I seek that sickly sweet suffering
Those tragedies that feed my writing
The knots in my stomach the tightness in my chest
Buried so deep but I need them to express
The purest poetry spawned from my essence
Take their forms founded in pain's presence
I need it more than nourishment
Such a sick and brutal self punishment
I leverage the scars on and in my body
To the art in all of her glorious purity

When my dark clouds rise

And dirt clods fly and I try

In sheer panic to replace

Rotten fruit with dull wax fruit

And wilted blossoms with

Plastic flowers and she thinks we

Will be on yet another short-lived

But cold cycle of tightrope and

Eggshell walking . . .

She comes home


With bags filled with

Apples green & red

Peppers yellow & green & red

Grapes green & purple

Plums yellow & purplish-red

Strawberries, peaches, tomatoes

Bananas & Greek salads.

 
This usually inspires me to make

For this setting a centrepiece of a

Vase filled with a variety of fresh

Picked wildflowers which brings

Her more joy than two dozen

Of the overrated overachiever rose.


At times this seems like

One of  few bridges back

To a healthy & colourful world.

Down in the belly of The Angel of Defeat
You'll find war waging over only Gods know what
And she's not the one fighting for all that is good
She has shadows in her eyes and demons under her red hood
She rages her lupine armies against Paladins armed with The Light
This battle was foreshadowed before mans dawn and laid in the stones this world was built upon
There's no avoiding what the stars have aligned
And this fight won't end until there's either dark

Or light

Who made you the centre of my universe?
Because it sure wasn't me.
Do you think that I want my life to revolve around you?
like i'm just a planet orbiting the sun,
A pair of jeans in the washing machine
Or flotsam in a whirlpool.
I don't suppose you'd understand,
How dizzy I get,
after a day around you
Or even a few moments.
How I can't keep my balance
And the world sort of tips
till' everything is inside out
backwards and all mixed up.
Except you.
because for some reason
the only stable thing
in this topsy-turvy world
is you.

Night stars
Passing cars
They all go by as blurs
Lying here
Next to her
I felt at peace
As if nothing could ever come between us.
Her arm around me
face inches away from mine.
I could feel her breathing against my skin.
I love you I whisper as we lay her.
I can see her eyes in the dark.
Her beautiful blue-green eyes.
Staring into mine.
I love you too she whispers back.
At that moment I know exactly where I'm supposed to be.
Anywhere including her and me.
We are meant to be together.
Like the day with the night.
Without one there isn't balance.
Night must eventually go away for the sun to rise.
And the sun must go down for night to come around.
Together they work together creating a cycle.
A cycle of balance.
Without her my life would have no balance.
She is my night
I am her day.
Night stars...
Passing cars...
Always meant to stay...

A balanced boy he was,
the equal of all neutrality,
yet she was enough to make him wild.

Three knives
In a triangle
On my back

Mind
Body
Soul

Mind is a mess
A rip in a tea bag
Where all the leaves
Fly wildly
Like birds to a gunshot

Body is a temple
One I have desecrated
With ugly graffiti
And human ****
And posters
Of corrupt
And desperate
Politicians

Soul is black
Like sewer grime
Smells like it too
It's putrid
It's disgusting
It's not worth anything

There is no balance