Pulling lumps
Out of my neck
Like a knackered
Teddy bear
In the teeth
Of a puppy.

They told you
Why you did it
But still
You disagreed
You wanted to be punished
You begged
Upon your knees.

The ingredients
So cold
And drunk
So quick
There was no need of ice
Upon this Hellship.

The tickle of the scale
On the fiddle
Up the spine
Applied just right
Is the
Massage divine.

I'm going on to write
Not to see who thinks I'm great
I'm going to write
Not to

AI ***** everywhere
Bin doin it meself
Why should we care?
More soak
And absorb
Than insertion
Will the precision
Of the tech
Ever hit the
True description
Of the spark?
Wether
Devine or not?
But one
That compels
Deep felt connection
To the heart.

Some summer flowers have yet to die,
Such a miracle to innocent eyes.
Though my scarred flesh cares to wonder,
What sort of life they had.

T'was it an empty one?
With no true purpose at,
Except catching a young girl's eye,
And coming home to live in her ***.

Someday these flowers will be nothing but hanging carcasses,
A looming reminder that time will pass.
When they do finally fade,
The first tear of winter may be shed.