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 Oct 2015 Ricci Moon ScottBCM
Meg
Your words
Drown
In a sea
Of the
Saccharine sweetness
Of insincere consolation
And empty phrases;
In an ocean of
"It will be okay,"
And
"I'm sorry for you,"
Deceptively accompanied by
Awkward apologies
And bittersweet lies
Disguised as comfort,
As understanding.
Red
The skeletons aren’t in my closet.

ive strung up their skulls for my wind chimes,

I’ve ground their ribs into the powder i dust on my skin,

I’ve set their spines on a string and wear them as jewellery.
There are no monsters under my bed.

my monsters live within,

they run through my veins like the ichor of the gods,

they flicker behind my dark eyes like shadows,
tthey whisper my sins like a lover’s embrace.
Iam not a porcelain girl.

and if you come any closer I’ll bite you,

and smile red with your blood dripping from my ivory fangs
when i heard about it,
when i heard of “free art:”
i thought of free bread and wine,
and celtic sirens,
i laughed though... you made the earth
so ******* boring we all wanted to become astronauts.
when art became free we tried to moralise
drinking wine (as a portent of richness)
and eating bread (as a portent of the russian revulsion),
i bought my art.. and waited for the ones who
discouraged it complaining buying their bread “well fed.”
the celtic sirens hung on though, singing softer and softer
but more prone to the acid tongues dragging the democrats into
a hope of kings and village kindred elders,
but i still didn’t hope for free artistry that was akin to circus,
caged the gypsy have i?
i have, but i did not warrant free food or free aquas of variation,
i simplified freeing the demands with the demands freed into excess,
well... if i were kingly i’d still have provided free bread and wine
rather than music and the curbing the excesses of lyricists;
making music free just discouraged all originality, all creativity,
it just became a realism of a struggled acting -
i feel cheated having missed the antics of britannia in
the 1960's and '70's like it was greek and roman without
the epileptics of watching a documentary on trans-sexualisation
of brazilians and ******* disco to gag on an excess of flashy lights
just to sell lipstick... and have these quasi-epileptic shivers
without having an opposing opinion to counter the freely stated & fluxed.
i guess my convulsions were due to the fact that the men
didn’t call it either homosexuality nor trans-sexuality,
and that i was actually looking at two dodos talking, meaning
i was seeing the extinction of the human race through the ****,
meaning i was watching the knights templar idol, baphomet,
realised 2000 years after the crucifixion in that crown of thorn dreams,
perfected in thailand... of all places;
that actually beats the identification of ibn saud as the dajjal,
moving further east of mecca than riyadh and
the assassination attempt within the framework of muhammad’s hadith of ‘no entry’ into mecca by the dajjal.
 Oct 2015 Ricci Moon ScottBCM
xie
when i was ten
I fell and wounded myself
I said that I'm a big girl
I can handle the pain
But now
I realized
I'm too young for this kind of pain

a.v.
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