There is no driver - go anywhere for a fiver
Pod - cars troll Milton Keynes by no means
seen piloted in four years time - where's mine?
Then they come together in the land of never - never

The sat-nav tells us where we're going
ready to alight when it's finally slowing
what will they think of next? Send a text
with your suggestion - normality's in regression

No one is to blame when there's an accident
nothing is seen to describe an incident
however, at least no one can go on strike
and I won't be reduced to travel by bike

The atmosphere is electric, technology hectic
it was bad enough when we decided to go metric!

Her heart out of apathy
Nor of greif or cold
The pain behind her cloak
Mask of numbness,disguised
Silence bushed over her
In ribbons of broken promises

Recalling her blissful memories
When he embraced by the creek
Kissed her in the fall
And made her immortal in a single glare
Without even kissing at all
But Alas! The present is bleak

What's left after all false contentment
Are the symphonies of static orchestras
Holding her breath just to starve away
She loves and yet is forced to hate
Since everything was lost in play
But his one esthetic stare is
Whats haunts her night and day

There's no sense in coincidence.
But I found the perfect book for you,
the same day I read your obituary in
the newspaper. These reading materials kept on a locked ward.
You kept buried under ground,
like a secret turmoil your family
could not bear with.
The one you also spoke of.
But that is irony.
Something I do believe in.

"Am I God?"

"I've killed people. I've killed you twice today. Are you God?"

You weren't afraid of your shadow.
But rather the people in the sky.
The peers walking, talking, doing
what they do best.
Dissect the innocent.
Disengage humanity.
Regress until broken,
until shattered,
until sand.

"Am I God?"

You aren't, a ******'s son.
Nietzsche was correct.
God is dead.

It's like an old, wooden stairwell that lets out a creak every time you step.
Alerting you where you're headed,
as if it was meticulously crafted to track your descent into;

The depths of yourself.

No wonder it gets darker, for what you find doesn't illuminate.
The partial regression, piece by piece,
reduces your desire to retrace your steps from;

Where you began.

I only ever turn around if there's something I forgot at the top.

I was doing so well.

But when I saw your
face staring back at
me from
the screen
I
Died.

All the old feelings
came rushing back
full
force. I
can think of
nothing else.

But I will
not
give in.

I will not let you stomp
me into
the dirt in
the ways
you did before.

I love you, but I
hate
you.

More of a man at 20 than at 22

All of the passages about One, there were no others

Regressing into sin, no art without misery

That old cliche, right? Right.

I read somewhere that he wanted to be a writer

He wanted to be a great writer, Remembered

Taking, making great sacrifices for art

Alcohol, Benzedrine, Isolation

Checkmate, One and Two and Three

The night (this night) will be my Desolation Peak

For now,

Looking back through the pages

Who exists in this manuscript?

Who is Marg?

Who is Sil?

Won’t you please tell me?

Won’t you come fill my Head. I’m not asking

Won’t you come fill my bed?

So I need not pretend

Were it that I could let you in

Save for those rare times when everyone appears not unctuous

          To my uneasy usurious eyes

In an act of desperate atavism I return to the roots,

To the past, to the Grass,

      (Looking)

           To the glass

Only momentarily half empty

Before it is refilled

Where will we find our answers honey?

When will we cease to believe this positive psychology *******?

You don’t need to be happy

You don’t need to be comfortable

You need to Mean

                 to have

                             Meaning

                                   to create a legacy

Not shrouded in shame

    and neglect

         and fear

It doesn’t have to be the same

New city, new hope, new name

Erase the stain with pen and paper

Evoke change

See the world through baby blue eyes

   The bucolic beauty brilliantly beats and beads down, blooming

        Bright flowers in early mildew sunlight

            Or Big Sur - view from the mountains

                Or the moon

Soon my love, soon

   Swoon, sweetly suggest

       The sight of a lover’s supple *******

            And her name like poetry on your soft still whispering lips

   Tantalizing and tickling tongues

       Tickling and tucking shyly

Soft skin swimming in hushed tones, brushed bones and quiet sighs

   Wide eyed, clenching belies

       The beginning and the end of far more