They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, that’s what they say any way.

Thinking back to my days as a child, I remember my grandmother’s house and the times I spent there with my brother. I remember so many things about those days. My grandmother had lost her husband before I was born, and had replaced him with a bottle of bourbon. The bottle was in every memory I had of that place, like a picture on the wall or a specific piece of furniture and she was always cooking something or canning something for people who never visited.  Her life seemed so sad at times, but what stood out were her eyes. To me they always seemed like looking through the broken windows of an old ramshackle home and watching children laugh and play on the ***** living room floor.

They say that they eyes are the windows to the soul, that’s what they say any way.

I want to cut into me

Tear into my flesh

Pull it apart bit by bit

Separate muscle and classify anatomy

Drain blood and watch it congeal

Collect bone, and deflate lungs

Hold my heart and squeeze;feel

With only skin, eyes and brain

I want to see if where my heart was , if there is a soul

perpetuated indifference
freedom and fleas
cats in the trees
loving the grass and twigs
between my knees
and toes
and fragments
in my hair
my clothes
and on a day such as forever
I spoke to another
terribly,
not so good at words
with others
who say words back,
pretty little polka dotted
circles and nonsense
like who are you kidding?
Individuality is not a crime
though faking it is,
as if being unique is even unique
but another copy
of another
a thought already thought
shush up
kiss like a real person
not a slobbery
monstrous
adolescent,
but like a man who knows
or at least cares,
but not about the earth crusts on my skin
or the air in my finger nails
it's all me
and if they can't like it
can't love it
in any way
that can be considered love
or positive
in any form or shape or sound or purpose
then forget
to forget
because sometimes
one is ****** up
and enjoys
a little game
of brain bashing insecurity,
until that day when one becomes self-actualized
(oh please)
and then real forget and freedom may happen.
How boring.

Lacerate

Laceration, Laceration, Laceration.
A pessimistic look back on a Tony Blair speech.
It could be said that that’s what he has done.
Our former ‘Great’ Britain’
brought down to it’s knees.

NO freedom of speech.
NO freedom at all.
It’s all so P.C.