I feel apart of this hick town place
Breathing in life, through open, clean air
Trapped by my mind in a wide open space

My granddad showed me on his Gum tree
The marks left by moths and beetles alike
I went to touch them whilst he let them be

The Scribbly Gum tells the same story
Our lives intertwined in memories
The aftermath of destruction, can be beauty

My chubby hands admire what my eyes miss
like a blind man hungry for the verse
I feel the indented trails, lead me into the abyss

I envy those tiny critters, hiding away
creating art without even knowing
One day I shall  join them and there I shall stay

Dancing glimpses of times past
The smell of eucalyptus sticking to hot air
Pulling, aching strings of my childish heart

Hollow and empty within
Scattered leaves, on crimson ground
Horror waiting to begin

Closed door, cracked and chipped
Building from a ruin
Beating, bleeding, ripped

Screams shatter the silence
Inside the mind, they rage outwards
Dwelling and feasting on violence

The evolution of agony
Sinister but regal I reign
Waves on contempt wash over me

Who am I, you say
I am the abyss
And this is the only way

Trying Not to Lose My Mind

Life in the fast lane,
I did alot more than most,
but no matter how fast you gas,
the past catches up & even the freshest bread becomes toast,

I’m sick as fck,
somewhere in Eastern Australia,
been on antibiotics for 3 weeks,
been on this rollercoaster so long I’ve forgotten how to get off,

I want to get off,
please I need just a bit of relief,
see I’ve always gotten everything I’ve ever wanted,
but it seems I’ve never gotten what I really need,

feeling queasy and uneasy,
in Fremantle just south of Perth,
want to throw myself up out of myself,
feeling intoxicated from toxins I need to purge,

and I want to just stop this ride but instead it continues to surge,

life in the fast lane,
I did alot more than most,
but no matter how fast you gas,
the past catches up & even the freshest bread becomes toast,

though no jam ma’am,
maybe some peanut butter though,
I’ll tell you the plan man,
it’s get into the system & get out the vote,

voted but Hope lost,
and Trump won,
which means it seems that world peace,
as an option is done,

in this chaotically crazy Funhouse,
ah Hell oh well at least it’s been fun,
House of Mirrors reflect the words from a mouth of Fear,
in a place where nothing is intended not even the puns,

sick as fck the show’s almost over lights off get the fck out,

sick as fck,
somewhere in Eastern Australia,
been on antibiotics for 3 weeks,
been on this rollercoaster so long I’ve forgotten how to get off…

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

I told my big brother that I hated him
because he threw sand in my face on the beach in Sydney
it stung and made me cry. He was seven, I was five.

Later we raced from the top of the beach where our mother lay
on a polka dot beach towel, sun-browned as a berry,
to the fringe of the shore where the sea foam was a bubble bath
–  the sky looks like a Greek flag, it’s so blue and white.
splashed me, shouting
–  do you still hate me?
I laughed
– yes!

When he rose in one big gulp from under the surface of water
his lips and raisin-wrinkled finger tips were tinged  blue
rosy streaks slashed across his belly
like he was ******* with poisoned red string.

I tugged on my mother’s sun dress, anxious
– Is he going to die?
– No it was only a baby one, it will do him no harm
–Am I allowed to see him?
–He’ll be out before the sun goes down
–Will you tell him I don’t hate him and it’s okay that he threw sand in my face?

Yes, it's nearly that's time of year,
Australia Day soon, my dears,
Patriotism in the right place,
Smiles on the Aussies' face,
We all come from the human race,
No need for such paranoia,
Racists are sent to annoy ya!
Let's unite for one day of the year,
Advancing Australia, my dears!

Bright blue skies and country roads,
Dust trails billowing behind the distant rumble of a 4x4
Gravel crunching, stones skipping
Sweat on his forehead and barley in his mouth,
Broad-brim hat clapped on his head
Dusty jeans and boots,
Checked red shirt and plain sandy dirt

This is the image of Australians

The intimacy of a naked skyline had always been a bit too much for the girl who had grown up tracing her thoughts on the moist windows of skyscrapers that tore through the emptiness  of open skies and lonely hearts. The city would always be her first lover, the sea winds her first kiss, and the inhuman slums her first heartbreak - this wasn't your ordinary girl.

The arch of the Sydney harbour bridge reminds me of how her back arched the first time I kissed her neck and the horizon melted right in front of my eyes. The bridge's arch might be a testament to human civilization, but hers is the reason why you can someday justify the pain of your first heartbreak to your daughter as she breaks down before her high school prom. The  bridge's arch might stand tall against the trials of time, but hers is the reason why you will see your past flicker in the flames fanned on every bonfire night.

But before you fall in love with the arch and wish bridges could heal all distances, you need to know there are some that even the best and the most beautiful can't.

You know, sitting on the docks of Port Jackson reminds me how I was born in the small port town of an insignificant island and I had grown up with more sand in my slippers than tongue in my cheek. Everytime you swing your legs from the edges of the dock to feel the spray of the recurring waves on your naked calves, the waves seem to sing about how they taught me never to give up on a shoreline, no matter how close or distant its breath on your face.

Its funny how I never ended up finding that Italian place by the harbour where I taught you how to soak in the flavour of a single malt scotch while you taught me how to soak in the flavour of life. Its funny because you always wanted me to find us that spot, in case we wanted to relive the mistakes we made that night.
But then I guess,
There are some mistakes, you are not allowed to make twice.

The sun setting on the city still looks beautiful from the edges of the harbour each day,
But it makes me wish we had stayed behind long enough to see the sun rise from underneath the sea.

I could delve deep into my self named brain,
or just trickle yours,
I'm the trickster of the lame and helper of the poor, minded.

Ill come at you until you gobble all I have to say you'll have to force it out like puke. So take a deep breath, let the venom in these words seep into your eyes and travel through the chains and locks reflex-fully shut on your heart, to the deepest most brittle parts of your fingernails. Let this feeling bring frisson to your back and spine, give it the power to move your body, slash at your sleep and keep you ever so small at night. Let yourself sleep.