This jacket is anything but...




Whats in the pocket

part 4 of 5

three years earlier

The Gallows Society

"This, THIS! I'm so *tired of  all THIS!"
Blurted Giles as Zamira dressed his wrists
Pathetic! (she thought) A dismal attempt
Then left the room concealing contempt
Giles just stared at the

drip

drip

drip

dripping of the morphine
Candle light danced on the walls
The demons sank back into the shadows
Giles returned to the womb
Basking in weightless warmth
Comfortably apathetic
Numb

The drudgery of the next day unfurled
As Giles accepted defeat around noon
Something had to be done about life
That something had better happen soon
  
He brunched in his office
and so began his search
All that day
and night
that week
That month

Deeper into the cavernous "dark web"
seeking any answer to end his despair
but every search became a cul-de-sac
No doors opened for this millionaire
No doors would open
All remained firmly locked
Sitting in his office chair
Feverishly typing as he rocked
He rocked as he typed
He swiveled as he clicked
Searching for something
That he was less able to predict

But that something found him
And sent him an invitation
Explaining that they had been watching
Seeing his frustration
Understanding his world view
May he could understand theirs
But before he were to be accepted
He must climb down the seven stairs

He
      Must
                Climb
                           Down
                                     The
                                           Seven
                                                      Stairs
Dis­tant from the blinding light
Cast yourself from the hallows
Embrace darkness embrace night
Take the Noose and the Gallows.

The mouse pointer hovered
over options "Yes" and "No"
His heart beat quickened
But then came the red glow
of two laser beams from directly behind
circling the yes option
From past the windows' opened blind
"Yes" and the two red dots disappeared
The wheels were put in motion
His future was now commandeered
A force that seemed greater than him
Changed the rules and took control
Embers deep inside of him flickered
Re-igniting the coals of his dark soul

The seven steps awaited him...
What ever could they be?

You, yes you.
Typing out your despair.
Trying to feel less mental.
I've definitely been there.

You're in pain.
You are actually giving birth.
To another stronger you
A you with more self worth.

It will rip.
But I must reassure you
The emptiness gets refilled
Soon will come your debut

So, you, yes you
Keep typing your despair
I hope you feel less mental
Knowing that you will repair.

Nothing escapes the all consuming march of time!

As KALI consumed time and space
Her dimensions grew and grew
Her skin darkened to deep space black
From unfathomable ocean blue
Rivers of obsidian flowed as her wild hair
Untamed, magnificent, streaming
Three blood red eyes past, present, future
Decided who needed redeeming
Four arms, three of which were grasping
A sword, a spear, a bowl
The fourth grabbed a Thuggee's head
Sword decapitated the soul
A crimson red snake of a tongue lashed
Out for every drop of blood
Then the sword slashed every throat there
Her tongue lapped up the flood
KALI'S gaze finally cast upon terrified Giles
Evaporating his body with fire
Conscience was all that remained in that dimension
His conscience changed KALI'S desire
Frightful fury morphed in to motherly compassion
Her skin back from black to blue
Spewing out rearranged history, time and space
No other being could construe
But a mother must teach her children lessons
So she left Giles not without guilt
A ****** message painted on his forehead
And **a sword driven to its hilt

part 2 of 5

*a sword driven to its hilt

Arctic chills froze his spine
Pick axes hacked his mind
Tongue pickled in brine
Suffocated and confined
Heart beat pounding
Breathing short and quick
Terror was abounding
Throat swallowing a brick

Staring at his reflection . . . G U I L T Y
Unable move any limb
Even for his protection
Return of memory grim . . . a sword driven to its hilt

Back to the bed room to search for his phone
To make contact with the real world
From down stairs came that exact same laugh
Every hair on his body tightly curled
The phone was no where to be found upstairs
Again that tormenting laughter
He called out "Who is it?" but only silence replied
Then that laugh again soon after
"WHO ARE YOU?!" he demanded to know
Arming himself with a cricket bat
Tentatively descending the sweeping staircase
Noticing the post on the door mat
The newspaper informed him it was Monday
Confused, frightened he ran outside
A burnt pile of his clothes lay in front of his door
He yelled but only the laughter replied

Then through the dining room bay-window
Sitting at the table as if a patient guest
A gruesome wide eyed graying corpse of a man  
A sword driven in his head and out his breast

In the dead mans hand a glowing phone
The source of the tormenting laugh
Not thinking, our man rushed in to take it
The phone flashed "maintenance staff"

Every sense heightened
Sickened and frightened
Feeling he was being observed
Part of a wicked game
Driving him insane
But so far he had been preserved
As he answered the phone
He knew he was not alone
"Hello sir, I hope I haven't disturbed"

The published discarded tweet
The sunken dimple not the ****
On your back not on your feet
The shadows are the light

The clouds creep on the ground
Still hidden after being found
A deafening absence of sound
Midday becomes midnight

This screaming riot of tranquility
Molding impotence into ability
Odds on to a far flung probability
Courage born from mother fright

part 1 of 5

Up on a feathered duvet a man conceding defeat
To the Sunday that had just begun
Reeking of last nights sweat, smoke and self deceit
Threads of reality so rapidly un-spun
All that he promised himself to accomplish this day
All that stuff to be tossed in the bin
Procrastination rearranges plans or lets them decay  
And all because of his love for gin
Amnesia of last nights antics plants the seeds of guilt
Shame shall be his shadow today
Enter a recurring thought... *a sword driven to its hilt
Piercing pain added to his dismay
Rusted cogs of cognition screeched slowly into action
"A cure" he grumbled "A cure"
Wearily off the bed searching for medicinal satisfaction
To make last night less obscure
The stark bright light of the bathroom fried his vision
But as his senses normalized
He stared in the mirror shocked, BANG! in a collision
Mouth agape and paralyzed
Finger painted on his forehead, with what must be blood  
G    U    I    L    T   Y
From down stairs somewhere
A woman's laugh
Mocking
Fear took its grip quick
*a sword driven to its hilt

I woke up this morning

I miss you like I miss cigarettes
   They were killing me softly too
      I miss you like I miss *******
         You both made me act the fool
             I miss you like I miss London
               ****, *****, vicious alcoholics
                  I miss you like teenage years
                    Confusion,  dabbling  narcotics
                       I will miss you less and less
                         Until, well you are just regret
                           But that has not happened
                              It has not happened - yet.
                                                    X

I stand weeping at the tombstone of Originality,

                                                                                   "Here lies Originality,
                                                                              Born 13.7 Billion years ago
                                                                                         with a Big Bang
                                                                              Died 400 million years later
                                                                                         with the first star"

Everything, yes everything that mutated from that
has merely been an evolution.
What is the use?
Originality is so very, very dead
It died before anything else

Our daughter asks for the umpteenth time when you will be home.
I just smile and say "not long now" whist staring at a docile phone.
This is only the forth time in six months that you have gone missing with no trace.
The first time you fell asleep in a strip bar
"On a work do" you amazing disgrace!
The second time you fell asleep at a party, the third you did the same.
Top marks for invented excuses, invention,  has never been your game.
So now, I sit here waiting, with our daughter and this phone.
Telling her not to worry and that her mummy will soon be home.

Justify I!
Is it possible to conceive?
I?
WE, now that is easier to understand
Not just you and me but ...
US, the human race
and
            the bubble of life
floating in


                                            S      P     A     C     E



Drawn to an iron ball

covered in muck (decayed us)

spinning around

around
and
around

a pin ***** of light

called a star

What a mighty "I" you and me are

When you can laugh at loss
Throw ******* up to fear
Find comfort in discomfort
Normality in the odd and queer

When you're warmed by the cold
Thrilled by protracted boredom
Find patterns in the chaos
Naiveté and dignity in whoredom

When you hear a choruses in silence
Then silence in bird songs
Find love blossoming in hatred
Nothingness amongst the throngs

When you come to terms with conflict
Then make confusion from clear-sight
Find innocence in the ******
Now damsels save distressed Knights.

When you come to ease with the end
Then worship the beginning
Find nothing is real but the now
Now that you are winning