Me (?)

Pink stains on the table lit from a little light from closing eyes,

What’s that I hear, a queer voice on the floor grows,

A grip on my knee of immense strength,

Beast called the sister, how long will you hide,

Come hither, hither lovely lady,

Come hither, tender soul

Be louder, said the mother, the enchantress of strange tastes,

The floors underneath padded with my moon-struck tastes,

I cant but hold that one desire,

Of caresses, pure hatred more pristine than your lords confounded riff-raff.

Soon the tables laid, the sisters swathed in green royalty,

Not one a red of desired tenderloin,

A need for youth the matriarchs cry, a need for undying perfection,

Smooth cheeks for lovely hands for lovely palms for lovely eyes.

And the vapours wipe mist, clothes falling graceless bits of borrowed life,

Rivers vast my eyes drop, nay a teardrop jewel on your vindictive crown,

How the love of this woman kills me, love,

A faint women sleeping in my body and gently tempting me to things,

Precious beasts of such gentle curiosity with their desires to touch round breasts

And caresses boisterous tresses.

Oh how these women hold me still, ripping all those desires,

Till a plain sheath of frigidity is all that’s left,

A perfect oval of black ice, I.

Where would you find a heart in green?

Where, oh, where?

Now Playing: Moloko-Requiem For a Dream

Brushes of Incoherence

Everything that goes up comes down-like Sundays blueing evenings after merry Saturdays (blah) unending night spend in tiny cubicle-rooms trying to get Fiona Applistic images to stop and only the music to play. I love you, love me, love you, love me, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.

Please.

Have you been in silence that slides and glides into evenings of nothingness? Blissful, repellent blankness? I love it there-the colour is always just a shade of glossy white. Empty and bright.

A truck flying at you through a dark night.

He talks to me-then press the clutch and slide into the third gear-forget fifth, that will take some time but you can keep shifting from fifth…

I don’t know, should he be staring at me like that, unsure of what exactly where I am?

My anger is purple in colour, tiny droplets drip in, forming purple webs on my white, glossy silence.

Don’t give a fuck about me, I don’t know if there even is a fine line between crawling bridges.

Now Playing:
Howling Bells -A Ballad For the Bleeding.

PENDULUM

You have to pause sometimes. Because laughter’s like stories on alcohol-light and breezy. Never mind if it’s all lies, you still like doing it. Flashing your teeth unexpectedly at people who try to like you and sometimes do.

It crashes. It went way too far.

Deep beneath is a pool,

Blue-green under the carpets of resonating sunshine.

Me, I lie down and watch the crawling lights swing me into trauma.

Drawing close is a shapeless foe,

Everybody is.

I look around at the crowding darkness. Just once?

She kneels to offer a piece of clothing.

I shudder my shoulders as I retch into it; laughing to tears, retching into nausea.

There’s an end and a start. An end again.

Then it all falls.

I hate, hate, HATE Impermanence.

It doesn’t count as poetry but I’m not sure I can write any anymore.