ignore mine

The great whale twisted in the alley, with biceps bulging
and tussling with hoodlums we were sent packing,
Awaiting us were the sterile walls of some grande hospital
Lined with officers, their pads and pens at the ready
Beds spinning, squinting under neon, docile
and confused

Bars and bars, from one t' other, flicking roaches into the gutter as we went
and howling at the harlots stood 'neath street lights, flickering
Poisoned in body, poisoned in mind, the spirit on it's way
Brick lanes and paddy wagons, urchins and knock-a-door run
The unshaven dealers, passing poor product to the children
and they, still in uniform, bleary eyed, satchels and sandwiches
We, tied, cuffed, stranded and free

Flags! The flags were a sight, satirical and stupefying
Patriotism always made me chuckle, it being so absurd
Yet her majesty still reigns supreme, have we no shame?
Oh justifiable mockery, tainted our streets, the names we know
How can one free one's country if one is but one person,
and how could one simultaneous be one million?

But even here in this mournful cell that layeth ten feet below, I am free, I may not know it yet, but I am...

There's a solitary sadness in my soul when I think of you
and him, touching you the way I should have
I happened upon your pictures on the internet and cried
because you seem happy, in a way I could never have made you
Remember the late nights, sleep deprivation, voice messages and pixels
Remember me as the boy that adored you, amorous and angst-free
I think about you still, daily, years later, after our odyssey
You lied, a lot, I understand though, of course I do
I just wish it had been me, that bore you children,
and entered into that classic institution of which I had no interest before you
Please, I hope you remember me, as I remember you, the time of day
Today I am depressed and wish you were here
Today I feel as if you know
and today I still love you.

Does he make you happy
If so I shall leave
If not I'll leave anyway, for what else can I do
When love has closed it's door, boarded the windows and turned on the sprinklers
Everyday I **** another memory of you, sacrificially
It's easy to do when you have a substance addiction
The ****** makes it easier to breathe since I no longer have you
Lonely robot, lonely boy, bruised synapse and broken spirit
Another tab will ease the pain
Another shot, one less to gain
Taping on a keyboard
Fruitlessly I came.

Is there anything more depressing than visiting a forum that hasn’t been active for a decade?
Perhaps visiting said forum on a Saturday evening, reading every thread and replying to at least five comments before realising that the site hasn’t been active for a decade.
The saddest part would be to continue replying to each thread before creating new usernames and replying to your own replies.
I guess the next logical step would be to continue the charade for ten years before dying a solemn death atop your festering keyboard and not being discovered until seven years later.
The forum continues to stand as a testament to your solitude as nobody has replied to your last post about the perfect way to make a ham sandwich.

Draping a well-worn shawl that was once a vibrant purple over his tired shoulders,
the pale skinned, grey eyed writer hunched over the battered typewriter
He knew for a second that he was indeed God
Not in any bastardised sense of the word but the truest form
He click-clacked at the keys and made words as if he were the first magician,
tricking the masses with wizardry of the most absurd kind
and preaching his word for them to follow
From the pictures of his mind he tapped away,
creating great monolithic structures and clusters of characters,
each with defined personal traits
Mere seconds before ink blotched paper they existed in no universe, and now,
now they were defined, realised and serving a purpose
God truly does love all his children
Alas we know not of who God truly is
Each group would have you believe a new story,
each sect within those groups would differentiate between themselves
and we are no more enlightened
You see, God is real but only as far as we are real

I
There was once a room. In that room was a deadened fireplace,
beautiful in its marble stature
In front of that lonesome cavity stood a sturdy but small round table,
barely enough room for the slightly oversized candle that sat atop it
Beside the table were two tall sturdy wooden chairs
On one chair sat a tall thin blonde haired man, the other was occupied by an equally tall, equally thin black haired man
The candle was lit and burnt mightily but still failed to light more than two feet in any direction
This meant that neither man was completely visible to the other
Perhaps they intermittently appeared to each other as they adjusted their position in their sturdy seats or as the candle flickered from a phantom breeze
The rest of the room, while rather large, was fairly nondescript, and even less distinguishable when the brazen darkness saturates the walls like a plague on a nation

The black haired man stifled a yawn. “I concur” uttered the blonde haired man.

II
The black haired man leaned back on his chair and rocked forward
The blonde haired man leaned back on his chair and rocked forward
The black haired man leaned further back on his chair and rocked forward
The blonde haired man leaned further back on his chair,
he fell backwards and split his head open

III
There was once a room. In that room was a deadened fireplace,
beautiful in its marble stature
In front of that lonesome cavity stood a sturdy but small round table,
barely enough room for the slightly oversized candle that sat atop it
Beside the table were two tall sturdy wooden chairs
On one chair sat a tall black haired man, the other chair was empty
The rest of the room, while rather large, was fairly nondescript, and even less distinguishable when the brazen darkness saturates the walls like a plague on a nation

The black haired man stifled a yawn.

I saw you, and your children days before
Your son's stomachs were distended and your girls were emaciated
The track marks on your arms betrayed your neglect
Pungent family, poor and alone in society
I saw you today, with bacon in your trousers
My boss saw you too
Undignified the way he forced your hand
and you protested the soap in your pockets also
I see you everyday in the faces of my family
and I see you in my dreams, falling from Capitalist trees
I was told to stand guard of the door, in case you ran
I wished you had, I really do
Would you have ran if you'd have known me?
For I would have stepped aside and held the door

Fifteen days in that prison, I spent
Laborious in pursuit of pennies for a millionaire
While I scrape the bare minimum wage
Fifteen days because I'm a good worker
Fifteen days with no break
Fifteen pounds worth of soap and food
Stuffed into a filthy tracksuit
For your family, as they starve
and they continue to pang as you are processed
The police uphold the law, but I often disagree
What would they do, to feed their family?

Fiery orange hairs slick with diamonds
Palms outstretched for a tender touch
Oh stable stalk that holds you tall
And your heaven sent pungent scent
Fresh cut grass of the farmer's field
or the hill I would sit upon before school
with you, sweet Mary Jane

For you were love when love was disparate
And you were there when I was desperate
A comforting touch from my budding queen
Waking me from my daze in the mid afternoon
With an heir of liberation from my solitude
So I shall reap my crops, with love for you
And savour your taste as I lay in your luminescence

Dear friend of my Mother and Father
Joint matrimony of the empathetic soul
You and I as he and she, earthly glory
and your all encompassing embrace
For I am but a lovelorn soul,
and you were always there for me

Only several days before we met, I had killed myself several times
Each one for a sin on my soul, repentant death of the ego
And the trees on my grave were hung in joyous apathy
You were neither man nor woman, yet a person all the same
and your hair was smiling

The objective Slavic King was foreboding but intrigued
and you pained to be affectionate
I feigned the aptitude to appease the master
While you danced around the wizard in robes
but the children had no faces

The spectrum gave way to the memories of childhood despair
The dying chair and the wooden man that beat against dun windows
Mossy branches were groping hands that felt the insecurities
and I lay bare in mourning winter air

Still those whistles sing for fallen queens that litter stray beds
The misguided steed in the blacksmith's den, asking for another fix
and the inanimate table that miraculously walked away
They were all there in my vivid nightmare
But you were safe in the rubber box built by nimble giants
and your mother cried alkaline tears

It was cursed pain that you felt
But the horses of your marriage fled for the fields
and you were left there in Novosibirsk
With a silver coin pressed to your chest
And I, lay lonesome in Saratov
'neath the blackening skies
On a wall in Kryty Square

She told me to do what made me happy
I laughed and she looked confused
For what would make me happy
Would break her heart in two

My life has no end in sight
My end would leave her bereft
Though I took her words to heart
So I sit and plan my death

Purple velvet curtains mimicked purple proses of long dead authors
Auteurs and Anglophiles expressing desire, the desire for Desiree
and she danced, she danced.

Christie too, she danced, she danced
Kick, snare, kick kick, snare, she danced rhythmic hypnosis
Daddy watched from the bar, banal dance of the bandits

And Katzarina, baby in the back, dances for love
Fatherless child begging attention
Dance no more my dear soul, for you deserve more

Lecherous lounge acts, the men in ties
Order another round, girls gather around
Please me, dance for me, ****** and bashful
The purple velvet reminds them of mother

Cruel institutions that decay our psyche
Patriarchal pesticides in pasta and porridge
On the side of the mango, matriarchal monotony
Oh stop this pretentious pillaging of poor prostitutes
You are but a boy at the gates of existence, fear not, for the father and the mother shall hold your hand in the heavenly harem.

Marijuana smoke fills the air
I play with your hair
You're here, I'm here
Aural pleasure, your voice in my ear
Sirens play, crippled with fear
Ten kilos of ****** lay right here

Why would you be friends with a writer?
Ever so pretentious, ever so righteous
Only come to play in the night time
Coming down and nodding off as it gets lighter
Pacifists the lot of them, not one fighter
Oh but many shall be knighted

We're here on a Island, each one of us banished
Authors of the west were long ago abolished
We've had our share of bloodshed
Alas, it's all fun and games until one of us is published.

Bathing in the solemn wintery lights of the city that bears down on me like a behemoth from some great unknown celestial body, separate from our comforting little universe, my thoughts turn to you.
Dreaming of our odyssey in the stars and the way auburn locks fell across your rosy cheeks. Imagining the texture of your chin as I caress your solitary freckle with the back of my right index finger. Oh it was a long summer, the one in which we met. A summer that lasted several literal seasons whilst the metaphorical summer illuminated my life for an obscure length of time.
I observe this fickle city on a daily basis, conjuring your smile on the face of every denizen that so happens to walk my way. A frivolous glow from such a radiant being as yourself is enough to bring such a giant as myself to his poor lonesome knees.
Alas in this city of thousands I am but a rejected vagrant, captive in my quarrelsome, dissonant and feeble mind. Star-crossed and foreordained to remember you as pixels on a monitor. A distance comparable to that of the distance from Earth to Kepler-22b. I hyperbolize of course but apart from physical distance we are sequestered in many ways. Ways in which I could never bring myself to address.

I shall cease my mournful ruminations and rise from this numbing wall, the one that runs the length of the fountains and the square. I need to forget you my dear. I fear so much that no person could ever compare to the seraph I have contrived in this dense mind of mine. The angel of your impersonation, the nymph-like mother of the world and your doppelganger. That person exists not, while you most certainly do exist; although not simultaneously in my own immediate existence. I know I idealise you and for that I beg your pardon. I'm always aware of my own faults.

You broke the security of my aromanticism, destroying every notion of 'Love' I may have ever held. The word still evokes stark contradictions that war within my ever suffering head. The gaunt women that slip by me in the unfortunate  street pass muster for a smile but receive little in the way of reciprocation from myself. Lugubrious, stubborn old man that I am. The curved women that remind me of you, holler and howl at their young children, berating the psychosis of my youth. I looked to you in my adolescent naivete for the elusive mother to the world. That true Goddess that bore us, each and every one, in physicality and indeed spirituality. I could not tell you how I long for your tender touch on my tearful cheek.

Oh but I shall saunter here in my tumescent loneliness, betwixt streetlights, postboxes, houses and my fellow meandering, soulless shades. Dreaming of a day I am allowed to feel amorous once more.

FIRE! FIRE! BE GONE ****** FIRE, I HATE...

O heavens, I'm sorry... I- hmm. Look, it was only four years and a handful of months ago that we met first. Me taking a thoughtful step from the step of my back door.
That face so delectable and now so distasteful. You broke me, woman, you broke me.
I pondered for so long, the demise of our world. The inevitable freezing of a seemingly indestructible cosmos. The cascade of hellfire from heavens unknown. Oh and the uncivilized beasts from the sky. Wise beyond our years, dangerous in theirs.
You broke me you broke me, ***** of my dreams, you broke me.
Step away from mine, the ****** hands of murderers and devils. Take in yours the safety you dreamed.
For I am but a tyrant in your ethereal presence.
                                                        
These walls close too fast for such a man... I'm no such thing though.
Brother, oh brother quit being dead, incorrigible fool. Rise from your own heaven of concrete and leaden death. Stupid man.
She. She did this. Taking to your arms each night, returning with your scent. WE ARE ANIMALS YOU FOOL! Did you assume..? Never mind.
But still you lay, dead, foolish.
Gasoline, oh gee golly gosh the smell of gasoline. Sweet petroleum of these masters of ours. ExxonMobil, Shell Oil, BP (oh BP you fastidious harlot), BG, Premier and Chevron. I pray you all burn like my dear poor friend/fiend here. I pray to a non-existent God, of course.
Oh sweet embers, the fire, thee fire. *******, the fire. I hate what you have made of me.

A beastly man, bearded and uncouth. My tooth, my tooth.
My tooth it pains me on a daily basis. My gums are that of a ninety year old **** smoker. Black, rotting, stinking. Parallels of my life, I suppose. Teeth,  dreadful, dying, dead, deathlike, decaying, Dickensian, dark, damp, d... d- **** it. Years of poor hygiene, years I focused my full attention on my love, my life, my sweet innocent beautiful flower of the wild world and the wooded wonderland of Whinfell.

Now you have gone, I feel empty. No, I shall cease to make such mistakes in my off handed ramblings. I shall seek my thesaurus...
My dear love, now that you have deserted my soul and destroyed my world and very reason for living. I feel ever so depleted, hollow, cavernous and wanting. Sweet sweet child, I pray to my non-conformist God, that of imagination and speculation. The veritable Frankenstein of philosophical and spiritual distortion; I pray he guides you safely through these stormy nights and past the cliffs of disturbed memories. I pray he holds you close to his chest and reveres your silken thighs without touch.

**** ME, PLEASE GOD ****. ME.
The embers of my kin simmer to a pedestrian crackle. The cackle the cackle, my voice is a cackle and I hate it. Dried remnants and burned ones too. I can't help but smile as I remember running through the fields behind my home, where the thieves and the addicts roamed. Child like fascination of the lurid creatures dwelling within the brothel I called home. Whorish women, my curse, the bane of my something or other. Feeble mind of mine, it continues to let me down. Not too dissimilar to the bunches of balloons that decorated the cars of the local garage, waiting to be sold to prospective family-men and business men and men and men and men. Sweet men. The balloons, of course! I would sit on the deserted field and from a  distance observe the close of trading and the ceremonial cutting of ******* strings that freed the multicolored harlots of the sky, back into the sky. Only to be destroyed by winds, birds, planes, storms and the pressures of the atmosphere. Weak willed *******, the lot of them.

But you dear brother, of no relation. You were kind hearted and I point to where your charred heart lay.
You held me close and called me Elizabeth. Matriarchal dream of mine. You broke the seal of new technology, purchased from store upon the corner.  Multiple windows on my windows, each one a prospective client. You lucky friend, I choose you.
We were madly in lust. Madly in... lust. I cannot bear to bring the 'L' word from my cowardice lips. Lips that pleasure, lips that weave, oh lips you kissed daily. Masculine frame, strong father figure of which I am vacant. Let me lay with you once more, in my pretty dress and high heels. Let me pretend for a day that I am no man. That I, that I am your lady. Let me, let me, please let me sit with my legs crossed and hair dancing in the cool breeze and breath of yours.
Too many years I herd the pleasure through papyrus walls. Mother wailing and cheering for the lord. Grunting and creaking with the pleasure she felt. I enjoyed it so much. For that reason and many others beside, I chose a life.

Life so frail, life so pure
Stepping slowly
From the step of my back door
Closing behind me
and turning the key
I shall be home to you
As your lady.

Please do not govern for I am impure of mind.
Life's little scar ingrained in my skull.
Each and every maddening creature has led me, the narcissist, to this here concrete hell.
In which I shall say my final words,
and breath my final wheezing breath
For I have killed two men and a perfect woman today
And Long may they rest.

O how I loathe him, hideous man-child
Bounding down the steep stairs of our house
Barging through that shambles of a door,
and leaving it open, the brute
Clattering about the kitchen, cramped and yellow
Rustling sweet wrappers as he raids the cupboards
O fat disfigured son of mine
I pray you leave this house for I love you no more
The odour of a dying rat, the face of stoicism and sadness
Leave, O leave disgusting boy, I love thee no longer
My patience is tried, your mannerisms crude and vile
Leave this domicile at once, for it is no longer a home

Sweet home, sweet home I shall leave you tomorrow
Tires that tumble across complex scars upon the Earth
Under lofty bridges, over the romantic river,
past the whole length of shops that litter the town
Every location, a memory stands

As I perch upon the benches,
of the Walter Parker VC memorial square
Observing this community of mine
The young mother with a brood in tow,
and the lonely old grubber, pondering as he strolls
O sweet symphony, the cars and the folk
A rhythm from the heart of a proletariat town
O ****** government, the backdrop and burden

Sweet old lady she mumbles sedately, filled bags and pulled up socks
The youngster creeps and hides his face, the crippled wolf he is
Human in profile alas, cold blooded so it seems
Falling from that rock of Bob's
Much in the same vein as his ambition years earlier

O lonely car park, treading upon your solid concrete
Roaming in circles
Reading aloud, the prose poems of Baudelaire
Reminiscing on childhood wonder,
and the park in which I used to play
Soviet in style before renovation
Set alight multiple times, the skate ramps,
vandalism is rampant in such conditions
The place in which I often witnessed true cinema

And the Methodists disembark from their church
Comforted and clean, their children squirm and pray for freedom,
and the red sandstone looms with pungent fields of livestock at it's foot
More cars, more cars, there are always more cars
Everybody headed some place
Converging at la Roche

Hemlock, Hemlock, curse you Hemlock
Your shadows cast are but stains on the town
The addiction is rampant, but nobody is addicted to life
Not anymore, not like they used to be
The Saxon stone cross too casts a shadow, cruel shadow
O forgive me dear prisoner,
the labour was cruel and the scars of your body remain
Plastering our land with tarmac flesh wounds

The wars were fought by the men of this town
Their names a reminder of futility and sadness
Vein, so very vein the way in which they were sacrificed
But as is the very nature of our fair surroundings
Death plays a vital role,
beginning with those behemoth brothers from two million years ago

The grandiose escape plan implemented
and the tank completely full
I say goodbye to ones I hold dear
and set sail to foreign lands
For tomorrow I shall wake as a new man
The cliche shall only work if I mourn my loss first

To ****** a man is abhorrent , suicide too

But to crucify one's own ego and to walk without pride and free yourself from judgement, to believe in the unity of the stars and to learn from every land near and far. To lay within the long grass, to speak with the sky, to fly, O to fly. To run wild, maddening, screaming for life, to hold each and every woman and call her your wife. To love every man equally and to play with every child, to sample every fruit and to use the earth to maintain a constant high. O too gaze into the distance with wonder and imagine every memory, the intricacies of the people you shall meet and beauty of the land in which you walk.
And to realise how perfect this life of ours is,
O my friend it's a beautiful thing.

Brought forth from a darkness so secure, baby boy relentless in the pursuit of education gazed upon the egg shell walls and sterile environment.
Breathing as if it were natural.
A construction of steel and concrete was the new cocoon , the window was an eye to a neoteric world. Bright white lights shone from within and a dull foreboding cloud loomed beyond the glass for the child to appreciate.
Mother exhausted collapsed sighing. She is the antidote to all that is evil, she is the mother to the world. A usually stick-thin figure now distended but leisurely relaxing.
Nursing her son as if it were natural.
Swooning nurses swaddle infants, the original factory workers. Substantial days grafting, workhorses prancing throughout aseptic halls.
The heroines of our world.

A tribe appears from dust clouds, over the dunes, panting, half-alive. Heavenly Ethiope arriving in time for the world to begin. Tumescent in her ecclesiastic luminescence bearing a King destined to travel great distances primed for expulsion from the cimmerian safety of the womb.
The seas of the earth accumulate before the small band of tall-standing creatures of exquisite anthropomorphism. Creatures from across the great unexplored continent at the centre of our world gathered in frenzied crowds. The Elephants marched in earth shattering herds, the lions of the Savannah put aside their differences and sat amongst the  wild dogs of Ethiopia and the grévy's zebra, the dibatag stood and eagerly waited. Shrews, mice, gazelle, otters, cheetahs and giraffes all surrounded the tribe. Taking a silent vow and allowing stewardship to be passed along to a new generation.

Every mother is the mother of the earth. Her earth, the personal concept of earth that only she may understand.

Both children are connected by the planet they learn to walk upon. Connected by a thousand generations but connected nonetheless. They are one and the same. Each bought into a world in which they have no knowledge, each merely a slate eager to be scrawled upon by the elders of this fine rock.

Bass rattles the roofing of the warehouse
Tonight we are truly alive
The alcohol and synthetic drugs course through our blood
Three people stuffed in a cubicle
Snorting lines of coke and adderall from the screen of a smartphone
A truly modern menagerie
The image of a woman confined to my mind
Searching desperately though eternal chasms
Tunnel vision and weary eyes
I don't know when the nights end
or begin
It's a psychosis that developed within me many years previous
The product of a generation with no forethought
Each pill popped was one less worry of the future
Synapses destroyed with such nonchalance
Enjoy the looming sadness

We, doomed to repeat
You, doomed to relive

Each shot to the arm takes it's toll
The toll may not be obvious now but in your twilight...
The wrinkles shall show and the scars continue to glow,
punctures in your flesh allow me to know.

I saw your mind decay before my eyes
Your body emaciated, your legs so fragile
I wish you hadn't experienced life to such a degree
I wish you had stopped me.

But alas, I stand here with my company
Another line
Another
One more
Level the score
One more pill and another tab
One more drag before I pass it back

To replicate my Mother and my father.

...and the needle dangling, I fall out

Scrambled thoughts of an addict, convulsing, cursing, begging for that redemption.
The golden mistress beckons through dank alleys.
Trees and cars and man-made structures are no shield for the siren song.
Wringing hands, rubbing necks and itching forearms, I need that fix.
Blood spots on the sleeve.

Oh how my teeth cry out,
My arms plead with me,
The legs I abuse, stand rigid but ready to falter.
Feet stumble on ragged carpets,
My back arches and twists, aches and itches,
Eyes dart back and forth, are you my saviour?

Hand me the bag, there shall be no trouble
I'm too weak to escape you.
Snatching, grabbing, thrusting cash and powdered death from one ***** pair of hands to another
The trade off. I thank you my friend, until tomorrow.

Broken down, malting carpets
Stained mattress, I love you
The pealing paper and rotting stench
I love you too

My hands shake, fix me.

Oh the pleasure. Imagine if we were to erase that pain beforehand. Free me from my past. Euphoria.
.
.
.
..
...and the needle dangling, I fall out
.
.
.
..
...Scrambled thoughts of an addict, convulsing, cursing, begging for that redemption ad infinitum.

The east bequeaths us life and light.
Many rise from slumber, in agony. Many greet daybreak with compassion and hold the world close as if it were an old friend. The lights of the city shine bright, stars in the day and of the night. A holy cacophony of exuberant sonances.

A million more flashing lights surround us. Another lonely room illuminated with images of pills, sugary snacks and loan sharks.  Disillusioned and malnourished we tread softly on thin plates of ice, ever drifting further from the source of life.
A man flies to Botswana, another to Yamalia. Forever in search of truth, history, refinement and happiness. One lady prays to God, another preys on a new victim. One man dies, another is born. One person writes poetry while another deconstructs the economic and social barriers that prevent many from ideals that, not one man, but many people search for.
To say I am all these people is lie. To say we are all the same would be a bigger lie. But to say we all seek truth is undeniable.

In the west, the world rests.
The people of pain lay their tender heads on pillows of self doubt whilst their counterparts caress the soft jaw line of the heavenly death. To sleep once more in fleeting rest. The lights of the city shine bright, stars in the day and of the night. Each soft noise amplified tenfold in the vacant sprawling streets, tinged orange and creaking like so many spirits tied to the eternal noose.

Tell me please, did the virginal angel take your hand and walk you through the narrow corridor of dreams and death? Did she tell of of your fate, your future and your meaning? Did she kiss your solemn lips and allow you to place your head to her *****?

O mother of the Earth, tell me your grandiose plan. Am I a cog placed concisely in the machinery of life or am I merely a superfluous button on the vest of some ancient God?

Spoken once in dissonant transient prayers. The mind incapable of rest continues to conjure images so appealing and yet so ghastly. Flight and failure, love and despair. Each one fades upon the first light of morning.
Waking in despondency,
fingers smeared across red, stinging eyes,
thick crimson lines betray your mind.
The first lie is told as we raise our heavy heads,
allow the light from the east to guide you on your daily path,
and let the lies cascade from windows, rooftops, trees and great unholy structures.


                                                                  I lie to myself each morning.
I am you, you are simultaneously  him and her, she is I and I am her. He is I, I am him and he shall always be we.
The angels speak of all their plans in great halls of marble and ice. The swords and shields of a million warriors line the walls. Books of a million more great people are the furnishings in such a palace. The great waterfalls provide the purist of refreshment to the guests of the seraph. Mountains and catacombs alike, are the ornaments of this great hearth. A billion buzzing beings attract the attention of a distant messenger.
                                                                      For today we shall learn.
                                                                                      ∞

For the longest time, words were like bricks in the mouth. Weighing down, suffocating and harmful.
For the shortest time, words flowed like so many rivers headed home through drying basins, rising rivers, past gargantuan sheets of ice and through the town one may call home.
                                                                ­                   Sealed shut.
                                                           ­                The words build again.
Thoughts, memories, ideas, the resentful wave of hiemal turquoise waters crashing upon the furrowed brow of inconsequence. To tell truths would be dignified, one isn't always able to choose such an ideology. Often an ideology is ****** upon the undeserved. Perhaps through social conditioning or other such time honoured institutions. History should not and yet does often repeat itself.

Although each generation is different,
as is every single person that,
does walk this planet,
has walked this planet,
and ever will walk this fine planet.  
                                                       ­                Cosmos over Chaos
For those that choose to read, the world is yours, the plants, the animals, every Microorganism, each and every grain of sand that litters the shorelines like a googolplex of fine jewels for an undecided amount of monarchs, rulers of lands and emperors of distant planets that in no way resemble our own. For you are such people.
For those that choose to love, amour you shall receive, every kiss that screams of desire, every touch of heavenly organs, every man woman and child that has ever felt the imperious desire to hold another body closer than is physically possible.  In this dimension at least. Every time one embraces another you shall feel love. You shall experience me as I experience you. Worlds apart, countries apart, towns, villages, houses apart, metres apart... atoms apart.
                                                       You will be of one ever tender consciousness.
                                                  ­                  The truest of all consciousness.
                                                  ­                                         One.

My fingertips asserting soft pressure upon the concrete allow me to feel how cold and damp my city truly is. The weather is obviously a dead give away, but to truly understand something I feel as though the tactile approach gives one a more accurate picture.
Soft fine drops of precipitation strike my hooded jacket as I pass between streetlights, phone boxes, poles with no signs and signs with no poles. The back alleys feel like home. The bohemians, students and junkies pass by adopting a familiar fixed gaze on the cold, grey ground. Nobody speaks to me, not even once. I revel in that. The pretty girls leaving the hidden college and the ugly men sat upon scaffolding, high above the city, like Gods, Angels, workers. Imagine if one just fell.
I hurry my pace past the crowd that gathered, I'm not a fan. The alley gets darker as the time ticks by and I contemplate time ticking by. Lost in transient intermittent thoughts of pasts, futures and presents of each face that solemnly passes by my own stoic masterpiece. I must get out of this drizzle before it begins to pour.
The poor man stops me once more.
I haven't got the change he needs.

It was in a dream that the bearded man came to me.
"You must come down, my son. You do not belong in the skies."
I was often paralysed by such dreams. I guess I still am.
Unable to call for help, afraid of the heights I could reach,
I'm contained by logic even in dreams.

I'm sorry I can't be what is expected. Expectations are often too high. But I still walk with my hood covering my stoic masterpiece. The sun is dead, the stars too. The crowds dispersed, the pretty girls lost their charm and the men descended from their fixtures to reveal themselves as boorish and dim-witted. A personal problem of my own. Junkies are sheltered in their boarded up flats, while the students tap away on gadgets they hate yet cannot live without. The bohemians dance and talk and sing and love.
I continue to walk softly on the coldest and dampest concrete my city has to offer. Unwilling or unable to interfere with the natural balance.
And so the drizzle turns to a downpour,
the poor man still asks for change,
I'm still unable to provide the change he needs.