I wake up,
with last's drinking
still a hang-over
making me dizzy,
and thinking...

my arms balancing
her head,
standing on the bed
rather awkwardly,
she's trying to kiss me
with our chests gently
and sweetly pressing

Its just, she's
a disco beat,
and both
rather
hurriedly
quick to kiss
and seduction
like the ducks,
a blue imprint
Not up to this,
She's far too pissy.

We crumble down on the bed,
and sleep like content little ants,
pub invite asleep in my arms
and its good enough for me,
with body warmth comforting,

Electricity has nothing on my heart beating,
they have tried with the dead man walking
The more time alive,
I lose my identity.
pebbles and stones reveal,
all those little legs scattering
centerpiece of the Centipede.

I'm lost to my own dreams and nightmares

Two in-sighted minds
squeaking of pigeons
in a little cage
sparking the rage.

Magic tricks are Godly worship
until revealed as deception.
God did warn about these magicians
and I was less than skeptical.

But, how do I live
when I cannot love
its this sinking ship
The bathroom sink
continues to drip.

Violin player's eyes are starry
beauty like the glitter,
The notes take to dark-ness
strong bones don't wither
deep sea's treasures
blue and color green
inside a pirate's eyes.
Don't confuse the seasons
to chills of the Winter-time,
undecided or believe lies
Not the warmth of Bret hen.

To forgive is to take
away your sole lake
and the ruminations
of this abandoned town,
This too is a sin of pride
and vulnerability
red toxins into splashes,
echoes are deathly sounds

Cracked smashed windows
like the dour of pavements
but the detail is amazing,
unlike a city of simplicity
drones in for a coffee,
but lets shrug off the rest.....

He picks up the instrument....

I used to hold truth
like a weapon —
sharp, clean, final.

But now it moves.

Not like a lie,
not like denial —
but like a tide
that’s been waiting for me
to grow strong enough
to swim deeper.

What I swore was solid,
now trembles in my hands.
Not because it was false —
but because I’ve changed.

And now I fear
not the truth itself,
but the way
it keeps becoming.

Your mirage so beautiful,
struggling for salt
And a lake of purity
revive it so prettily,
Foundation's spraying,
My flesh forever bleeding

I haven't had a nightmare,
its like I've used up my emotions
The stench of ***** in this shack
and the empathy that lacks

My mother said, I was unique
and even to the cross
I was going to be dangerous
and feel bridges burning
and all of my losses.

I don't believe in God,
though I miss him,
with every painful breath.
this rapid war-torn dog,
cannot be tamed on a lease,

But its getting to the stage,
I have have enough of
all the punches,
and weariness
and red bull flags.

I'm still a child
of violence,
Can I be
better than that?
I won't accept
another baptism.

Against my will, I’ve acquired this skill.
I’ve mastered the art of fault-picking,
I excel at depreciating.

Still, urgently seeking something diminishing,
Secretly yearning -
To combat flaws I’m dissecting.

For some sort of force to pull me?
Up to standards I don’t fulfil,
Down from aching self-worth, still.

And just like my dad,
I mask my sad.

Mutually we intellectualise our wounds,
Seemingly, we’re bound.

pronouncing beauty, eloquism i've dealt with,
a lit-up candle resembling a snowflake
in the middle of weary summer—
hearth, solitude, and soulmates

have particular habits,
like one i seldom right now:
never get my hair blow-dried
after having cut them down,
knowing i wouldn't go to those lengths again,
or see the styled version—
that's as real as your plains.

wouldn't be there the next day, would they,
when i wake up, a messy bedhead,
stars on my skin, nightmares stained in purpose—
guesses on that somewhere along the ride,
i accepted the chaotic messy half curls
and half waves of my dusted heathery heathens.

learn my language if you must:
private with a public intensity,
burning in paradoxes and flameproof identities.

there's multiple facets of how you live—
decisions, situations, ironies, as you will,
weaponize descent, set trademarked positions.

loathsome evil little creatures,
annoying in proof,
existing by mere chance—
i despise them all through.
but oh, do they deserve love?
perhaps, maybe they do—
from those who speak their words
and listen to them swoon.

deities settled atop the mountain of lies,
dancing in between the lines.
truth is a factor—
those eyes, they lie:
iridescent, accompanied with desires,
breathing vacuum, eating dust,
speaking their shares even as they shy.

spider webs curling upon oneself,
eight-legged creatures grinning at the fresh catch.
fakers faked their own fake selves,
hid secrets of the sacred mess in their chests.

i live for i.
give up, for you shall—
i've some offers to make.
but before, offering some tea—

oh, on the side,
would you like some scones dipped in earth, perhaps?