I went crazy
I did feral little dances
I acted in ways most betraying
of my previous social stance

but there were others
a multitude
it was the fault of the moon
we are weak and...

Mr. Moon
The Whey-faced Satellite has drawn deck
of our cowered population

on this full beaming night
this Friday
the anaemic loon quaker
is a menace

it lugs ******* the minds most creative

it moulds imagination and felonious thought
where previous their dwelled only a shopping list

it skims hostile cream from the fragile
and kissed wetter still
the most eager berserker

a dance of madness tups open the houses
pucks at our activities
plucks strings that fire our kinetic clatter
and scuppers any will to resist

Human species take the streets in corrosive numbers
A Party like this
shall make a dent
A Party like this
shall be a fist in Our Story
Hosted by the Moon
here I am
in the mix
prancing like some zany goof

Oh, I take leave of my senses gently
In front of your image smiling witchily.
Shine bright, shine bright till I recall
Who am I, who are you?
My brain is itchy...

Am I well? Yes, I am.
Am I well?! I am not.
Deadly freezing in your absence,
Yet it is glowing,
Yet it is hot

I am 'a couple of years alive',
You are 'an eternity old'.
You fervidly turn around,
However, the Sun is cold.

Urging to dissolve myself:
The deepest bliss of sadness...
The symptoms are emerging
Of my future madness.

My soul has an itch to hell
And my dreams will come true.
Even maybe it's not me,
But just my devil loves you

Ids and shadow selves
Wandering around
Forgotten like leftovers
Of unwanted takeaway
Neglected and repressed
Fed by our collective values
And abusive behaviours
A selfless act of a conscious psyche

In a disruptive reality
Used as an antidote for the painful truth
Failing to fail
Just to stay hurt
Missing the obvious
But dreaming of the unknown
Like great artists we admire
The self-orchestrated theft of our lives

Fallen short of an ideal that doesn’t exist
Not even in our thoughts
We wander around
Cultivating dullness and immorality
Covering our tracks with false beauty and self-esteem
Leaving our souls behind
Hiding the madness
Once called LOVE

There's an itch at the back of my throat
Something you said today
I find it hard to swallow
My stomach is turning knots
My tongue too flaccid to make a sound
The poison of your vile words
Have left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth

Someday, not far from now
You'll choke on your own words and die

softly-uttered
sweet-sounding
syllables

I whisper them with deep mad longing

words
turn
into
poetry

in your name

Beloved

In the arena
she carried
all her failures
her misgivings and regrets
her empathy and pain
her madness, bitter and vain

As if they were battle scars
and she held them close, like armour
because she knew, that without them, she wouldn't exist