She aches addiction, While withering lives. Black neurosis, a trinket- Scrap petals and knives- To be played Until intrigue wavers And all the world drops dead. On her words, I made us Inside my head. Would Plath be proud Of deaf coveting instead? So many lives, I try to be in time, To be not... Continue Reading →
I am the wind swept Month of May in rigour. Even death was late for me And kept the breeze hanging Until thistle and bone Were only remembered melodies Upon my heart. The cello Cacophony of symmetry. I am the wind swept Forest, decaying in those summer Suns that etch through Rebellious thorns to strive... Continue Reading →
I listen to the rain As it drums your name Against an empty pane And pain Reflects the world In stencils stretched Across arching street Light shimmer- winter seance In my head Plath Replays in detritus dreams But I am I am I am
She whispers Through my decay Pulls me close As my mind strays If only I could make her stay I watch her chest rise And fall Watch her breasts arch And lock eyes Promises groan From her hips To arterial red lips, My name was placed Upon them Crawled between them With each kiss And... Continue Reading →
She flicked her hips and Jesus fell He came so hard Went straight to Hell And all the angels knew full well That with her caress God would follow I am predictable Because I have died again All for a scent Carnal knowledge And lingering self deprecation I want to split her hips and redefine... Continue Reading →
A leaf falls From a canopy, Caught silhouetted in komorebi. Shivers Are a girls best friend, And death her lover at the end. While I waste away - Withdrawals decay - And emotive love My stowaway - Come to soldiers in a row, Who cut their throats in days last glow. Our dreams dissect -... Continue Reading →
My latest offering to the forest 🌳
Always, the air had placed foiled garments
at my feet. If your brain is broken,
may I suggest dissection?
Cut the pieces
and strip the flesh back to infinity,
place them upon the ground!
Remember that I am your beast.
The ground splinters and spits
in gross expectancy and low,
I am never, nor good.
I sit here, watching as familiars
mask my existence through their lives;
and no decedent of Odin
walks the empty walls of Valhalla.
Huginn, Muninn, blinded
to the false words and pompous prophets,
stray in my slumber.
Spittle runs down my beard,
noir shadows chase winter sun.
tomorrow was never here,
and as I lay
my fingers towards the sinister
what it would be to take a life–
to slash the gullet and place the gizzards
before her graceful silhouette
as contribution to those forgotten ancient goddesses.
She was familiar and…
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“Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting with the gift of speech." - Simonides Pixelated images Dance across the carpet, Perhaps today Will wish the world anew, Preparing tomorrow For adventures too few, Prevised realism In great years to come, Precious postures Sweep into daze ahead, Playfully wishing For fears to be shed, Passion... Continue Reading →
The prolix extended to centre winds that blew, forming fusion intent to allocate the emptiness, succumbed, that grew, new reflections journeyed wherever strangers, suspended, threw your memory, and I can’t breathe this stale air. On dark mountains we walked paths lit by moonlights lies and romantic twists. Travelled softly, in quieter times, to swim in... Continue Reading →