Beneath the bracing maple tree
Awaits a beau, pursued heart's key

Cold sweaty hands, timid was he
As if he's dosed with ecstasy

To woo this beautiful princess,
Hath played a fiddle effortless

Heart beats loud beneath pastel dress
Mind's been puzzled, soon she'll confess

She don't regret, she won't forget
For that so moment felt kismet

Will they be lovers? Make a guess,
It all depends if she said yes

"what's that? you can't get out of your bed?
too weak to be alive, too lazy to be dead?
well! take your zoloft effectively
just inhibit reuptake selectively
and soon you'll have the energy
to end your life impulsively
or be rid of feelings entirely
a chipper, cheery half-zombie"

"your panicking fits interfere with your day?
i'll lay out a feast, a benzo-buffet
ativan, klonopin, xanax oh my!
not just for those who are too scared to fly!
pop two and kiss all of your worries goodbye
and your memory, too, if you come to rely
on hours spent watching your life pass by
just try and object through that stubborn tongue-tie"

"your circadian rhythm is not quite right
you're asleep with the sun and awake in the night
so take one of these twice before closing your eyes
and wait for the dreams that will doubtless arise
too vivid and real to know truth from lies
and the nightmares will be an unpleasant  surprise
but stopping abruptly is duly unwise
so just find your stars in trazodone skies"

We drove fast,
the way only
the young
can do.
Recklessly and
carefree while
wildly tripping
across that
broken
highway.

I heard the
echo of our
hollow laughter,
felt the
vibration all
through my open
mind.

My mouth remained
dry no matter
how much
Orange juice I
drank.

Along the edge
of the world
the untamed
field of
sage bush and
honey suckle
swayed
like dancing
girls in unison
to the warm
California wind.

We sat and
watched in silence
as the Palm fronds
danced in ballgowns
through the
grand wood
pane windows of
a mansion
across the canyon.

I seen
hand trails that
never ended,
12 packs boxes
that hopped
away like
jack rabbits.

A Coyote on
Paseo whose only
want was to
live.

White owls
crashing through
ancient Oaks
just to let us
know we weren't
all there was.

I've captured  
the image in
memory of
a dozen
smiling faces
of my still free
minded friends
of my youth.

All seeing
things the
way they were
meant to be
seen.

All seeing
things the
way we'd
never
see them
again.

Stirs its ashes and embers, its burnt sticks

An eye powdered over, half melted and solid again
Ponders
Ideas that collapse
At the first touch of attention

The light at the window, so square and so same
So full-strong as ever, the window frame
A scaffold in space, for eyes to lean on

Supporting the body, shaped to its old work
Making small movements in gray air
Numbed from the blurred accident
Of having lived, the fatal, real injury
Under the amnesia

Something tries to save itself-searches
For defenses-but words evade
Like flies with their own notions

Old age slowly gets dressed
Heavily dosed with death's night
Sits on the bed's edge

Pulls its pieces together
Loosely tucks in its shirt

I'm getting derealization twenty-four/seven;
Unreality has made alterations
unto my perception.

Donnie Darko awoke in bewildered displacement,
I too arose to this disconcerting amazement.
Found myself lying on green grass
at a golf course twisted by Alice In Wonderland.
Checkered tiles black-and-white
and pine trees swaying in the half-light.
Familiar faces put me at ease, an acid blotter
got emptied.
Got dosed in my dreams. Got on my knees.
Was tripping in my sleep.
What would it mean for when I woke up?

This dream didn't stop.
I woke up but my mind did not.
Reality wasn't enough.
Disassociation followed me home.

I woke up
but kept dreaming. The walls felt soft
and the colors were peeling.
I have felt this before,
Felt the days double over;
My mind lucid,
Fatigued no more.

By: Cedric McClester

Seems I’ve over dosed
On politics
And cable TV
Gives me my fix
I watch it for interest
As well as for kicks
When I know that all of ‘em
Are nothing but *****

I’ve listen to pundits
‘Til I’m blue in the face
When I should have ignored them
But in any case
I get a thrill from
Watching the race
And wondering who
Will come in in first place

It shouldn’t be hard
For anyone to understand
Why I’m in bad need
Of some Narcan
Cuz I’ve overdosed
More than most man
And when I started out
That wasn’t my plan

I’m in bad need
Of a rehab
But I’ve said no, no
Doggone it dag nab
So if I’m not careful
I’ll wind up on a slab
From ODing on someone’s
Gift of gab












Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016.  All rights reserved.

it’s troubling.

to be but one missed dosed from death
from the sting of warm showers
and the ache of tight clothes
rubbing on bark textured skin
The darkening of faded lines
Tip toeing that vermilion tightrope.

I am tempted by light chairs  
by satin smooth ropes and twine
leaning close to door handle delight
a hug around delicate veins
May I dream of peace before being
For it is my only true god

I only see this illness in memories failure.
when medicine is sidelined
to work and school and friends.  
Only am I reminded of it’s weight
When I grow reckless and wild
daring to miss my dose.

The television is getting worse, I have noticed on its viewing
What the **** is going on, what do you think your doing ?
Maybe its ungrateful, but our minds are just left stewing
Why must people endure repeats, through years of program queuing?
An example is the game shows, there on every side just brewing
We're paying for the privilege, its the public that your *******

We don't want Deal Or No Deal, with all those crap crisp boxes
Q.I. is not that interesting, it has too many paradoxes
Who Wants To Be A Millionaire ? is that just a stupid question?
I would love to Strike It Lucky, so what is your suggestion?

Pointless has the correct name, cos that's exactly what it is
Has Jasper Carrot got Golden *****, or is he *******
Why is there ***** Money, did they ran out of toilet tissues
Julian Clary had Sticky Moments, and outrageous camping issues

Whenever Opportunity Knocks, well just open the door
If your going to Take Me Out, then what are you waiting for?
Don't Name That Tune In One, I'd rather hear it all
A Question Of Sport is so boring, its hardly on the ball

Is it the Weakest Link, because the chain is full of rust?
Didn't Blockbusters close down, and the video shop go bust ?
Why Should I Supermarket Sweep, Dale can sweep it himself
The pyramid Game is just, an apex polyhedron triangular shelf

I Don't want to go on Mastermind, and look like a ******* fool
If I went Through The Keyhole, then I must be minuscule
Why Would I Lie To You? wouldn't that be a bit two faced
I'm not sure if Celebrity Squares, are really all straight laced?
Could you please repeat yourself, I did not Catch that Phrase
Just how many crystals where there, in the Crystal Maze?

Was Spin Star cancelled, because celebrities where break dancing
Or was it Bradley Walsh's giant fruit, that needed some enhancing?
Why is it called The Chase, when there's no chasing involved?
The Chasers are sat on there arses, so The Chase is never solved

I don't think it is the Wheel Of Fortune, even if you do
You don't really get much fortune, till you solve the final clue
Paul Daniels said Every Second Counts, so forget the introductions
Just get on with the game play, don't even bother with instructions

Philip Schofield played with Five Gold Rings, isn't that just wrong
I thought that Five Gold Rings, belonged to a Christmas song
Ted Rogers read such stupid clues, it made it hard to win
No wonder 3.2.1 contestants, usually won poor Dusty Bin

I would really love to drink, some of that Celebrity Juice
But first I'll have to find out, which ones are tight or loose
I'm not lucky enough to have 300 Blanks, with a lovely lady in a bed
I'll have to hand it to myself, and have a Blankety Blank instead

Mr & Mrs is outdated, most Marriages are not enforced
Those couples who where happy once, are probably divorced
Treasure Hunt used a Helicopter, clues found by Anneka Rice
She ran around quite frantically, but her **** was rather nice

Isn't Ann Widdecombe a dark horse, she liked a Cleverdick
I Suspect if she had the chance, she'd like a **** that's thick
There used to be Telly Addicts, but now they are history
We no longer want Noel Edmunds, or crap games on our TV

Poor Bully tried to play Darts, but his aim was far to high
It isn't all that great or Super, missing the Bullseye
Come on now Jim its not fare, making the contestants cry
To look at what you could have won, and kiss the prize goodbye

Naked Jungle was a one off, Keith Chegwin in the buff
I'm glad it did not continue, so please don't Call My Bluff
Countdown has been on for years, we've had a ****** enough
Only Connect and 15 to 1, are hard and far too tough

Family fortunes and Eggheads, we don't want all this stuff
Fort Boyard and Mock The Week, stick them up you chuff
Going For Gold and Gladiators, too old and looking rough
University Challenge and Impossible, there really dull and duff

Never Mind The Buzzcocks, it's a forgotten piece of Fluff
Crosswits and Chain Letters, should be dragged of by the scuff
Hole in the wall and Alphabetical, are so right of the cuff
The Cube and The Million Pound Drop, I'd walk of in a huff

Many game shows throughout the years, all needed a good host
But there isn't any spontaneity, so none of them can boast
Instead of reading from a script,and acting liked their dosed
Take the plunge make it your own, don't be a mindless ghost
Why don't hosts try to be their best, and try to be their most
Wouldn't it make more sense, to keep your audience engrossed

Ben Shepherd comes to mind, he doesn't seem all there
With his ****** expressions, weird smile and stupid stare
How did he become a host, was it all based on a dare
Why is his act robotic, its more than we can bare

Its like watching a recording, this isn't really fare
If we are subjected to this crap, then we deserve a share
I guess its our misfortune, its enough to make you swear
We're already at our Tipping Point, so we no longer care

Now I'm not saying that every host, is as bad as old Ben Shep
In fact there is at least one guy,who has a better Rep
He may not be a large man, in fact he played a Lep
But at least he isn't wooden, and he's with you every step

Warwick Davis's Act is Tenable, and he has not compromised
With good hosting skills, jokes and quips Warwick has realized
Although I'm not a game show fan, I am pleasantly surprised
He stands tall over the other hosts, even though he is pintsized

Why keep making game shows, was there a voting pole?
I believe there are too many, they are so ******* droll
As bad as all reality, the schedules they both stole
Axe the ******* lot of them, and chuck them down a hole

Just take a look at Brucie, may god rest his soul
He was around for decades, and hosting was role
Taking over all the shows, seemed to be old Brucie's goal
The years weren't kind to old Bruce, they definitely took there toll

There is a Brucie Bonus, available for every Generation
All you really needed, was the right kind of motivation
Nice to see you to see you nice, was Bruce's obligation
Life was the name of the game, in a family situation

A cuddly toy on a conveyer belt, in a prize observation
Didn't he do well all, depends on your own determination
If You Play Your Cards Right, Dollies Dealing a sensation
You don't get anything for a pair, maybe its infatuation

You can freeze but you cant stick, all dealt in isolation
Do you want to bet on it, was a gambling invitation
The price was always right, just use your imagination
Come on down to old Bruce, win a car and a vacation

Maybe he's a legend, with Bruce's game show graduation
A chance to host a new show, a Good Game realization
What's on the board miss ford, moving on to a new creation
It turned camp when they shut that door, and hired Larry Grayson

What was it with Bruce Forsyth, he was far too keen
He monopolised the hosting, on the game show scene
Seizing every opportunity, ever since he was fourteen
Just like Command and Conqueror, on the TV screen
He took on all the game shows, maybe he's just mean
But I cant help but to wander, where else has he been?

With all of his catchphrases, and a chin that was obscene
A wig that was like shredded wheat, it never should be seen
I don't know if I'm being harsh, it maybe his routine
And its all in his makeup, and part of Bruce's gene
Perhaps he liked the studio, and had too much caffeine
Along with the all dodgy food, in the BBC canteen

Now Challenge screens the game shows, but there all so ******* old
We've already seen all these games, they've already all been sold
I do not mean to sound too flippant, but why wont you be told
Your sending your viewers up the wall, and your audiences cold
Now let me state what's obvious, I hope I am not too bold
We don't want all these rehashed games, there hardly TV gold

it's ridiculous that we say "bless you" when you sneeze and not when you cough.  i'm pretty sure coughing is a sign of a much more grave illness.  when is the last time someone died from sneezing?  (june 24th, 2006 -- anthony dean rice)  it's ridiculous that dock ellis pitched his one and only career no-hitter while under the influence of LSD.  i wonder how often he dosed before games.  it's ridiculous that being hit by my father has turned me into more of a pacifist than i ever thought possible.  it's ridiculous how much someone can love a man that made him or her feel more physical pain than anyone ever has.  it's ridiculous that being family allows you this nearly unconditional love.  it's ridiculous that my goal has been to love everyone unconditionally.  it's ridiculous how hard this truly is.  it's ridiculous that people cite the holy bible as evidence for why homosexuality is "unnatural" and yet fail to recall that eating shellfish is an abomination.  it's ridiculous that anyone can be against the marriage of two loving people of the same gender while having no problem with laws that allow marriage between a convicted child molester and a person who cheated on his or her first three spouses.  it's ridiculous that i even have to point that out.  it's ridiculous that michael phelps lost more endorsements after being photographed smoking marijuana than he did after pleading guilty to driving while impaired.  it's ridiculous that driving drunk, hopping a curb, and hitting a mother walking home can earn you 20 years in prison while driving drunk, hopping a curb, and hitting a mailbox will only earn you 2 days in jail, 3 years probation, and a fine.  the only difference is one person had better luck -- both were still driving while intoxicated.  it's ridiculous that i was born into such a loving family.  why do i deserve such favorable moral luck?  it's ridiculous that people don't seem to understand that borders on a map are just lines...not  lines indicating some moral difference; not lines indicating you are worth more than the person in the country across the globe; not lines indicating that we matter and they don't...they're just lines.  it's ridiculous that i walk around with my eyes closed for no apparent reason.  it's ridiculous that i fell and got a concussion while trying to jump over a sign.  it's ridiculous that this hasn't stopped me from continuing to jump over almost anything in my path.  it's ridiculous that i was so confused after hitting my head that i cried and had to sit still and wait for my friends to find me because i didn't know what day it was or where i was.  it's ridiculous that the last time i cried out of confusion was when i was four and the elevator doors closed before my mom realized that i hadn't followed her out of the elevator.  it's ridiculous that i can fall in love with your smell...even when you haven't showered for a few days.  it's ridiculous that i feel a strange sensation in my right hand when i am exposed to a beauty i know i can't have.  it's ridiculous that i feel that when i am around you.  it's ridiculous that you are so beautiful it makes my heart feel like it just might explode.  it's ridiculous that i have no doubt that giving you everything would be the best decision i ever made.  it's an easy gamble to make because i know you would give me more than i ever started with.  it's ridiculous that you move my heart more than anyone ever has.  it's ridiculous that you become infused into every aspect of my life.  it's ridiculous that this began as a letter to anyone and turned into a letter to only one.  it's ridiculous that some people reading this still think i am listing things worthy of ridicule.  perhaps these things are all still absurd...but i have stopped laughing.  it's ridiculous that even with a broken heart, i will never stop loving people.  it's ridiculous that anyone would even think i could.

stars racing towards a planet to hit
way to dosed to focused on this ****
the waterfall runs of orange and pink
Way too distracted, can’t even think
The sprits are running through the walls
getting kicked out of class, now I’m dreaming in the halls
the rabbits, the fishes can’t come to a stop
getting way to blown, I’m in front of a cop
jet planes flying the opposite way
guess I should’ve taken this tab another day

A nineteen-year-old drug connoisseur,
That fiend on the roam, just the next player
making moves on his cell-phone.
Sometimes you gotta race
but you always gotta play,
Revel in The Apotheon;
Welcome to The Game.

Stoner to the bone,
Raver at heart;
Yet everthrough always the psychonaut.

Been a speed-freak, a pill-head
and almost got stuck in the k-hole,
All 'cause one day
life caught me double-dosed;
You never intend to be any of these things,
It just all happens
while your eyes are closed.

Woke up this morning with a screaming headache
It’s 6am and I have to be at work by 8am
Feeling like I didn’t get enough sleep but have I ever?
Say a short prayer, that should make it all okay
I clean up as fast as I can,
but not without hurting my gums while brushing
Maybe once I had something to eat, it would all be better
Opened the fridge and the crate of egg falls off, Hol’up
I wanted scrambled eggs but not in this manner for sure
Aaahhh, I need some tea even though coffee would be ideal
But I did run out yesterday. Sigh.
Water’s boiling and I’m trying to get some of it into a cup
But the kettle cover falls off and the hot water spills on my hands
Burning me; today surely isn’t my day is it?
Tea’s ready, but I’m running late now, so I’m taking it to work
Got into the car, humming a feel good tune and sipping tea
Returning the cup to the holder now and again
Then I hit an unfortunate gallop, and the tea spills all over the car
It’s exactly 7.30am and my whole day looks like the mess in the car
I get to the office, couldn’t clean up the car, traffic enroute, made sure
I was more than 5 minutes late; I sign the register before the lateness line
Is ruled; something relatively good yeah? Yeah?
I’m walking to my office door, and somehow the key to my office breaks as I’m
Trying to open the door, no kidding.
They say they will fix it later and I pitch in one of the other empty offices
I’m on my desk, slow day so not much to do
Loud crashing sound, I’m awake and hurting on the office floor
Cos apparently I dosed off and fell off my chair
It’s not until break time and even more, the absurd amusing gazes I’m getting
That I realize I’m wearing different legs from two different shoes colored differently
And of cos my pants got torn at the back from the fall earlier.
Imagine how I looked and to think the day was only half spent.
Where could I have possibly gone wrong today?!

And I solemnly swear
on the chill of secrecy
that I know you not, this room never,
the swollen dress I wear,
nor the anonymous spoons that free me,
nor this calendar nor the pulse we pare and cover.

For all these present,
before that wandering ghost,
that yellow moth of my summer bed,
I say: this small event
is not. So I prepare, am dosed
in ether and will not cry what stays unsaid.

I was brown with August,
the clapping waves at my thighs
and a storm riding into the cove. We swam
while the others beached and burst
for their boarded huts, their hale cries
shouting back to us and the hollow slam
of the dory against the float.
Black arms of thunder strapped
upon us, squalled out, we breathed in rain
and stroked past the boat.
We thrashed for shore as if we were trapped
in green and that suddenly inadequate stain

of lightning belling around
our skin. Bodies in air
we raced for the empty lobsterman-shack.
It was yellow inside, the sound
of the underwing of the sun. I swear,
I most solemnly swear, on all the bric-a-brac

of summer loves, I know
you not.

I float on gin soaked nightmares
Yoked to the liquor like a babe to a bottle
Coaxed to sleep slowly, dosed on 70% proof
and with it the night's terror starts.

Gin addled, lying in sweat soaked sheets
Memories raise their heads above the parapet
These memories coaxed from their corners
Coerced by addiction.

My addiction I saw as a benediction
A positive to all the negative.
But my submission was not conviction,
it was hell and condemnation.

Now, my nightmares torment me,
like purgatory, no rest for the wicked,
the fallen, the flotsam and detritus of life.
Stricken I can only question....

What's it like to drift off quietly?
Not to wake with a scream trapped in your throat?
To count sheep instead of the faces of the long dead?
To slumber in peace, cloaked in love?

If you can answer these questions,
please let me know.
Pop a note in bottle and give it a throw.
If it washes up I'll let you know.

A coffin came my way,
They said, therein you lay;

I could believe them nay,
Until they said they could flay;

Wild I went,
I could not vent;

The expression remaining,
Before it started draining;

I was no longer composed,
I had to be dosed;

You were ethereal,
This had to be surreal;

No enmity could matter,
When everything had shattered;

You had been battered,
When you had me flattered;

I can not apologise,
You have been baptized;

I seek not your forgiveness,
I need not your liveness;

For you’ll always be,
Right here, in my heart;

I woke up, to find you gone,
For EVER in your zone..

I need not repent,
For I have your scent;

Your memories alive,
Shall always thrive;

You were one of a kind,
Never out of your mind;

It is not cowardice,
For it requires courage;

It shall not be despised,
For it was your suffrage..

At first I wanted to just be friends
You were a shy girl
Not many friends
You tried to hide from the world
In that dark desolate corner you called home
I ended up getting too close
And falling in love with you
I couldn't help it
Your eyes sang a million songs
That made my heart beat to the rhythm of
Your smile aroused billions of butterflies
That fluttered in my stomach
Your laugh created chills
That crawled down my spine
You became the very essence of my poetry
Every line a curve of your body
Every stanza a feature elegantly placed on your body
Every metaphor a slight over exaggeration of your intense beauty
And every thing I wanted to do to you
I thought of every time I glanced in your direction
I wanted to tear the shirt from your chest
Kiss the pulsating veins in your neck
I wanted to feel the curves I wrote about
I wanted to taste every feature
I wanted to smell your perfume
That always seemed to arouse me
I wanted to hear the late night moans
Of your pure pleasure and enjoyment
I wanted to see that intense flame of ****** desire in your eyes
I wanted to embrace you when we were done
I wanted to stay and watch the sun kiss you good morning
I wanted to listen to your breathing slow as you slept
I wanted to love you in more ways than this
I wanted to please your every desire
I wanted to bring you out of the desolate lands of oblivion
I tried my best to love you
But when things got too serious
You abandon everything we ever had
You must of lied to me every time you said "I love you"
You must not have meant it
You used me for the pure desire of self happiness
You got high off my love
You almost over dosed on my *******
Yet you still had the audacity to walk away from it all
Everything I wanted to do to you
I told you
From taking you to watch the sunset in Arizona
To watching the sun rise on the great Pacific Ocean
I made you happy all the time
Yet you only found happiness in sulking in misery
You never wanted love
And you ran from it
Every time it kissed you
I built an empire for you
I built walls impenetrable by foreign enemies
When in all actuality your reason for allowing me to do so
Was to lock me out when you decided to flee
Yet you still find it hard to attend to the walls
As they start crumbling and eroding
Every time I smile
Every time I laugh
And it's not with you
You want me to pretend nothing ever even happened
Yet everything I wanted to do to you
I never hid from you
I was blunt and straightforward
I wanted you to be exited and surprised
When you saw the bill
When you saw how much happiness cost
It cost our love and friendship
So I hope your happy now
I hope your smile is real now
I wanted to be the reason for them
Now all I want to do to you
Is rip your throat out
For leaving my heart
Broken, bleeding, drunk off love, and at my feet
Everything I wanted to do to you
Went from romantic to homicidal
But I just can't find that level of hatred
To even pull it off
Simply because I still love you

No more long stares
spent phenol syringes fresh on the streets,
barbiturated ruffians riddled,
denizens lost into this killing machine,
over dosed on Laudanum yesterday's ***** with temerity to spare,
turns tricks down
tomorrow someone laugh and high kick her,
those new Barista Gangsters , their marketing strategy
stretches the mind,
enough to **** a healthy Ox.
Lean close and hear
this requisitioned block is a pleasure dome
suitable for gilded beautification.

They're such shiny chemicals:
Dopamine, Norepinephrine, Phenylethylamine.
Life shimmers,
and each day is painted with purpose
When dosed with such potency.

I would like to believe that love,
The long-lasting kind,
The one you're supposed to want,
The one that settles you,
Where you grow old and spend Wednesday evenings answering emails and rewatching some old baking show in ***** sweats
Is enough to keep life interesting.
But chemistry doesn't always work that way.

My path might dictate some other measure of wholeness,
And more than one type of love,
And more than a couched lookalike storybook ending.
My path may require
Risk, Adventure, Longing,
Questioning, Exploration, Pain,
Brilliant platonic wildfires,
Intellectual dalliances,
And unrequited amorosity.
In short, my path may require some trailblazing.

But this precious neural spark
In my body
That keeps me in love with love
Is mine to keep
For as long as it continues to shine.

I said I was going home
but unpredictable got in my way.
I wandered into the park, curious, for I saw
a crowd milling about, and curiosity did demand
my time. By pure chance, randomness, I acquired
a bounty of yokes in the likeness of blue ghosts.
Such is the way of Millennium on a Friday.
As quickly I found my mates to show them
the treasure.
We decided
to get dosed.
Bitte.

Suspense coming up, then, forty-five minutes in
excitement hit
as our brains leak serotonin. On love buzz again,
Young demon.
Some gang tried to mug mine, I laughed at them
as we walked by.
Howdy-** *****?
Nobody could touch
us, I was on fire. Then
drum 'n bass brought everyone higher.

my arm is nothing more than an extension of my soul,
stretched parabola forming a straight line
towards heaven.
I stand on my soapbox with a sermon dangling
from my lips, this tired old street corner
this tired old man giving the world what it wants.
I am enlisted.
I am the bubble hidden deep
inside the bone.
I am the beekeeper creating a brand new colony,
stung by his own pride.

here, brother, listen:

walk with me while I tell you about the
accubation of life
and all of it's little lovers,
those tiny frail things so easily forgotten.
my tongue is nothing more than an extension of my mind,
soft, flattened, delightful
attracted to flavor.

a million spiders bred a million more,
and still their webs spread empty between the trees.

this is the way God works.

earthquakes,
tsunamis,
libraries engulfed in flames,
over-dosed artists,
a genius child sold into slavery.

we all become what we already are:
gentle creatures abacinated by society
fenced in and cornered by evil dreams.
we thrash in our sleep,
we wake violently,
we burst onto the scene like lions
from another planet,
hungry, oh so wild and hungry.

this is the way We work.

Say goodnight,
with tmazi-pan.
Cos I'm dosed up,
on val- I -am.

Need one thing,
to make me dream.
A real good,
benzo diaza-pene.

Can't find this.
Can't find that.
Don't know where,
my head is at?

Lost my cash.
Lost my keys.
Can someone ******,
tell me please


Where I live.
And who I am.
Cos I'm messed up,
on val-I-am

(c) mandyrigby and P Skez 21/01/2014

Once passed
Always alive
You Lou
Have me hypnotized.
Not a word
I have heard
Sounds more real
Than the ones
you've told

I too,
Have been
"Waiting
For the man."
Head up Lexington
And start lookin'
For a dear
Dear friend
Of mine;
But mostly
For that one,
Quick, fix.

Soon after
"******" hits
And I too
Am dosed,
I - don't - know.
My only
Wonder now is
If a smack
Syringe can be
As good as
It sounds at
This moment

No, I let them come & go,
consistently riding that
endless wave of ephemerality.
Parade on in,
Provoke! Provoke!
I’ve got hours upon hours
to spend, delicately tracing
the hopes & hard-ons of young men.

By midnight, the cathartic compostion
is unravelling or rotting
& I’ve got my hand
down his pants,
hoping to call forth that
Saint-Lazarus sleeping at my core


Oh yes but how I do like you so,
said I, drowning in clouds
& flying through the bottoms of
sticky plastic cups
It wasn’t the truth
but God knows, I wasn’t lying

I would love to love you
I get utterly intoxicated
when you let me swallow your smile,
whilst you’re sleeping in my eyes.

It’s just that,
I only know to project my dreams
and lie awake,
melting beneath the cowardly heat.
Oh it lives on, the stiffling tension
of a fool with a thousand feelings
and a limited vocabulary.

Beware,
I must admit
there isn’t much beauty to be found
as I left my courage far behind,
in spring,
in a bedroom,
inside some other vacuole of desperation
and he fed it to the birds.

These days,
my declarations are dosed,
I keep my tongue on a leash
and my chest begets a cage.
I crawl inside my mind
and close many a door.

My father tells me what should be my first memory of hearing:
A car scuttles up the gravel hill in front of the home I loved.
I drop my chalk and run to the end of the driveway,
as if I am chasing the exhaust of fumes sputtering out the tail pipe,
wondering what on earth is that strain of air
since I was not given sound from birth.

At my testing, the audiologist put me in a soundproof booth:
The ocean has forgotten to pull its stitches together for the life of it.
I want to scream that I feel like I am drowning
as the waves tormented me into debilitation,
kicking for a gasp of air, just anything to break the current.
I cannot keep myself afloat.

My friend’s voice is the most beautiful I’ve ever heard:
Her laugh makes me want to jump in euphoric joy, like she’s dosed me with ecstasy.
I can see her smile and it speaks all the words I don't need to hear.
When she repeats a story for the third time, I do not mind
that she trusts me with her voice and her whimsical light
since she is the only one patient enough to put up with my aggravating nuisances.

That night at the David Gray concert, my God what a beautiful night:
I am so familiarized with the stretching of violin strings and guitar plucks,
Gray’s hypnotic vocals roaring into my heart with the bass thumping
into my disabled ears, rendered quite useless until I have tasted such delightful surprise
with so many of my favorite noises encasing me into their world,
that I have forgotten my own disability.

It peeves me when I am with others:
The muffling of girls whispering once the lights are out;
my stepfather keeping the TV volume low and does not provide caption while the movie rolls;
how I answer the question with the wrong response and receive confused glares.
I am a lonesome tree in the woods
with no one around to see my inevitable fall as the fire plagues on.

A technical transition last July:
Misery trenched my mind as everything rang louder-
the shuffling of my hair against my ears bothered me very much so;
I heard women talking from three tables over at the pizza place.
First given nothing, now having too much,
I am not appreciative of all the sounds in the frantic tussle of daily life.

A forest begins to chill at four o clock:
The leaves flutter on the terrain in a dance no one knows,
the sun warms me in a song with lyrics I can’t comprehend.
I am relishing what is given to me, that even though I am broken,
I still realize that I would much rather be deaf
than to ever go blind.

It somewhat looks like a bull-dosed waterfall
It’s a lot, but it’s neither great nor grand
Or hardly worthy of a standing ovation
Yet still, here we are
Glancing favored smiles in its direction
As if looking at a reflection

I advise, care less for the standard
Demand what is extraordinarily preposterous
Stop this nonsense of looking for a chest with an S
Or an answer that is yes
Or to somehow beat this test and be better than the rest
Of the leftover instuments placed here to stand and watch this empire crumble

Oh how lovely to feel humble
What am I to do? Sit here all day on my thumb?
Hearts are growing numb
Minds are decaying sick
And money drives the ambulance to recovery,
Or is headed straight for deterioration?

Sky above, changing weather
Look what’s been done in the name of something better
Hot young seduction dressed in the stench of power and red
Self preservation is what ticks time
The timeline folds around seeing eyes, blinding
All your knowledge means nothing from an undercast view
Mankind thinks, but cannot know
Some truth is sad, but still is so
Create beauty tare it down
Build the trust then leave town
I want more; a selfish wish
When the burn has reached the third degree
My intent is lost with secrecy

my first binder came by air mail
from China or Japan
and i thought that it would fit
after having accidentally told my mother i was transgender
and needed something to hide my *******
the look on her face broke my heart
so i backpedaled and said it was for cosplay
my heart too broke that day
because i was afraid that she wouldn’t
love her son as much as she loved her daughter

and it went sour for a while
we yelled instead of talked
i over dosed and self harmed
instead of asking for help
and then i tried to **** myself
in a rather selfish manner
my little sister was right next door
and i didn’t care
because right then
i was packed and ready to go

but who ever resides up there
wouldn’t let me enter the pearly whites
or the burned and blackened coffin doors of hell
which ever would get the biggest laugh
because i assumed that my life was the **** of a joke
that i wouldn’t be told the punch line to
rob told me it was sara’s dad
the same person that kicked him out too
and i believe in that with all of my being
because it’s better than believing in nothing at all

back to my being transgender
which is all my poetry is about
that and cutting and over dosing and the promise of ***
still to be fulfilled
and how much i hate myself
i am a broken record
but i read somewhere to write what you know
and my sadness is all that i know
i accidentally became my depression
and lost myself along the way

i am transgender
which means i was given the gender that my reproductive organs expressed
i identified as a girl for the first sixteen years of my life
then tumblr and family told me what transgender means
and i found that it applied to me
at first i was scared
i didn’t tell my family first
though i did tell my uncle first when i came out as a lesbian
i told some friends first because facing the screen was easier
than facing my family

but it does get better
and you should stick around to see that it really does
because the sun always comes out tomorrow
whether you sleep with your curtains closed or not
the sun always comes out tomorrow
annie agrees with me
and we are going to lose more
and more brother and sisters
but we can stop this
just listen to us
love us
accept us
and for the love of god
don’t ask me what is in my pants

it was warm and dry last summer
so i painted my face with mud and stain
and set out to find my own space of the earth with my name on it
somewhere i'd finally fit in
i never did find it
instead
i tattooed my skin with road maps to memories that i can't quite get back to
i still can't get back to you
so i picked up a lost boy on the side of the road
with a lying smile and deceptively blue rain puddle eyes
he dosed me and broke me
lifted me up with ***** hands
and set me atop a psychedelic pedestal that he could pull from beneath me
to watch me fall to the ground and writhe whenever he liked
he liked to do so often
he broke me
he did
like an empty bottle once containing bitter beer thrown at a door
so when the rain came to the plains
i dropped him off in the next state
and hurried home to gather up what pieces of myself still remained
i made me from scratch with my own hands
to suit only my own standards
but still
maybe now you'll like it
soon the leaves began to fall
and i got lost under their burial mounds
shroud in the season of decay
i saved a breath to weep for my own death
but it didn't last long
i got over it quick
crawled out of momentary depression just in time
to see the tulips die and the skies ignite
with winter sunsets and nightmares
i felt like things were changing and so should i
so i set aim for the skies
spread my arms and hoped for flight
even just a tussle of warm breeze to liven up my paper sails...
just something to pull me out to sea
to sky
space and waves
it's all the same
i just wanted to get away
all i gained was new callous and a few second-hand paper-backs
i didn't get much farther than a couple states away
but any sky tastes great when all you're craving is some change
the days got short quick
and the warmth ran away to play
while i stayed behind to hold down the fort
and hopefully to set forth to find whatever it is that i'm constantly searching for

They took their shovels and digging tools
To the top of Highgate Hill,
They walked in a deadly silence there
In the dusk, in the evening chill,
They picked their way through the deep-laid bones,
The monuments, great and small,
And looked for the plain Rossetti stone
In their search for Elizabeth Siddal.

That red-haired, wraithlike, ghostly girl
Who had charmed the PRB,
She'd sat, at first, for Deverell
Who was doomed, with Bright's Disease,
She'd fallen hard for the artist then
Though her love was never returned,
For Deverell died so suddenly -
It was as if her love was spurned.

She sat for Dante Gabriel,
For Holman Hunt, Millais,
As the model for drowned Ophelia
In an ice cold bath she lay,
She lent her beauty to every brush,
Each stroke laid bare her soul,
When she looked around for herself she found
There was nothing left at all.

Rossetti had kept her close to him
As he slowly became obsessed,
He scribbled a dozen portraits from
Her head to her heaving breast,
He placed her high on a pedestal,
A Madonna in all but name,
But kept his physical love from her
That she might not suffer shame.

He penned the poems he wrote for her
In a small, grey calf-skin book,
He carried the poems everywhere
As a proof of the love it took,
He made no copies, he held them close
They were food for a future muse,
For his art and poetry vied with him -
It was painting he would choose.

But she; who knew what rent her soul,
The cravings she despaired?
She sipped at the potion laudanum
As her heart and her mind were bared,
She scribbled the weary verses that
Spoke love, of a love long-lost,
While Dante frolicked with Annie Hughes
At Elizabeth Siddal's cost.

As Lizzie despaired on laudanum
She had ceased to be of use,
Her visage was sad, and aged and drawn
In the sick room of abuse,
While girls with youth, vitality
And an earthy yen for sin
Like ***** Cornforth, came to sit -
And Rossetti let them in.

They wed, but much as a faded dream
The knot had been tied too late,
As Lizzie, dying a little each day
Succumbed to a morbid fate,
For one dark night she had laid her down
Penned a final note, to whit:
'My life has become so miserable
That I want no more of it.'

She lay by an empty laudanum phial,
Rossetti was quite distraught,
He'd loved her, but with a purer love
Than his lust or his money bought,
His grief was such, as he laid her down
In her coffin, she looked so fair,
That he placed the book of his poems
Between her cheek and her auburn hair.

The years went on and he sank himself
In a pit of despond, unwell,
Withdrew from his friends and dosed himself
With a phial of chloral,
His painting suffered, his income too,
He turned to the ancient muse,
And thought of the poems beyond the grave,
He knew that he'd have to choose!

He wrote to Charles Augustus Howell
A rogue that he'd used before,
To test him; whether to dig her up
Or to lose his poems forever;
Howell replied he should get them back,
Or he'd lose them to death, for good,
'Your works are the works of genius,
Bring them back to the world - You should!'

So Howell, he toiled up Highgate Hill
While Dante hid in his lair,
Too scared to look on his love again,
His muse with the auburn hair,
A fire was lit in the dead of night
The coffin was raised on high,
His love was torn from her deathly stare
They could almost hear her sigh.

The book was caught in her tangled hair
Which had filled the coffin's space,
And she was lovely, and quite serene
As they lifted the book from her face,
They lowered her gently, back in the ground
That had served as her awful tomb,
She lay defiled like a bride, reviled,
But without her lawful groom.

Rossetti published his poems then,
They sold by the thousandfold,
For Howell had leaked the story out
That he hadn't wanted told;
But a fate awaited Augustus Howell
A revenge that would beggar belief,
He was found, throat cut in the gutter -
With a coin, tight clenched in his teeth!

David Lewis Paget