The smell of firewood. The
Sounds it makes when burning.
Yellow light dancing on the
Paintings I made for my
Livingroom walls.

The ghost of my cat curled up
By my feet on the sofa.
Outside, the wind grabs
Branches and brushes them
Against the house.

I sit like this for hours.
Barely thinking; just being
Part of the room.
A song. A poem. Barely hidden
In the air.

Skies promise.
I look up.
First
Flake.

Dear October,
Bathing me in a full moon
Supersized and the colour of
McDonald's cheese.

Bright through the thick curtains
Of my bedroom, where I rest in
Sober solitude.
A dim red, even through heavy

Eyelids.
Dear October, breathe your faintly
Frosted scents through my open
Window, leave my stellar

Night light on.
I need no fingertips caressing my
Face goodnight.
I have friends like little planets.

They've stopped burning churches and
Ramming knives into one another.

Now they visit the woods without corpse
Paint and disposable cameras,

Eating Norwegian mushrooms around
Fires, boomblasters blasting

'De Mysteriis dom Sathanas' out into
Pinetree forests.

Media turned Black Metal into "satanism".
Inspired the weak.

One scratched the back of the other as newspapers
Sold more than ever, and

Small egos acted beyond their sizes, trying and
Dying for coverage.

Sometimes I feel the remains of vikings,
Battle worn and anti-christian still, after death,

Moaning: No. It was never just for
Show.

They've stopped burning churches now.
Perform with unpainted faces.

One final
Protest.

The devil is ink on cheap paper.
Money and newspapers are barely wood.

Some say they burn like old Norwegian churches.
Others just like their music raw and real.

Drunk in the morning watching
The tail feathers of a magpie not
Being twigs within the yellow
Womb of swaying autumn
Bushes.

In the vault of my innermost,
Shelves shelf letters.
Some rhyme.

I'll never send you an email.
I'd rather cry into a rust red leaf
Held before your face to

Not kiss.
Winter is coming; Death approaching,
Carrying Life in

Her arms like a
Newborn
Cliché.

So we didn't ****
Ourselves this time
Either.