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.

There’s nothing wrong here

I wore the role you wanted.
Dressed in those emotions.
Let it drip like turpentine.
You showed me your Jesus scar.
As I cut through the confusion.
You leave me buzzing like a motel sign.
Only you could scratch me that deep.
Rush through me like amphetamines.
What did they say when you returned?
Did you make it feel so numb?
Feasting on cartilage and present tense.
Yet the dark offered such shelter and shadows.
To call you back to another brilliant night.
Where you looked ahead, seeing us there.
Stepping over the bodies of others.
Look me in the eye, celebrate me deep.
They all wanted to be wrong.
Singing their symphony of sorrow for a loss that had not yet begun.
Bone and cheek.
Questioning our mortality as you trim the fat.
All conquering weirdos.
Destroying the things they never understood.

Sacred sinners

On a night like this, as the clouds cover the moon.
Or is it your hand reaching up to the sky?
Reaching towards heaven, trying to pull over the milky way.
Your feet stick into the mud of our circumstance.
Arms tarred and feathered like mine.
Your lips have known a thousand others.
Tasted a million other apples.
Lucifer in my hands, yet the Satan in my heart.
A name chained in irons and weighed down with history.
Yet to my eyes you are future, dipped in stars & the clouds you fell through.
They nailed me to the tree, they never knew love.
Letting me bleed out until the oil fell forth.
You cut me down and you hold me now.
Kissing the scars, wiping away the ink that burned.
I clip my wings and lay you in your my feathers and down.
Feeling my saliva sizzle on your skin.
Let us pull the soil over us and sleep forever in our own Eden.
Lucifer and Jesus, locked in eternity; or as long as the world rotates.
Orbiting the sun, and listening to the solar system.
Hiding from God.

Contract & construct

That reason we all had for being there.
Through shared DNA and the tears of Jesus.
Waiting for the smoke to clear and the dust to settle.
Yet deep inside a fire burns.
Turning all to ashes and cleansing from within.
Who do you ask forgiveness off?
As you hand across a world that is riddled with pain.
What did you blame as you clung to indifference?
When the world darkened as black as the night.
But do not drown in this consequence.
Or be blown away in this havoc.
It maybe all borrowed time, but it’s ours to own.
And the rest is still unwritten.

Crushed chalk to diamond dust

They did not see, our crucifixion wasn’t televised.
The day you broke down, and held my hand.
Swimming in chalk, dusting it off our clothes.
Feeling so low and desperate.
The soft surrender of hopelessness.
But we did not die, we did not fade into white.
A burst of control and all the things they’ll never know.
Our resurrection, in colour and flesh and bone.
Just a matter of time now until they paint our picture.
Hang it on the wall where the wolves devour other hearts.
Stronger, from here on out.

Painted pony

Kick kick, pick up sticks.
Silly words and magic tricks.
Happy to smile, angry to cry.
Rub in reasons, formaldehyde.
Hold on, breathe it in. Think of England and let me win.
Drink it down, ask for seconds. More than you can chew? Who knew?
Cup of coffee? Cup of tea?
Mind your manners, some sympathy?
The devil is here, the devil inside. Exorcise or exercise?
Praise be Jesus, praise be Allah. Bang bang, the final hour.
Mangling words of meaning mouthfuls. All this starts to feel too phoney.
Rip it up, call me out. Your loveable and lonely, one trick pony.
Going round and round and round and round.

Lexicon and lightning storms

Play those words like cards, split from the stacked deck.
Forever in your favour.
I’m tripping, and sticking to the toffee words on your tongue.
You led me here, with poisoned breadcrumbs and the promise of perfection.
Your mouth looks so tempting, as clean as an oven.
I tried to be all for you, without crucifying who I was.
Your spear of our destiny digs in deeper, seeing what’s left inside.
Blood and broken dreams frozen in tears.
Spill me, fill me. No longer thrilling me with thoughts of tomorrow.
The dark clouds roll in and I see your quickening quarrel gather speed.
I put up my umbrella towards the oncoming deluge, fixing the weather vane to my heart.
Swirling in the confusion, the hurricane of you anger.
I let go and drown in the onslaught of your hypocrisy.
Battered against your will, struck by your electric storm.
Drifting in the debris of you and me.

Complex reference points

Please don’t talk, it makes me think.
My head shudders as your eyes roll.
It makes me hide the knifes, and text books. My homework on discovering you.
You bite my hands and pretend you’re a tiger. Chasing your tail.
You used to burn so bright.
That dream is diminishing.
You listen to the devils in your ear. They tell you what you want to hear.
Here comes an opportunity. Can’t you see, this is all I need?
It all comes undone. Unbutton that tongue, and be my truth tonight.
These words begin to carry me away, you never did ask me to stay.
Tiny towers compare to you, as my eyes set on mountains that command.
What dream did you want to destroy today?
I see it in your eyes, as I put on my armour and prepare for the next wave.
Your Joan of Arc, your Jesus Christ. Your Martin Luther, your holy ghost?
You never listen carefully, distrusting my reptilian blood. Count the crazy.
So I let you sleep. Laying you down on the battlefield, your martyred pose. Your own stations of the cross. You seem happy.
I finally found a way to make you smile.