Black ribbon
needs driven
stockings and suspenders
it’s mad our endless drive
for sex
black rimmed specs
A sexually active secretary
bends into an awkward pose
one you have chose
to fore fill your fantasy
Baring all
her vulva a coin slot
waiting for an offering
her ass like a forbidden fruit
In which to shoot
Your shot
your seed
in a garden of need.
Chained through your timelines
you say release you from the curse
the curse of loving me.
I know the bite of your mouth
the viscous vicious nature of your tongue
We both see things from only our point of view
a blood red hue.
You try to reach me through the crowd
Sometimes I hear you loud
and sometimes you whisper
like the wind
This is my curse to know the truth
while in denial
there is no proof
I fight a desperate battle to be heard
maybe you will one day.
In the overtones of songs are the echoes of the promise we made
over every grass blade
our delirium
our love
our blood song curse
we are chained to the words we have said
they flow in our veins
I am your twin flame but we are caught in tragedy
separated
by lies
and our clones who stand as jealous spies
You are the light in my eyes
the only one.
The graffiti
that appears on these four walls
isn’t just scribble isn’t just scrawl
it’s magic is intangible
tangling us all
mystical symbols enthrall
They detect and protect
us all from bad spirits
Entities that would eventually suck spirit
from soul and bone
not leaving us alone
Who writes this graffiti no one knows
spirit guides hands that glow
in the throes
of a wind that blows
what it says nobody knows
except the writers hands.
The real god dies over and over again
forgetting again who they were
we were torn in two
male and female
lovers and through and through
in me and in you
in this physical plane
we feel physical pain
a constructed prison
for our collective soul
while the demiurge governs
our existence
only Christ and Sophia our collective soul offer resistance
The cure to the disease
Sparkling and wondrous
the cure to the disease
Experiencing unease
take these pills
tiny white capsules
that won’t make you ill
distilled love
wonder from above
the cure like forest bathing.
misbehaving
often the cure is the disease of a life
lived without regrets
all targets missed and not met
But to try
is to live and not die
a love fragile
but agile enough to succeed
to bleed is to be alive
To breathe is to thrive
the madness the sickness
is to expect no pain
no sadness in the rain
sunshine that burns the skin
balance is boring
whatever gets you through
is the life you choose to do
I have been occupied
Like the sign on a toilet cubicle
I have been subjected to your ridicule
Your voice comes and goes
like the wind that blows
Maybe my heart was hollow
and needed to be possessed
but now I cannot rest.
Man kind?
I have a hard exterior
I feel inferior
I have never heard of unconditional love
conditions have always existed
behave
be good
do what you should.
If only I could
be the person you’d love all the time
and my thoughts were no crime
I am a man
I maybe kind
but suffering is why
because I know I cry
behind the mask
and tasks
are hard if you don’t why you’re different
and love is the only answer but it’s frightening
because it won’t be offered if your strange or different
and this is evident
from what I have experienced.
so I look to myself
for my own mental health
and kindness
to be a loving friend to myself…
One day I might live up to being a toy character
out of paw patrol
or hey dougie
A wizard or witch who has mastered the
art of magic
instead of tragic
rock star
or a burnt out old poet
maybe I will be reincarnated as Pegasus
to fly on by
in the clear blue sky
with fluffy clouds
one day I might be a superhero of my own making
in a graphic novel
or a saviour of person trapped in a hovel
I am definitely in awe
of people who aren’t bores
what are we if we can’t dream
of being better?
and writing our own stories and letters
to our imagination.
Right left we bleed the same
can we forgive
live
better lives
Cancel culture the cancer of the left
Bitter resentment fills out our hearts
no love either side
thought police divide us all
right authority with no escape
raid the poor
but the poor hate the rich for having more
is there an answer
or only more hate.
Schizophrenia and the caveman
I dreamt of telling stories
forged in magic and music.
I heard voices of gods
angels and demons
In the flickering flames
that kept me warm.
It was part of my evolution
but sometimes
did wisdom is seen as mental illness
Nowadays I am known as a schizophrenic
I was a caveman with a shamans knowledge
Now they say I am something to be feared
When I was just reaching out
to understand.