Part 2

The old man sits upon his chair and speaks words slip with spit they drip - drip drip - he speaks but no one’s there. From thought to speech the old man speaks, his words released hang in the mist formed out of air so thick and dense it ebbs and flows and dances with a constant freeze brought by the breeze thus when he speaks the old man sees the sounds that slip from his own lips...

...Each word a sound each sound a note encased in ice the words take form; his thoughts comprised of merging chords which morph into the words whose form is slick and round, encased in ice, shine like a string of flawless pearls.

A burden air can never bare the string of pearls falls from mid-air. Pearls hit the floor with such great force that impact shatters words like bones upon a field where battles roared, souls ripped from form thus die his words; remains of thoughts the old man spoke, words torn apart reduced to chords in piles litter scatter wasted cursed forever to be words unheard like treasures lost, no! never found or heard, his words the unearthed pearls of thoughts he thought and dared to speak though fate he knew would have them be forever lost beneath the sea where words from chords and notes will never see the day nor know the heat when they would shine under the sun though smooth and round their form once was when once the shattered chords were words.

There was a time his words had form their form was round like pearls or drops of water dripped from leaky faucets drip they slip from rusty lips into the sink and down the pipes which snake throughout the secret house, they drip the words words slip his thoughts from lips are lost drip drip the words in chords thoughts drip are lost in sinks forever gone the old man thinks…

Drip drip he speaks words slip drip drip from lips words drip their form drip drip so round the sound from chords which merged and formed the words he thinks and speaks and let's thoughts drip released expelled he sees the strings of pearls his words afloat drip drip the words the sound he hears or heard he thinks once there he sees or saw he saw he knows he did let words drip drip from lips but then drip drip he knows he sits he rocks on boards within drip drip a house where secrets drip, the words, drip drip the sound, they slip forever gone as if they once were sounds which maybe formed the maybe thoughts he may have thought the old man thinks that maybe he just never spoke the words which maybe never were the thoughts he thought or did he think he didn’t know now doesn’t know not like the sound he knows he hears the drip, drip drip drip from rusty lips of leaky faucets down the sink...

The End Part 2

Dripdripdripdrip drip as it slips all it’s secrets, secrets slipped from the lip of the rusty metal moldy faucet, water whispers water whimpers water wishes of a time long gone; dripping water ever swirling round the beaten bolted sink; bolted to a wooden floor, chipped and nicked and cracked but grips, it grips the sink and won’t let go.

Secrets swirling round the sink into the void and through the pipes beneath the wooden boards of floor which would let loose their life-long grip of one worn weathered tired tethered reddish tinted rusty sink if only it - the wood! - if it could leave the floor it; the wood would stand and stretch and scratch and then would walk right out the door; wooden boards held hostage by a layered web of iron nails nailed years ago.

Creaking boards tell tales to pipes which snake throughout the secret house; Drip they drip they speak they slip through lips of sinks the secrets silent lip they drip and slip andio they rip and drip andrip they drip they dripdrip they ripipip i i…

Hush the whisper of the wind through broken windows rattles timber breaks the slumber of the man whose face is etched and leathered ever marked by hands of time; time played games the game of life the old man thought and thinks he still can stand and stretch and scratch then walk straight through the door and out the house, like secrets lost in rusty pipes he thinks he’ll walk into the dark and be whisked off on wings of wind which carries whispers rattles windows speaks in drips through rusty lips of bolted sinks gripped by the floors forever more and so the man will sit he sits and thinks and thinks he drips and drips drips dripdripipip i i i...

End Part 1

Glimpsed upon, hideous within the standing
others thoughts turned away.
For what was inside was perceived as inner
beauty, a collection of actions and feelings
portrayed within not the falsehood of exteriors

That which hung on the feature's deemed
those as shallow, unenduring a collection
of porcelain frailties  in compositor.  
Caring upon there grandeur and not the
reflections of others only gorging of
there own painting of perfection.

Repugnant of the stereotypes of before,
now those born of perfection frond upon.
Are we not on a merry go round of reflections.
Finding others of difference, not as we want
to perceive. Beauty is sometimes the curse of
those that wear it, for beauty is on the inside.

My life is meaningless right now, no doubt
It's dragging me along for the ride and I want out
Being a gentleman and acting with sincerity
Is laughed at from the sidelines, open eyes for clarity

Open jaw too, wide open I'm feeling crook
Like every inch of my soul was spilling blood onto books
And etching it's story there for everyone to see how stupid
The arrows shot from the bow of the cruel Cupid

It's ruthless, and he's shot me many times
I'm always checking my back scared because he's worked into my mind
It's not fine, draw the line to check the time
I'm here for the wrong reasons but all those reasons are mine

Second hand shop selling the single biggest ******
Thinking he's so smooth like dude you blind and can't see far
Use and abuse is what the bruises be telling me
And my heart aches, an earthquake seething with jealousy

You see me through a telescope with a double standard lens
Saying the only way you see us is merely as good friends
And that's fine but why do you have to play me like this
Twice now, no doubt you playin it's not nice miss!

Jesus Christ I'm faithless and playing tracks from the same list
The cold calculated sad songs preaching death wishes
You said it takes a while to make it to that, miss
But the first chance you get you're with my best friend, like **** me I'm being replaced quick!

You don't seem to quite grasp how much that fucken hurts
And the worst part of it is if you didn't tell me it'd be worse
Just drive me to my grave so I can rest in peace in that hearse
It goes by a cliff? **** it, chuck it in reverse

My words too often used by others
From my lips, honesty was evident
As you know, never very nice rather frank
Unapologetic, like my love for you
I suspect it's the youth and naivety
Still I fear your cursed words
"It can never be the same"
Our fire fueled as much or more
Than days before we were grown
But will all other flowers fail from now on
Because of your enchanted warmth
Now I will never be the same

The curse of eternal life
Would be, watching
Every one you love, die

...and she felt like
Her bones were buried
In her body
Unapologetically
Apathetic

She had eaten eons,
Watched the ends
Of millions of clocks’ lifetimes
Snorted the rust of their
Idle hands, dead still
In the blank stare
Of their concentric silence

She wanted to cease
This void existence,
For boredom was
Her ultimate torture

I'm a walking disaster.

Every now and then I find something great,
but as soon as I come close it turns into darkness.
It's my curse.

Always searching for the light.
But I can only watch it from afar.
Everytime I try to get close my darkness is killing the light.
I want to be there, in the middle of the light, but I can't.
So I stay far away, watching, dreaming, of another life.
Where I can be the light.