Sunday, 25 February 2007

Wholly Controlling the Soul

This is a solo thing
The crowd bays for blood
Chanting my name, bones ache, hands clap.
Standing alone.
Feet apart
A silence rips through the noise.
They are still; eyes glinting.
Licking lips, cracking fingers
The spotlight; no time to hide
Nakedly pleading- shreds of mercy.
They can smell the fear
Thousands of thoughts turn to your veins
And the life within them- soon to be the lack
As they suck and bleed you dry
Throw you out the window
Your empty corpse another paper bag
On the ever changing winds of success.

Friday, 9 February 2007

Lonely Hearts Play Villainous Parts In B-Movies

Whispers in the dark make ripples
Waves on a pool of invisible tears
Unseen as they're cried by the lonely
Only the mirror mage for comfort-
But the truth hurts
So it must be painful to look
Satin silence slips slowly through the night
A real bodied noise grasps faces
Loud fingers grip on brains, uninvited evil.
A chink of light through an open window
But the breeze freezes thought and lovers in their element.
Earth air fire and water
Touches exist in imaginations and the pillow smells of one
It's never the same by yourself
A smile unseen never lit a face
A laugh unheard carries on in the wind
And no-one realises who.

I'm Finger Food And You've Got An Appetite For Destruction

Walking in, you own the door
Sitting here, bite my lip and cut to shreds.
Shadows tower and consume
Hungry, jaws gape and leer,
I know what this is about,
Seduced by power, swayed by money,
But turned by violence and kept by it
Fear freezes and thaws, this is something much more
The cuts and bruises can be glossed over
But the stuff inside will never be explained
In a corner, a stairwell, a backstreet pass
I ripped apart long ago
I bled and I was sore- past tense
The pain only carries on in my head
Uncomfortably numb as you make me
Uncomfortably none.

I'm Not Going To Tell You What Happens In The End

Turn the pages of my heart
I must be so easy to read
The letters just keep flowing
Inky black tongue, dribbling rhyme
Spitting insults,
Turn me over, the blurb on my brain,
I'm dusty- lyng on this shelf,
Outdated and faded,
My arms gold leafed,
The print of my fingers left on your skin
Smile a title,
Cry an ending
Search for the lost prose,
Find the hidden meaning,
Read it and open my eyes
Close the book on lonliness
And take down a new one
It's what I've become.