Burst

Skin that sizzles like a lemon in the sun.
All your dreams have just begun.
For deep within your bones doth lie.
A lightening strength, to touch the sky.
A bursting hope, that shines within.
And penetrates your citrus skin.
So suck on life, and savour and relish.
Do not allow those dreams to perish.
For we are all different as lemons to limes.
And painfully on sweet borrowed time.

Temporarily Demolished

The dark hand hovers, swoops in to snatch the light.
Bathing me in shadows and crashing the sun into the moon.
Shaking the tectonic plates of my life.
Shaking out a fountain of tears.
Breeding the germ of loss, which spreads around my heart,
and eats away at my bones.
Questions and corrections, always too late and never answered.
We come full circle, back to home.
Returning to where the memories swim.
Tugging me in every direction.
The drop of hatred swells, oiling my blood until a rage torrents.
Darkening the world further.
But there are eyes watching, and hearts beating.
And tears that need drying that aren’t my own.
Though I cannot see the dawn,
and it’s colder now than I’ve ever known.
Inside, the candle will always burn.
Keeping me warm.

Bag of bones

What is left to discover, underneath of another?
Slipping their hand inside your dreams.
Blink and they’ll hover, laying oily fingers upon you.
Dripping into your world.
Turn you over like heroin.
Underneath those clothes that hang like a skin.
They’ll slip within, and caress your soul.
At least that’s what you believe.
That’s what you’ve been told.
A smiling, nodding bag of bones.

Time to regenerate

Partners in exposer, distant dreams uncovered.
These delusions, of downfall;
keep a heart and feet on edge.
Come paint this sky, wipe away the grey.
Emerge and break the lightning in mind.
A Bath for my brain as I breathe under water.
Turning the water to red.
Your arm-reach way, stretches across the universe.
Equal to all, statically shuffling sub atomically.
Bits of stars and dust, and molecules of love.
Come break this world and build it up again.
Woken and broken into pieces of god.
Drenched in the tears of the angels,
Splattered with the blood of Satan.
Wring out the colours of clarity.
And hold aloft for the jealousy of the dead.

Elle va bien

They jostled onto the train that had arrived with a clankering commotion at the station. The vaulted tiled ceiling of the underground station swirled with the sound of metal, tannoy announcements and tourist hubbub. The train had emptied somewhat, spilling out its human cargo which shuffled towards the luminous sortie signs, the basic words even foreigners understood, ingrained from childhood French lessons and the trappings of travel. They were able to get seats as the train pulled away and snaked into the belly of the city, passing tunnels and bones of the long forgotten.

The seats were as hard as wood, worn down from millions of asses thankful of somewhere to rest for the short journeys between stations. They were heading down towards Saint-Marcel and thankful too to be getting away from the crush and pull of the touristy hot-spots. They watched the other passengers engrossed in smart phones, conversations and anxieties of potentially going the wrong direction. Passengers on life’s train of happenstance.

Opposite them sat a lady, listening to her headphones and glancing off into the train. Looking, but searching for nothing. Her brown hair fell around her face, framing her like a motionless portrait typical of those seen meters above in the many museums dotting the city. She sat motionless, listening to her music as the train swayed and hummed down the line. The only movement was a collection of tears that suddenly began to build and breach, trickling down her face. They watched as she tilted her head down, blinking away the collection of tears and emotions that had appeared. One of them jabbed the other in the side, bringing attention to the scene before them in case it was not being seen or felt for the degree that it was. He reached inside his pocket and took out a tissue, hoping it was clean. The crinkles indicated it had been with him all the day, but looked devoid of anything unpleasant.

He reached across and gently touched her arm. She looked up, surprised. “Are you okay?” he asked, hoping his eye’s spoke to a level beyond the language required. She nodded and mumbled words of appreciation, taking the tissue and dabbing her eyes. A small smile appearing at the corner of her mouth, her eyes shaking away an embarrassment that wasn’t necessary.

She looked above her finding the line map, a tiny yellow light indicated they were at Bastille. The train usually emptied a lot here, and she glanced around seeing those exiting and the people awaiting to board. Her hand found the phone in her pocket and she skipped the track on her music. The new song crashed in, her mind was suddenly taken elsewhere as her heart skipped and beat and the chaos around her ebbed away. It had never been ‘their song’, but it was always one that had reminded her of them. The lyrics so seemingly fitting for what they had, what had burrowed inside of her and warmed her soul. She did not notice the two guys sit down opposite her, the limited space between where their knees nearly met. She was off elsewhere, hearing laughter and smelling that someone on her bed-sheets.

The train jerked, and though she stayed in her memory, it shifted; along with the train. It had all crumbled, corroded only yesterday. Smashed liked a teetering tea cup on the edge of a kitchen counter. She could understand things not working right now, she could even acknowledge the arguing. But those had been usual relationship problems. To be told you were no longer needed, that you were no longer welcome in their life. That was what had hurt. She could deal with the packing up of possession and the moving on. Going into work the next day as routine propelled her forward. But she could not take the hurt that had ignited within, perhaps lying dormant for the inevitable. That she was never the one, she could no longer make them happy. All that she had to offer, came up short. All those reasons she had told herself why she was inadequate rang out to be real in a horrible realisation of truth. A view she had shielded her eyes from, like looking at the sun. It had swallowed her, submerged her in a grey that clung to her like oil.

Putting on her work clothes, combing her brown hair. Seeing the day instead of cowering in her bed like she wanted. The feeling of detachment and lack lay upon her, making her feel that no one really cared about her in this world. If she turned up to work, or not; nothing really mattered in a way. The tears welled and broke forth, streaming down her cheek in a warm river. She had forgotten she was on the metro. Her mother would have been ashamed to see her show such emotion in public, but she did not realise. Too consumed in grief and self-piety that she found herself deep beneath the streets of Paris on a Metro train that ran all day, every day. Until she felt something nudge her arm, softly yet foreign. She looked up surprised to see a small tissue and concerned smiles greet her. She nodded a thanks and was able to cough up “Merci, je vais bien.” She smiled slightly, knowing it was true.

The grey was still within her, but in that moment a tiny part had turned to white.

Holocaust

This city of bones, filled now with incoherence.
Runs through this heart like haemoglobin.
You banish the hope, all latent strains of co-dependence.
Killing the love within, sparing all but the ghosts.
Who open the holes in these veins.
And sing in your cabaret of departure.
‘’Les morts ne pleurent plus.’’

Miss Mary Allen

In Eighteen hundred and ninety three.
Old Mary Allen, came to tea.
Which in itself was not surprising.
T’was how she left, which was most alarming.
For though she departed, much like she came.
Like a ray of light through heavy rain.
She left a shadow, dark and unpleasant.
There in number 55 Crescent.
Yet those who know Miss Allen well.
Would not believe within could dwell.
The evil doings or witchy ways.
That came upon that house that day.
For as she scoffed the cakes and tea.
And poured on life’s intricacies.
That her hosts did laugh and query too.
They did consume her witches brew.
For into their tea her hand did place.
A nasty poison devoid of taste.
Which would eventually corrode their innards.
That seeped with blood out of their gizzards.
And snatched their lives so painful and quick.
And stubbed them out like a candle wick.
So while their bodies lay about the room.
And so befell a horrid gloom.
Miss Mary Allen laughed and smiled.
And danced about, all crazed and wild.
Until she came to depart the house.
Which she fled, quiet as a mouse.
And disappeared off into the city.
With smiles and roses, all innocently pretty.
Now please don’t think too bad of Mary.
Of her murderous ways that seem so scary.
As she is really the victim here.
And if I must, make it crystal clear;
for she had visited the family who,
for months and years had nastily knew.
That she was slowly being poisoned.
By the leaking valves at her employment.
The torrid factory where she and others.
Worked long and hard for the Wilson Brothers
Who had invited her suddenly to tea.
All for show and sympathy.
For she had come across their deep deception.
And plotted revenge at that lunch reception
So please feel happy, for the circumstance.
Of the middle class and happenstance.
And don’t judge Mary and her brazen gall.
An eye for an eye, after all.

Bow-Bend-Break

Feeling caught, stuck in God’s hypothetical conversation.
Nothing like him, nothing like them.
Just ordinary and irresponsible.
Rama and Jesus toy with me, threatening debt collections.
I see this for what it is, out of hymn books and mythological mantras.
Dizzied by the nirvana.
Which holy right keeps me scratching at the door, faltering on each sin that snuffles at my own?
Crush me with sandalwood beads and drown my lungs in incense.
My blood is yours and bleeds a pious pigment.
Down on such bended knees.
How long till it ends, or until the world is created?
Leave me to count the spines of the leviathan that I follow down into the deep.
To the innermost depths of an Edenistical land washed clean by the flood.
Sipping antibiotics and feasting on scraps.
Clipping my own wings.

Insipid

The world is bored with the grey on your eyelids.
Floating down to cover us in an avalanche of despair.
Those tearing blacks that rip through your eyes when they shut.
Filling your soul in the soup of soured dreams.
Stewed and stuffed in our age of apathy.
It grows weary.
It spins and turns over, melting the poles and freezing the pacific to see where the birds will fly to at winter.
Or if they fly at all.
Dizzied and covered in the flakes of sorrow you proffer.
Give us the rains. Ones to wash away the rainbow hue of a dream that never flew.
Take it from us like an ice cream from a child.
This notion of static. The none moving motion you freeze yourself in.
Cracked like the world’s crust, oozing like the yoke of birth.
Seal your eyelids with the starry saliva of the angels.
Who whisper times of change as they lick at your ear.

The Deep

Swim, with a mouthful of stars.
And kiss these lips underwater.
Pick a pearl that cloisters inside my mind.
Clutch it deep with your bones.
Washing over your heart.
Lining your veins in mother of pearl beauty.
Inside, all still wet and curious.
Like the seahorses that swim here in the shallows.
Your thoughts call to me like the sea inside a shell.
Echoing a world which wavers on the edge of temptation.
Suck the salt from my skin which slips over you.
Crush me in rapid waves of emotion.
As my fingers move to a new tide.
Parading across your body, wallowing in your deep.

Heavy like clouds

Rough stone, as cold as our hearts that hurt.
Weathered by the life we chose. Dropped into the pool of time.
Weighing down. Hard like bones in our stomach.
From the meaty dreams devoured in youth.
Rain upon a fertile mind, where the weeds and willows weep.
And where cacti bloom in the drought of purity.
Our own selves, no longer true as a shadow of regret reminds;
that we’re locked and dying in the jaws of time.

Conflict(ed)

The ticking clock moves my bones.
Vibrating to a new chorus.
Such fear and bravery dogfight within.
Triggering the gunfire in my heart.
Bringing other humans to their knees, and staining my soul.
Cast out of Eden
Ordered here, directed there by badges that shimmered in the sorrow;
and a broken moral compass, scratched by time.
Left stranded out to sea.
Struck by the passing grief of that tide.
The one that washed over me.
Seeing death in the eyes of those all around.
Feeling hope strangled, feeling fear take hold.
Who really wins the fight, when we lose ourselves in the struggle?
Stretched and stricken, sunk by the force of your hate.
Every tear here brings the ocean higher.
With every cry, a family welcomes in a stranger.
A void, the blackness. The stories to tell a generation.
Of the great fight, that felt so wrong.

Consume

A burning white heat from above.
Did nothing to change your direction.
The day you came to tip the world over.
Feasting on the fragments of my life.
The little memories that get caught in your teeth.
Pick and poke through the gristle of my dreams.
What is here for you to digest?
Which part of me comes upon your silver platter?
I watch as the blood drools from your mouth so sweet.
Fresh from a kiss that left me breathless.
I held my tongue.
Which bled into my heart.
Feeling your fingers on my spine which pulled out each vertebrae.
Held aloft to see the spineless state I am in.
Heaped onto the floor in gesture of subservient decay.
So now pop me in formaldehyde, and watch me distantly up on the shelf.
Just glass and meat.
Eat raw parts of my heart that now struggle to beat.
Sweet delicious demise.

Digested by God (love tasted)

Called down by the black crows.
The end unravelling from the start.
But there is no need to fear.
All these pieces of such a life, twinkling like a magpie prize.
Caught in the claws and clutches of another.
Keep an eye on the rising waters that swallow your bones.
Fusing the soul back to the heavens.
Late again for your own funeral, but god forgives you.
The retreat back into the mind, the swirling birds that will meet you by the devil’s eye.
Does it ever equal all the pain you’ve gone through?
What happens when the anger and love show?
Collected and dispensed like feathers on the wind.
A bird in the hand.
The ache in the bush, twisting in the fingers of fate.
Soaking wet, and restless. Flying south for the eternal winter.
Six feet of soil and sadness.
Buried like treasure and the troubled heart.
But you don’t get to go yet.

Coming up for air

What lurks beneath your feet, leagues under yet scratching at your back?
Tickling the spine that creaks and cracks.
Drop the things you can no longer carry.
Things to pull you under; the little things.
Tears for a lover lost in the spray.
That cling and pull like lead on your bones.
I tried to breathe under water.
Swimming to the ocean floor, and the depths of my mind.
Grew new skin. Housed within an Atlantis locked in time.
We allow others to wash upon other shores.
To dry in the sun like old bits of seaweed.
Crinkling and cracking as our hearts harden.
I see the sun now, twinkling in its majesty.
Blinking above like a solar eye winking, smiling once more.
Calling me up to the chorus and ring of tomorrow.
I need to come up for air.
To feel the sun and salt on my back again.
To cough out the poison of the deep.
Where nothing but leviathans and despair creep.
I hook a line into your heart, and pull out of the rip tide.
Pulled forth into the breaking waves of gracious adoration, deserving of a quiet day.
Out into the air and the salty miasma of an oceanic dream.
Effortlessly you appear, as I quietly transform.
My saviour in the eye of storm.

Circles in the oil

The dark sky sways, undulating in that oily void.
Threatening storms, and to swallow me.
We move in motion, dancing across the dangerous divide.
Hoping not to fall. Hoping instead to fly.
Yet the golden dreams crumble to ash, and the sulphur seeps into our bones.
Laid waste across the terrain like cooling magma.
Did you prick your finger upon the wonderment?
Did you breathe in a new world design?
The lungs now get heavy with the tar of life.
Weighing down your soul until you shake into nothingness.
Black. All turns black as the sky shifts and salutes a new day of redundantment.
Our bones turn to chalk, and we write are names on the tombstones of tomorrow.
Erase. Re-write. Turn back the time to let in the light.
We all want our lonely little world.
To swim away from the one that’s drowning.
Let the pin prick breach and gape.
On a raft of a thousand reasons.
Allow the blood to cover a new imagination.
And suck the seed of dreams, to save yourself.

Seeing Things Hearing Things

Harley Holland

‘Ockroot. This is the place. This is the place you can’t seem to shut up about.’ Sadie said as she slammed the boot to the red Volkswagen beetle shut. She slung the green barrel bag over her shoulder and tapped on the back window. The sun beamed down over the parking lot and reflected off the large tortoise rimmed spectacles Sadie had left on by choice while she drove. She claimed it was always by choice that she wore them. Just as it was always a choice whether she wanted to breath or not. The grey hood to her jumper could not hide the long ashy blonde waves of hair from swaying in the wind. A new place with the same assholes. She was sure all these middle of nowhere towns were the same. The locals sat at their local diner eating the local livestock fucking their neighbours. They would give a cold stare…

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These Dreams

 

Where do the dreams go to die?
The great throes of a beast whose being shines with an energy of a lifetime.
The elephant graveyard of hopes, where the bones crumble and crack in the burning sun of reality.
Do they die at all, or hibernate under the covers of life.
Forgotten about until the final hour, to flash across our eyes like signs on a road never taken.
These dreams wither; they fold and float away on the winds of existence.
Spirited away like the seasons of youth.
Like leaves from a tree they decay.
Never watered, chopped down before the seed ever even germinates.
These dreams, forever in my mind yet always out of reach.

A Prayer dissected

Wings to fly, yet grounded.
The anchorage of my soul, gravitised to you.
The buildings and clouds climb above us.
Reaching up to god.
Trapped in this feeling, caught in the chaos of blinding resolution.
That glued my eyes open to the reality of it all.
Your feelings match the buildings so tall.
The reach and pull, and ascend away from me.
Into the space of another time.
Another life yet to be.
The weight of your world breaks my bones.
Splinters my soul and leaves me gasping for breath.
Split and scar the flesh to pull out the love.
Though there’s no need to cry.
China tears and crystal cries will only shatter in the echo,
of the words I spoke in pain, in dismantling the church of our hearts.
But keep that light on in our chapel.
The one that banishes the shadows, the things others know.
Those little pieces of our life mean more to me than those.
Let me devour them as you whisper in my ear.
‘You will again pray here.’

Dissolve

In the moment we fade, into shadows and dust.
Corroded and broken, like heartache and rust.
For time is motion, both forward and back.
And into the darkness, our minds birth the lack.
Of knowing limitations, of body and mind.
That we all fade away, over spread golden time.
Once oh so pretty, that the angels despaired.
How a dream would unfold, how souls ceased to care.
And the ghosts swirled around in a sad misty dance.
Where the passage of fate, and time took their chance.
To rob them of hope, to turn night out of day.
Where love and of beauty, will dissolve away.

Searching

Look inside a different view.
A world spun on a wavering axis.
Shifting and shaking to a tectonic heartbeat.
Bring a different truth, I’ve heard so many.
Cracked from the ice and the frozen tongues.
Coughed up by devils and delicious ruin.
Was I allowed to change my mind?
Change my religion and make it fly?
Or cloak my thoughts and despairs.
Drown the reasoning in a bath of holy water.
I held my breath.
Waited for the manna to rise.
The milk and honey to seep out of my blood.
Out of my mind.
I caught the world, flying on the wings of a dove.
Into the eye of the storm.
Looking for a home. Looking for a hope.