Poetic

Murk of the mind

I must break the flimsy yet non-shatter ice
Great sheet of it, between me and my mind.

Nothing works in harmony right now for me and I.
The chipped blue sheath conceals a multitude of lewd.
Of false desire, dirty desperation.
Throat red raw from swallowing back every truth that wants uttering
Brain so sore from trying to reason with every voice around me
Friend or foe. Invisible or no. Now you’re all inside me.
Having a party while I’m trying to sleep.
Perforating my lungs while I’m trying to breathe.
Cut out my fucking tongue, I don’t wish to speak.

Stomping on and piercing at
This sheet I finally impale.
I wish I could say it is nice to meet the murk
That lurks. That is my mind.
So I’m drowning for days, maybe months, even years.
Forget I cannot swim but at least I break the ice
Every few days, months or years.

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Poetic

For what

Can you not grasp between these lines
The gross desperation with which I strive
To pen a thing of value.
To all. For all. To win them all

Impetuous really.
My words were first whisky-soaked, and second, submerged in the deep blue.
But at least I inked for you then, who now do I write to.

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Uncategorized

Selflessly Selfish

Anxiety and more so, depression, renders one selfish. This much is true. So both the realisation of that and the weighty notion of continuing to belittle everyone and everything around me indefinitely was, is and may be in times to come, my predominant cure for the great inexplicable. The big A and D. Those demons uncalled for, holding my mind hostage. I cannot do this to my loved ones and shun my oblivion whilst doing it. Inflicting pain and incurring the same. The paradox of course: how can one establish their selfishness until they are finally, selflessly out of their mind?

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Poetic

Colour me true

Where once I bloomed
I now pale in solitude
Broody thoughts, no end
Mind is a blood whirlpool, red raw
Ravenous slurping of my existence, a mere shadow now
Colour me in
Colour my sins
A dreadful dark blue
That I can know them to be wicked

Paint black my world
with charcoal
From the weighty lump that burns in my chest
That I can choke on my slander

But paint me happy
When I’m with you
Golden brown like the autumn leaves
Scattering our path
Where we took our first steps to brighter days

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Poetic

Such conviction

Learnt the hard way
Just how much I detest a strong character
And the haste with which I completely relinquish any semblance
of me, myself and I
In one’s company,
Say goodbye.

Congruence befalls me
The booming enthrals me
I’m the dutiful whore, see?
Plain, confounded
Can’t be ambivalent to this divinely conviction,
Come strip off what’s left then of my dignity.

This spewing is utterly painful to hear
And I’ve lent the extent of my haemorrhaging ear,
To what do I owe this most jarring displeasure.

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Poetic

Lord, we served

We longed to sell ourselves short
Flung our good grace down the well
Seldom claimed our daily bread.

Came through like a bat out of hell
To deify you sons of bitches
Satiate your every whim boys.

We’re God’s little odd jobs, never mind
All I have gathered in this life
Is how not to be.

One day I’d like to meet myself
Let her knows whose boss
I’m sure I would not even shake her hand.

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Poetic

Infinite Fatality 

You may think that time can wait
For your surly suicide state.
But what is that if not rot,
Festered foul and come to dot
That once 360 degree psyche
Now battered blue and lost at sea.

Now welcome your forebears’ faces
Ghostlike. Blame these sepulchral spaces.
Space is a bottomless well, free fall hope.
Time is the length of a noosed rope.

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Poetic

Dearth of grace

Daydreams swirl, dwell viciously on every sick-fuck crude desire
The heart has ever fired, the delirium for which the brain is wired.
Wending thick through fly-ridden cadaver rot to unstir
the vulgar crossbred melting pot. The upper crust, it is their unsavoury lot.
Lot in life and dotage in death.

Beauty found only in bane of late. Duty calls now, in cold blood to maim
the ill-fated motley ingrate, lying in wait.
Our good priests and zealots come crawling out of their rocks from every corner of the earth.
Dragging their whores by the hair, for sacrifice, to bring to bear, a cleansing of this damnable air.
Orphaned, bastard children exhaling this damnable air.
Fire-born witches and thirsty beasts ceased long ago, to grace us nightly with their presence for fear of a kindness done, a retreat won by sycophantic human error.
Marching on fresh births, praying our souls wont get in the way
Orderly queues to have our hearts cut out grow longer day by day.

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Poetic

Mercy ma

Day of ruthless judgement come, I be deceased
It will be everything I ever dreamed
For I’ll look into the eye of the one I always grieved
And say I was everything I ever could be.

I’m so sorry for murdering hapless loves
Heartbreak born of my gutless goads
But here me now ma, I come readier than I am raw
So shower me with it pure,
And I will rain in turn, on you and yours.

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