Always discharging  projectiles  to the left hand side
of my perception, misguided attempts to  traumatise
                             every aspect that follows your breadcrumbs.


But I'm not one to follow the hunger of love,
         bruises show the path that was unyielding
to the malleability restricting my tangibility

            of every needing.

Wondering on the grains that you cant follow,
                       I told you I was always here..


I walk barefoot, so that you can t follow the steps,
             that you brought.


    Its hard for your love to fathom that i no
longer need to follow the footsteps of tears..

Mine are dry and you'll never follow me...

We can get

Tattoos

And trash

Hotel rooms

he runs and runs
away from invisible enemies,
settles for a wide street corner eventually
enters heavily gasping a small café.

the abdominals are ripped from all the coughing.
the swiftly waitress realizes that,
as he orders a cup of black coffee.
she asks him, if it was a fine sporting day,
with a wide, plainly sinister smirk.

confused as he was, he gives her an absent nod,
in hope to leave him alone and serve that **** coffee.
at least he found an excellent spot
covered on a stakeout for his own death.

the street on the left, called Void Street,
seems pretty occupied
but shows no sign of the ambitious hitmen.
on his right lies Paradise Avenue,
emptied and distilled of silence

still nervous he bites his fingers,
although no nails are attached to them anymore
so he ***** the angst dry
like a skint man does with the tip of his last wrinkled cigarette,
that he found in one of his forgotten jacket pockets

safe space now,
he reckons,
only to have his throat cut

Never ask,
           Always think
                firstly...

                           And then follow
the words backwards,
           to find the meaning


of what was not clear the first time.

sometimes we rewind
                                  to find
what wasn't clear.
            

Freeze framing to find that moment
         we should have noticed
an indiscretion and navigate the
          meaning of where we  

fell to pick ourselves up
                            and recognise

our own failing.

I left myself behind
To follow you
Blindly.

He's got something left to prove
Like any of us do
If he could just follow his heart
And let it all out
Right infront of us
Only if we would let him

She's got something left to say
Which none of us dare to persuade
Burried deep inside of her
Piercing like a thorn

All we are
Afraid of the dark
Yet we are
Taught to be scared of the light
Nothing's fair enough
Unless it bends back to you
Nothing's good enough
Until we bow down to you
Who we are
What we got
Does it really defines us?
In what we believe
Is that all that's left in us?

I've got nothing left to do
Nothing left to show you
All you keep kneeling
To something no one can see!