Days Where It’s Dark

I’m not so good in the days where it’s dark.
The spine tremors during the avalanche,
Ironmonger take this sheet of black and hearten it
Fasten me in the scold.
Punctual, like sharpened pencils people with partners intermittently sprout at work.
Dripping nausea, the cellophane rug in the body, quicken your act
Demilitarise to dusk.
Juicy mermaid washed in her tears waltzes like a scribble on papyrus.
Sweet nothings sit by the sides of welsh hills
Not enough energy to play the tumdak’
Venture forth traipsing pollination,
Don’t just stand there raise me in our glow
Blinking within an inch of myself
I cross to lay the anvil
Attachments area


A Parody of Nothingness

You deceive your own face
Your face of facades.
So non-upfront, the annoyance you emit creates acrimony,
High horses roam to your layer of selfish uncaring entrapment.
Yea you silly young fool,
But then turn you did, at which you spoke to me as someone real;
something to treasure.
Ok so we’ll meet with arms that do not fleet
A reverence futile unless earned.

Pale ghostlike ships flutter amongst the waves,
I hate the way my mouth hangs.
I am an ISAW of disproportionate proportions,
My eyes are lies and my nose is piqued
Bowed and dislodged ears and brow unsteady.
Things are going well on the spiral to hell,
Renovate all inner demons
And rollick in their filth,
Guitar abound, her crimson pastures found.

Melted shoe that blackened coal
Toasting fire with ambers bold,
Eyes of bat and scent of mole
Eclipsing harmony, truth foretold…
And those moments of success will become but a distant memory;
Don’t be fooled by the light of day, darkness will come, there then dismay


Pending, still...

A poisoned magenta
crystal of sorts
lowers its eyes in tragic sunlight
to the mind that all but fades
whilst clambering for an icon of truth.
Pursuance of a natural core
to which I cannot adhere
of light and dormant quivering
is more to me than life itself.
The fruits of dawn are the only items that
cringe, blush then shine,
And to these I pass on my world,
in her sordid hive.


Freedom From All Pains

Through chronic chest discomforts
I lie still, yet with an air of serenity.
Behold the dented ear with its look of memorial strife
And the nose that when pressed feels as though it’s been struck
Even after all these months on…
The liquor at sea to cleanse away inhibitions
And empowered herb to heal the soul.
Yonder the start lies a path of sweet circumstance
And journey’s end will provide a maiden soused in dreams.
When I’m free from all pains I’ll then be living in the world rather than mine;
Living in the world of parsimonious unrealism.