Save yourself/serve yourself

Now that we are so anaesthetised.
We settle for blankness.
Without any compromise.
You suck the soul from us every day.
Filling the void with countenance and suspicion.
Such a beautiful paradox, what a time to be alive.
So lazy by design.
You wear the masks of the familiar.
Cutting the ties that bind us to our future.
And who are we to utter, the silent stutter into separation.
Your IS desperation to keep us scared.
There is no oil here, only pits of anger.
Bubbling to the surface.
Such disturbance now at the house.
The roaring of a mouse, of a nation who were followers.
Now numbering the chorus that’s out of control.
Democracy hangs in the air, like the miasma of the 18th century.
Fogging London once more with a noxious distaste.
We all wear our own tin foil crowns.
Crunching the bones of despair.
The Fear of standing for something.
I am but one of many, lounging in my paralysis.
A self-inflicted state of disconnect.
Waiting for the numbness to arrive.

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Weekend

Strained and untested.
(You’re not the only one)
Friday night and frantic.
Planned to get arrested.

They’ll pick up pieces of you in the morning.
Who flew your sanity out of here?
Drunk without a warning.
Stabs at conversations so unclear.

Saints be praised such holiness.
Washes over these tired feet.
Picked apart then slowly undress.
This divine and damaged piece of meat.

Lifting

Vanishing points appeared on the ceiling.
Little holes in my veins.
These little deer that course through the bloodstream.
Looking for the forest from the trees.
You force me to close my eyes to a world so hung in regret.
Precarious, like a spun sugared spider web.
Catching daydreams and ideas of escape.
That lifting.
Yet submerged in a dream where the walls crumble like chalk.
A hallucinatory step into monumental design.
Copying my name into the book of the dead.
That book that I read, where fate can be altered.
And we can change the path of time.
Which now forever ticks in my head, as I swallow each new morning.
Choking on the aftertaste of yesterday.
Lifting into a dream.

Up on the ride

‘So, you will change today.
The lights you so frequently cover will begin to shine again.
The pathways you trapped so blindly will start their purpose, or disappear.
The drastic decisiveness that you must learn to inherit will make its first cautious journey.
Upwards, into your inverted perception circle. I would like to be your friend.
Life, a gift you so often squander is precious, as it has always been.
And faith, that I have hidden, still sits above your head.
So pull back the morphine curtains, go wash and purge those demons clean.
Today is the first day, as they have always been.
And today, dear you, you will begin to love yourself with joy.’


Guillemots:Up on the ride

Opium for the soul

I feel no pain. I feel nothing.
An uncomfortable numbness itching in my bones.
How your lips bring about such devastation.
Apathaites my heart and bubbles my blood.
Oh the sweet bends that rush, twisting my insides out.
You are the opium for my soul.
The novocaine for my conscience.
Which constantly waivers into unstable territory.
You keep my ghost steady as I walk this earth.
Getting high from the lows you put me under.
Feeling flight as you watch me crawl.
Love, such a compromise anyway.

Under October sky

Beneath the quietening of this heart.
Cracks a thunder, like an electric storm.
Stinging my teeth while the haemoglobin clouds roll on.
You came searching for me.
Under that October sky that fell down like sympathy.
White sheets stained red and corridors that endlessly led,
to nowhere.
I cannot see all of you in the slit through my eyelids.
While my bloodstream is awash with dizzying correctives.
Which condition should I wear?
Is this but a dream spun from those salty lips?
That kissed me last night as I climbed the walls once more.
Doubtful, for you were gone.
A room devoid of your expansive endurance.
Which explains the circumstance.
The sad tale of happenstance.
Which led me down here.

Your pilgrimage

I love your silver dressed dreams.
Darlings, that call us all to look.
To peek and prod in an unforgiving time.
Hook your hate around my hand, thrown in the bag to drown.
Kittens, pebbles in your pocket.
You call this your pilgrimage.
A racing stumble through our great beyond.
But that was where I found you.
Heaped and tired, all covered in stars.
Can you walk the line?
Can you take some time to change?
Wrap this love around you heart, swallow and then re-arrange.
Your pilgrimage.
You deep mistake.
Your breaking through, my privilege.

Checkers and chess

How to topple the king which wears the crown so royally.
Moments and magnesium fill the place of diamonds and gems.
Wrapped in much Fools gold.
And the crown heaves down, rubbing red and raw.
Check
A life long lived with much regret.
Check.
How we turn the heels and fled.
To learn a life in which to lead, we watch the others.
Little eyes through holes in fences.
A voyeuristic violation, into their little galaxies.
That swirl and sway like the black in the white.
Changing from dismay, into delight.
And you take this horse by the reigns, and lead me through the forest.
Through the clearing of my ill begotten ways.
Out of the woods, out of the storm.
Peppering poppies that fill my lungs with such poisonous perspective.
And show me.
That I had been asleep all this time.

As the city sleeps

Still waiting for the big revelation.
Be prepared for anything, but do you still believe?
Dreaming of big distractions and carbon copied lives.
Left with diamond headaches and pills to make you sleep.
Don’t sleep, dream. Let it in.
Kick start that desire that you are just as good as God.
Good as gold even. Counting zeros on a monthly slide.
They call you the king of commodity.
Hanging on the end of the line.
Hanging onto anything.
Smear the sugar on your lips and catch the bees.
Be prepared for the sting.
Close your eyes as your tongue lolls over.
Cityscapes and supernovas.
Mercury swinging in to shift the traffic.
Allowing you to arrive more easily.
Sleeping another day away.
Swimming in medicated decay.

Jesus jam (Satan’s saliva)

That Octopus, that alligator.
On heaven’s brow, god’s travelator.
Tipping the scales, licking honey.
Bring all of us such milk and money.
Sipping on sweet lemonade.
Cherry wine and razor blades.
Who’s in danger?
Who’s in hell?
Count those cell phones with tortoise shells.
This computer says we’re many things.
In need of love, and diamond rings.
Error. Escape, with all the wrong friends.
Beatnik bars and downward trends.
Smile if you think we’re happy.
Laugh if you think it’s trending.
Gatorade, work alarms. Good times never ending.
Pack your life now in a suitcase.
Sadness in sardonic typeface.
Wash away those bruises with beer.
Turpentine and celebrity gear.
A neon fog to dull the senses.
Lowered expectations and all defenses.

Bag of bones

What is left to discover, underneath of another?
Slipping their hand inside your dreams.
Blink and they’ll hover, laying oily fingers upon you.
Dripping into your world.
Turn you over like heroin.
Underneath those clothes that hang like a skin.
They’ll slip within, and caress your soul.
At least that’s what you believe.
That’s what you’ve been told.
A smiling, nodding bag of bones.

World is spinning (旋转失控)

Electric vertebrae, tasting the wavelengths.
Calling out on the ocean of time.
Feel it pulse, shimmer and shake in my bones.
I Saw it in the I, Ching.
Consult, consult, confer.
Disturbed state of mind.
Eating black ice cubes on a whitewashed day.
Soaked in the rain of the juniper tears.
Slipping into each pore, devouring me once more.
Oh that little friend of mine.
Dropping plastic swords and fighting to stay alive.
Now in a trance, and feeling it once more in my heartbeats.
The kick drum of immortality.
Dip this moment in bronze, and tie me to a plinth.
Whispers, all around like welcomed sound.
Dripping once more into cosmic dreams.

Who let the rain in?

Underneath that crystal water, of crushed stars and dreams.
Dwelling like a memory that won’t die.
Lies a soul.
Frayed and tattered.
Filled with thoughts of eucalyptus leaves and saffron.
Tide up in heartstrings and self-made knots.
Tackling the torrents soundlessly.
To drown silently in a rising tide.
Was their gift to you.
Keeping the truth and the pain out of your eyes.
Packing soot and coal into the sockets.
Trembling inside and still, like a sewn up teddy bear.
All glass eyed reflective and placid.
Who let that rain in, to wash the hope away?
Deluged in dopamine and on the brink of decay.
Each drop inched closer, under the door and down their spine.
Exploding the sky with a grey that blocked out heaven.
God made the rain, the floods the tide.
To wash away the sinners, the soulless and already sunken.
Yet she was always destined to float.
Catching stars in pockets and wiping the salvation across your mouth.
But the rain came in.
Straw ladened and camel shaking. Soaked in misery and shame.
And now she is lost under the surface. Ripped away in the undertow.
Growing gills and thicker skin.
Crashing on someone else’s shore.

Home of the naïve

Disentangled child, cut from the spangled banner.
Speckled in manna, and the god they trust.
As unique as a snowflake.
Beyond the dawn break, of a new and troubled ice age.
Call me on your cell phone.
Buzzing in neon, and a blood point too high to tally.
Covert the freedom.
Sensibilities you need them, as the world cracks and crumbles below.
Oh say can you see?
Beyond all the misery.
There is a land open and free, still waiting for you.
Topple the gods.
In a system at odds, which crackles with such hellish flame.
Pledge allegiance to the drag of a drug in your veins.
Which splits the world and mottles your brain.
Until you die and are reborn again.
So proudly you exhale, a revolution of love.
And a change that cannot fail.
Splattered in white, red and blue.
Be strong. Be courageous. Be you.

Pepper and papaverine

Keep my image in your head.
As your bruises turn to yellow.
As the pain subsides and the chaos falls down.
Your post-blue tiptoe through the poppies.
Licking the petals as they brown in the sun.
The cold light of morning blankets us both.
Glittering off broken promises and the whisper of regret.
We turn our world for another rotation around the central star.
Angels waiting to tear inside you.
Reparative cells bonding with my inclination.
To heal you and us, in a milky star shaped pool.
Pick the debris out of your mind and take my hand.
These explosions you are seeing, they are only clouds of uncertainty.
A falling disease, defeated by love and the heart that we call our home.
Hang you head to the side and listen.
These sweet words of supple saltitude, savouring the sublime.
Triggering happy thoughts and novocaine in our minds.
Wash it down. Sweat it out.

There’s nothing wrong here

I wore the role you wanted.
Dressed in those emotions.
Let it drip like turpentine.
You showed me your Jesus scar.
As I cut through the confusion.
You leave me buzzing like a motel sign.
Only you could scratch me that deep.
Rush through me like amphetamines.
What did they say when you returned?
Did you make it feel so numb?
Feasting on cartilage and present tense.
Yet the dark offered such shelter and shadows.
To call you back to another brilliant night.
Where you looked ahead, seeing us there.
Stepping over the bodies of others.
Look me in the eye, celebrate me deep.
They all wanted to be wrong.
Singing their symphony of sorrow for a loss that had not yet begun.
Bone and cheek.
Questioning our mortality as you trim the fat.
All conquering weirdos.
Destroying the things they never understood.

Fly me to the moon

Into the shuttle, with a clink and clank.
Climbed old Richard, the adventurous Yank.
He counted down, from ten to zero.
Puffed out his chest, as America’s new hero.
And he soared into the sky, with his hands in his pockets.
As he shot to the moon on the back of a rocket.
And the earth dripped away under the clouds and his feet.
He smiled at his fortune that was ever so sweet.
Yet alone on this flight, bound for the lunar oasis.
As his body hung on earth in a medical stasis.
In the nursing home called Cherry palm, Richard resided.
At 92, was the best place his children decided;
For him to live out his days in comfort and care.
Little knowing each day was full of lonely despair.
And that is why, though medicated it’s noted.
He navigated the world, and now space where he floated.
And he went where he wanted, on his own in his head.
He had travelled to the moon without leaving his bed.

Enabled sleep

Lay me down with the tinkling of glass.
Those little fellows with their chalky mouths.
Grinning at an untold joke.
Keeping their euphoria to themselves.
The night suffocates, yet refuses to devour me.
Leaving me bitter and longing for sleep.
The jealously of the slumbered ripples across my skin like the cold.
It happened today, wearing my tiredness on my sleeve.
Welcoming rest and dreams within dreams.
Yet it won’ come.
Like an un-landed flight, I circle the skies in my lumbering state.
Creaking the fuselage with my tectonic groans.
Swaying in the night sky full of stars.
I manufacture a restful condition, listening to the world settle.
The universe put to bed and still.
They return, mother’s little helpers with their permanent smiles.
Swallowed down. I’ve been so high.
Aloft yet well-travelled.
There is nothing wrong now, I just needed to believe.
Dive into that waiting white surface so cool and clean.
Landed. 5am.
Grounded.

Stanley

Stanley wanted nothing more.
Then a pair of new trainers, like the boy next door.
So he went to the shops and emptied his pockets.
But some coins, a tissue and small toy rocket.
Could not amount to the high priced brand.
And he was asked to leave by the security man.
So Stanley went away for a while.
But then came back, with a cheeky smile.
And he stole those shoes, from right under their nose.
And wore them home, in such comfortable toes.
But alas, this was not the end for Stanley.
Who began to steal more things, which made him feel manly.
He moved on to televisions and peddling dope.
At only 15, he was beyond all hope.
Of ever being on the straight and narrow.
Hitting the underworld, fast like an arrow.
So don’t surprised if you come across Stan.
Shoplifting in Tesco or hot wiring a van.
For if you try to talk him, set out a plan.
He’ll flip you the finger, and steal your gran.
(Crime doesn’t pay…always)

Beauty trapped

Bind my heart, break my bones.
Sneak in when the lights are off.
When my guard is down.
Snap my soul and slip inside.
Overwhelm and consume me like heroin.
The addict in me pulls you near.
Breathe me in, suck me out.
Spun up in your mind like a crystal chandelier.
Precarious precious beauty.
Your hands on my innocence.
Pulling me down, and knocking me over.
Teaching me how to fly.

Crash

Rain on the highway. The black sea smeared ahead of us.
Running on empty and water in the fuel.
You push me, then shiver over my spirit.
Taking me higher, sweet ecstatic clouds of chaos.
Pulling me under, pushing me forward.
Pushing.
Your hand gripping the bed as I shudder into our future.
Raining out our destiny.
Plotting our destination.
Getting lost and hopeful. Wondering and wandering in euphoric bursts.
You call me down, and buckle me in.
Pulling tight enough to know I’m safe, yet free to leave.
And then we kiss, and all fades to red. The back lights in my head.
Petrol fumes and heroin in my heart.
Pedal to the metal, shortcut to my soul.
I close my eyes and grip for your hand. Finding nothing but air and a gaping car door.
The mouth to misery and my own destruction.
As I headlong into my crash and burn.

Hold on to me

You’re the one who comes between us.
Coughing out your IQ, slipping your hand behind the couch of the night.
Leaving me always chocking on your haemoglobin.
Shooting to the sky, and yet careful not to fall.
My eyes are wide, yet they scarcely see you.
The black of loneliness that you leave me with. Weightless and bare.
In the dark, it all looks the same; until you set me on fire.
Warming your hands until I burn to a spark.
Killing me before I get too old.
These words from you are too vulgar, yet I say thank you.
Breathing them in and setting up homes for them inside of me.
Precious fragile fragments of attention.
Your racing heart surprises me, and brings me back; brings me down.
Simmering into something else.
I come back to you in pieces.
Littering your soul.
I know you want to stop.

04:45 Tomorrow

Though the dawn sings out a new chorus, I cling to the night.
It is in the dark we dwell now, secure in our insecurities.
A post-blue anesthesia.
Slipping down from the dopamine shell.
The tiniest crack, the smallest splinter.
Down to the floor where we freeze like winter.
The swan song of our lifetime, yet only 26.
Clickety click.
I dug my own grave with you last night. You did the same, yet watched me do the heavy lifting.
The look away and the tiniest frown, makes me feel incapacitated.
Resting on a gravestone, stroking a soul.
Licking words that you toss my way, crunching on the crumble of forgiveness.
We build the tomb, and plant the seed.
Blacked eyed beans and coffee kernels, salty tears that stain.
Who is she anyway to you?
I go home as the night slips into dawn, erasing the loneliness and feelings of terror.
Come seek me where I dwell, scrap off the shells and dying roots.
Tell me you love me, and mean it. Please believe it.
Sinking into tomorrow, today.