Eyes brighter than the sun that acts as my heat in this cold world,
the smiles on their faces,
their loving embraces,
locked in each-others arms;
I'm tangled in the limbs of roughed-skinned trees and faceless barks.

A slap in the face from the wind is my kiss on the cheek,
their shelter is the roof above their head,
mine the endless blue sky.

Blue is all I've ever known.
I feel blue, I see blue,
faces turn into oceans at the sight of me;
they turn cold, they get scared, they rush at me like strong waves.
I cannot swim, I am drowning beneath the body [of water]
I have admired and adored.

My fantasies and dreams shoot at me with guns and sharp objects;
the one who could've understood me
was protected by those who think they understand him;
I can no longer keep running into the ocean
just to be continuesly thrown back to shore.

He throws me out to sea,
but yells at me when he steps on the  sharp pieces of me.

I am only a shell;
I am fragile.

You're yelling at me for hurting you,
you're the one who hurt me.

(NJ2015) All Rights Reserved

Skin as pale as lilies,
     now livid with interrupted bloom.
Bruises as dark as that Irish lake,
     five of them, of a brutish nightshade hue.
Body as limp as the towel they used to rub you warm to no avail,
     dotted over with dirt, your shirt torn through.
Eyes as vacant as the echo in a tomb,
     once blue before, now glazed over with vitreous dew.
Oh Clerval, how I have forsaken you.

I am science, I am fiction,
Victorian youth, ***** addiction,
I am addicted, no rest for the wicked,
I am not what these glorious stories depicted,
I prayed for my mother, I asked for a saviour,
But scarlet’s a varlet and I couldn’t save her,
Faith laughed at my pleading but science was pliable,
Boundaries were broken, I made fact unreliable,
Doctor! Doctor! Blood’s beginning to boil,
As you work by the light of the Tesla coil,
You’re polite, once contrite, not particularly odd,
Now you’re trapped in your lab and you’re playing at God,
You were robbed of a woman, held hands with her breath,
Your disillusion excluded you, so you made life out of death,
And the blood and the ****** and the bruises on throats,
And the ghost of a sibling that grasps at my coat,
And I strived for ‘it’s alive’ but that’s a misquote,
It was never alive, that was not what I wrote!
It was pale and abhorrent, thread unraveled it’s head,
It’s lips moved but I knew it was made from parts of the dead,
Graves invaded, made empty, just so it could rise,
My shovels were broken, decriminalised,
My secrets unspoken were hard to ignore,
And it was only myself, since there was no Igor,
And my brother was gone, my father, my wife,
So if you seek to threaten me, be it with life,
Nothing left, I fear no death, in fact I seek it with vigour,
But I am no mad scientist B-List horror movie figure,
I am bigger, I am bloodless, I am the lightening’s whine,
I am all that befalls the name of Frankenstein,
I’m disturbed, I’m depraved, afflicted with my plan,
But above all I am only a conflicted young man,
And I cannot compete with tainted world’s so dark and neat,
So call me Victor as I retreat,
I am the monster I must complete.

He asked me to remember him better than he could have ever been,
He asked me to forgive the things that I had seen,
The people he had broken,
The things he had made,
The blood on his face,
The shaking of his hands with the gun to his head,
He asked me to please remember him dead,
At peace, at rest,
Unable to hurt,
Unable to destroy the things I had worked hard for,
Like the breath in my lungs,
And the beating of my heart,
He told me that we would be better apart,
I didn’t believe him, his hands were as God,
Had wanted them to be,
He saw what God wanted him to see,
He was everything that held and looked after me,
Please, please look up after me,
See the tears in my eyes,
See the fear and the pain and the fact I hate goodbyes,
And I don’t mind the smell of chemicals on your clothes,
Or the fact when you come in you’re too tired to talk,
Too tired to walk,
It grows on me, the electrical shocks,
The bangs, the loud noises, you still hide from the knocks,
Of heavy footfalls on stairs,I can tell that you’re scared,
But I can make things all better if you give me a chance,
This isn’t some textbook, fairy story romance,
He yells and he grimaces, his fingers are tight,
And I wish I could hold him with all of my might,
He bats my hands away and I know that he’s crying,
It would be better for both of us,
He says, I’m just tired,
Of the sunrise, of the sunset, the work I have to do,
Are you tired of me? I ask,
How could I be tired of you?
I would forfeit my safety, you keep your hands clean,
Under the fingernails,
A ******, white and pristine,
Yet so tainted with blood, with a pressure of darkness, of death,
It surrounds you, no escape, there’s already dirt on your breath
Last words, last rites, a madness shaped scar,
Please try to remember, he said, we are better than we are.

So just call me dr. Frankenstein,
With this sick twisted need,
To bring the dead back to life.
Where did you go?
Who is this impostor?!
Ive turned everyone I love into monsters.

Dream had a glass of wine with me,
Faltered through my reality,
Disrupted my slumber,
Caressed my wandering thoughts

He picked a book, old faded cover,
He turned a musty yellowish page,
Picked out a line and read,

"You, my own creator,abhor me.
What hope do I have? Shall I not
hate those who hate me? Shall I not
lash out at those who wish me ill?
You accuse me of the worst,
yet do not yourself shrink,
from inducing far greater violence on me!"

I woke up. The tale of the lonely monster lay next to me.
The pages were turned but I had turned too.
I need to love my creations. I am a creator of my own.
I can be a classic tale after all.

Expectation....
As you draw in the warmth from the blistering ember
you will travel a road that I know you'll remember.
Make sure you're comfy in your night-time attire
as you open the book beside this open fire.

You sit here alone reading by candle's glow
your design on this journey that these pages will show.
You flick through the prologue so ready to start
Unknown roads stand before me, so now I depart.

I relish, these words that are so well designed.
Passing such crafted visions into embracing mind
and so were away, as I follow the text,
full of anticipation at what to expect.

Onward....
What is it I cannot see, it hovers vaguely up ahead, shadow stalk, lingering round, vanishing with words un-said.
Uncertain, I do forge ahead, my passage-way remains un-blocked
a beating heart is all I hear and fear is certainly unlocked.

Expeditions must proceed as I try hard not to sway.
With words un-aired but swiftly told with handful gesture as I pray.
I want so much not to be afraid, such horrors keeps my mind engrossed
Reluctantly I turn the page, clinging to this paper host.

Continuing through this written course, what must I cater for ahead,
from words that I cannot divorce. Is Shelley's monster still un-dead.
Standing just outside the grasp of shadows moving through the night
with Frankenstein will I relapse? Shall Dracula cause early flight.

Has Jeckyll change into his Hyde? The only way to surely know,
Is carry on till journeys end, continue forth and watch the show.
Should I force this cover shut or should I just continue on.
My fear maybe sounds absurd as I escape from Chapter one?

How can I be afraid to read?
They're merely words from someone's mind.
Fictitious lines from crafters pen,
why then am I in this bind?

This fear I have is very real
as images do start to brew.
So curious I have no choice,
my course is clear- Chapter two

Painful Endurance....
It seems so long ago to me since first I opened this
Cover up and looked inside to see things I don't want to miss.
I've travelled through such horrors in the Chapters I have delved.
If foresight was ahead of me this novel would be shelved.
This truly was not on my mind when this work I did desire
but I worry that I shan't get back home to sit beside my fire.

I'll have roses,
daffodils, ivy
and snowdrops
in a bouquet
on my palette.

Slipping a taste
of one another,
a puddle is made.
It is murky like
hungover clouds

though now
with new regret
I understand
the mixing of
beautiful ideas

brings me pity
for my creation
formed through
pursuit of a dream
to a wretched being.

Today I live in a life that does fight,
in love, and hate, for a resolution;
what is humanity? Revolution
tinkers a vestige. “There people, the light!”
With a glance we seem glorious. The night
reveals a different image; the Sun
of Plato does set. Man’s transformation
has not yet stopped, despite all our massed might.

Like that Creature Shelly’s fear concocted
we, being not human, grapple today
with all our parts. Mankind is an ideal
that Creatures need. I, exonerated,
am not a human yet, and oh! do pray
the Creature that is me unlocks soul’s seal.

When she told me she loved me
I didn't believe her.
So i killed myself instead.
A fairy came to me & whispered enticing secrets in my ear.
He outlined a closet upstairs
where I live alone inside my head.
Tidal waves of white roses grow in & out my of spine.
Suffocating the fishes prancing in a field of raving vines.

Lunar Lullaby plays hopscotch in a cloud of flies.
She licks cherry red ice pops & sings bird hymns to oak trees withering in the wuthering skies.  
Swarming dragon-lies fly in lakes upon Monet's canvas.
There he paints a beauty of Thumbelina whose grave resides in the darkest corner of my empty heart.

A red cape looms above & flutters without wings.
My cave is growing vaster
And so I sail amongst its seas.
This Psychosis is no more wearing thin than Rigor Mortis can begin.
I'll live sedentarily as a maid serving rotten apples to men chained as apes.
A lotus will float on by down this bloodstream & into the night.
As a crater on the moon your corpse died suddenly as when fruit bloom.