Lockdown loner

Alone in all this

is a devil’s deathly kiss

the silence is terrible

this isn’t bliss

it’s the opposite.

The composition

of terrible dreams,

yearning for vaccines

and cures

longing to be with her.

But knowing silence won’t speak

and won’t brush the tears of my cheek

my only way out round my Dads

But we are all sad

separation

saps us and our frustration

talks in to us in the dark

and nightmares come to claim our spark

the uncertainty makes its mark

and the only joy I can gain

Is giving Christmas presents in my pain

to children I hope I will make feel better

and the light of their smiles will free me

and will feed more than Christmas food.

I can’t get to the bottom of what you’re saying

Words spraying what do they mean?

gangrene, rotted and green

toxic enough to poison my world

never mind the vaccine that makes me hurl

These words confuse

your newspapers rhetorical vitriol

leave us uninformed

just mind control

pathogens of lies

and opinions

get into all our sinews

flesh and brains

our soul is stained

I can’t find the truth

it’s been tipp-exed over

I can’t find the real story

who’s the true victor

when we all suffer

the only answer is they’ve built a buffer

between rich and poor

but as the earth dies

Life dies and so do we all.

Deep in a forest of fake news

Deep in A forest of fake news

Where headline games are people’s views

where pandemics become plandemics

where anti Vaxxers avoid vaccinations

and billionaires avoid taxation.

The forest of fake news

didn’t just spring up

watered by raining lies

governed by media moguls

and Facebook spies

Google and the internet shows us what we want to see

inverted mirrors of reality

each showing trees

a forest for all

with no clarity

How do see the forest from the trees?

or the trees that are fake?

life is forest full of trees but they are increasingly on the make

or plastic

or diseased

or just tricks in our sight

digital trees born out of spite

then cut down into newspapers

there’s no one to save us

we want to see the truth

that wasn’t always hidden

but we’d rather see the fake that’s not guilt ridden.

Truth the tree of life is now overrun

No one can see it

It’s been over come

and in the dark all trees look the same

it’s you and I who are to blame

We allowed them to plant

there fake news trees

and lies and untruths are a disease.

Heaven is heartache

Heaven is heart ache

just beating in my chest

At least it’s still there

It gives me no rest.

I turned down a goddess in her underwear

just so I could play saviour

all my dreams made of paper

nightmares paper cuts

doomed to hear the words of sluts

Starving just to lap up leftovers up

I dream of being a hero

but I am fascinated by the villainess

the heroine is too much of a drug

I slug it out with my mind but depression is a thug

dominating my ever move

I love to dance but my song isn’t my groove

Self isolation sleeping beauty

Sleeping on a bed 
waiting for the world to stop it’s lockdown
you are a vision of beauty
waiting for this pandemic pandemonium to cease 
you didn’t eat a poisoned apple 
you just sleep,
waiting for the apocalypse 
or a prince’s lips to kiss
oxygen is hard to come by
and we can’t let you go 
you sleep, waiting for the virus to stop 
we give you a shot
of antibiotics. 

The nurses and doctors know
that you a few days left to show
whether you’ll recover 
your life and find a lover.

But this life is cruel and unfair
we love you
but you look back at us with a blank stare…

Atlas

It tares apart like paper
born from a saviour’s verse
The devil doesn’t mind, she makes it worse
I collect the curses
I recycle them like newspaper
rhetorical rhymes
in my life of grime.

I shine like the steeple of church
but I’d rather be the birch the trunk of a tree
for this a goddess induced reality
Wisdom causing minds full of incoherent clarity
I lose my faith wandering in garden labyrinths
the chances are we won’t find the goddess or her nymphs
or there chalices in the angles or angel absinthe
that we drink or think outside our boxes
so neat we feel no feeling in our defeat
yet we drink it all down
like sad pathetic clowns
in the pubs wearing our overalls and scrubbing away.

Polishing our lamps just to find genies or djinn
in our lives that our extraordinary and full of sin
yet we all fall beneath the skin
the earth full of mud and shit
the page half written is full of it
yet it feeds us and bears fruit
forms the roots of all we cultivate
for man is no man unless he has a little hate
and enough love to permeate
his sad heart
beating in tune to the bleeding womb
he wants to enter
another grand venture
trying to give his child
the wisdom of being wild
and free while they try to chain his children
with the care they placed on his shoulders
I love you Atlas don’t get tired
Or older the love that beats in your soul
don’t let the fire get colder…

Loneliness the beast of burden

Loneliness the beast feeds on my confidence

until all have is insanity

I will hold it back with words driven home with meaning

maybe I will be dreaming

a better a life

maybe I am reaping what I have sown

but I will not believe in fear I love myself and own all I am

I am the shadow and the light

and I will fight until my hands wither

and I grow faint

I will ignore the loneliness and it’s taint.

Panic attack

The breathing, needing distance

Panic attack insistence

beating against the ribs bones and skin

I cannot escape I am chased within

By the a hound I cannot see

It’s agony

My breathing speeds up

I lose my voice

I fear the destroyer of peace of mind

I am the death of kindness

and insistent

to cause such pain

I am agony and fear like death

I am agony and lack of breath

The ghost child of the man in the asylum

In side the beaten white walls of an mental institution

where people go to be uprooted from their delusions

Sat a man his hand outstretched as if holding hands with the dark

No spark to light his way, only the tragic marks his way

he used to play childish games by himself

look they say where is his mental health?

has it left him altogether why does his play childish games

he would call a name on the wind

for the child he lost unbeknown to them

Tilly or Matilda the ghost of a child of six

who he held in his arms before he was sick

she swallowed her tongue in an epileptic fit

but before then were eye spy and guessing games

before then were pin the tale on the donkey and blind mans buff

I guess we are all in a way sheltering memories like ghosts

In the places in the heart we hide

which we can never move away from no matter how we stride

or how many steps we take

life is sometimes an evil fate.

To die at sixteen

All your dreams never started

dearly departed

That’s how I felt

Kneeling on a hospital floor praying to you

to save my life

you are my goddess of wisdom

my teeth going rotten

like the dreams I had as a child

it’s heart wrenching

my parents said my psychosis

was a bereavement

the life intended, lost

I had to be mended there would be a cost

goddess of the universe, girl with many faces

I have been through a war with myself

but my mental health

is the thing I can never get back

but sometimes their are cracks of light through the wall

I know the goddess understands us all.