I'm tired
of those nights
staring out behind
my eyelids
across the cold horizon
of reality
The bleakness of a future
dying twilight
twinkling
at the break
Nothing but
impossible choices
and hard truths
breaking the visage
Thoughts of tomorrow
and eternity
intertwined
like
Dark Lovers
screaming
the ecstasy of a
shared doom
in their embrace
on the distant shore
The reverberations
of their
passion
ricocheting
through my skull
in a constant dull
hum
Christ
that **** really *****

life fends its ache in a solid state of lumber
stretches grouted brawn
and sets its stresses on duty

gaseous pollution meets the daylight
a warming flatulence of the productivity byproduct
labour

orb
parching an arc over the brow
and easing an erase into the eve

then to
the night solution
a fluid of festivity
*** excite in arts and the conduct
a canvas of tincture
to suspend our culture
                        in-bedded

the witching hour is only a blink
a jiff and a wink
a humour in the plasma state
break
the process is reignited
and for that brief movement
cleaned out of heads
we are simple
guided

My mom: I am sorry for what
Have put you and dad through
Me:that is for Allah do judge remorse
Not me
My mom walks slowly in to the ocean
Where an eye comes
Before she enters the pupil
She turns
And says: I love you sweetie
And goes in the eye of hell
I yell out:
That is for Allah to decide
She and the eye disappear
At the witching hour
The eye of satan
The very portal to
The underworld

brewing potion with ritual
reciting chants, merely verbal
niching these little caviar
a mixture of gravitas and war

such ladle so long enough to combine
a ******'s blood with a spoon of wine
perhaps adding a buckskin would suffice
this hellcat's hellacious bliss

a bushel of a misogynist's intestine,
must not forget to hitch gobs of sharks fin,
augment a pair of an old man's sight
then smatter the hogs' teeth bite

sing song this dark lullaby
you ought to hear plead and cry
smell and smear this fatal brew
any life it shall take and shoo

death will come and it will reign
blood will begrime and it will stain
thoroughly toting the daring deathly hex
seeking a prey who must be next

You are not coming home
You're only visiting mine
The path I've carved to the bone
With my blood and sweat
When you left me behind

We're expecting connections
From two dead cells
Yet there's not a flickering light
No prospective spark to find

I want the best of both worlds
Knowing I've driven you away
While coping with the anger and confusion That leads me astray

I don't need restitution.
I don't seek retribution.
Here I see no resolution.
Let there be no delusion.

Perhaps there's a part of me
That will always care
About what you think or how you feel
But honestly it's hard for me to be real
When the wounds never mutually heal

My heart is repealed
Until your story's revealed
Maybe when Hell freezes over
Or pigs grow wings and fly
Suffice to say

I've grown older
Fulfilled in my own ways
Chasing epiphanies and revolutions
I've become colder
Concealed in my own space
Now I've found the ideal solution

Simply (smile)
Give you an illusion

Dark.
Quiet, quite.
The fan blows cool air on my skin.
Cats yowl nearby, the shuffling of cat litter
Makes sounds like oceans waves,
or so thought Mr Crick.

This is the witching hour.
310 and the mind starts to wonder,
Screens flicker, thoughts bicker.
314 and other transcendental numbers,
Infinites and clocks and super-tasks.
315 and the demons rise from the red room
Existing only in minds and movies.

Surely this is nearing the time that
I last rose from slumber
All those nights ago and begged for forgiveness
Metres from sleeping bodies?
Did I see it then?
Do I trust them?

I wonder still.
The chromosome lights
Flash like neon signs
Briefly spelling out notes
With no context or chronology.
Cats, Pi, oceans, light, ***, but only in passing.
Every seven seconds is surely impossible.
Pink elephants she told me not to think about.

So random. No context.
Nonsense without meter or rhyme.
Is it the point? Maybe.
It doesn't to anybody except me.
And when I die I will take all meaning
And leave none
For you will have to make your own
Like everybody else.
Like I did.

Are we alone?

When I was young, I was told that
"bad things happen at 3 a.m."
We were made to believe
that we were "not alone."
Now,
the scariest thing about being awake
when the Witching Hour strikes,
is knowing you're not here,
and I'm alone in this bed.