No. 17

HOTCHKISS, AND SHUT UP (Poem To Dismantle The Modern Yuppie)

Further from the truth please, madam
MaDamn here is the man, the expulsion from your fleshy tight inner circle impeded
I always ask please do do don’t tell me what to do
You, who wreck titanic havoc wherever you scuttle
Vacuum packed with sneering rebuttals, less juggle and piddle and all over an ’87 second hand Casio keyboard
Dramatize the mundane overture once more
Here layeth a trigger-happy editorial, obese manopausal Christmas hamper of rather tardy abstract spiel
I ram connections together inside my rudimentary lower cavity
Gravy paste dribbles tentatively down my thigh from the advertising campaign
Notification received in massive bolshy increments
Chunder-like, chunderful, chum I chew fat, for who? For the Fat Controller
Quick retract that!
As the rightful copyright prohibits slander based on girth
On that squirming cholesterol clogged self satisfying note I light several gas-filled corpses alight underneath this greasy man mountain
Dash!! Neeenahhhneeenahhhneenahh!! The bloated bastard arrives
Fully clothed as the casualty, morally and physically, physically deformed
Easy tiger!
Stitch him up as he’s cracked open like a giant insanitod Nazi hen that laid ten billion cluster fucks beneath pink eye ointment creamed bags
God forbid he ever gets a secondary wind
His flatulence defender holds hostage to the great pretender pretending he’s an inanimate cel shaded animation replication
Tea bag trendies off the star port bow!
Dinghies all over the shop
Pastel coloured tortoises swim, quite by terminal shock, to the rhythm of up-market green piece of ass saviours
Returns right after these commercials
Finally this video operating device holds on for a blessed, mechanical suicide
Buuuuzzzzzzzzzzz discharge! Buuuuuuzzzzzzzzzzzz the wrinkles they form!!
Ow my obo



ANONYMOUS CRIMS

Fork out for the final edition
One for the record
Don’t check the record
It’s running at the wrong speed
Needle scratched away the need to question
And if the same song gets spun
Won’t be long before the thumb presses down on all our backs
You have one new message
Heavy sitting like a lung of diesel
One forty a tank load of heads on the block
Pause until the music stops
Rewrite your message after the beep!!
Ears down to the floors below
Where we planted the apple of his eye like rotten fruit
Silence prevails
Who’s that tapping?
The method is mobile
The printed word is abject denial
Yanked chains flush the bullshit away
Still the stink stays
Literally smeared across the front page
Business as usual tonight
The slander in the docks runs free
Nations watch with torches alight
Pissed off
Primed for the primitive solution, celebrity diluted
Easily led and bottle fed new born bullshit
Cause forgotten victims keep their mouths closed
The way they want it told
Signed with a professional, neat signature
The old hack with his ear to dead children’s mouths


MAFUBA

Grabbed a hand full of despairation,
It trembled and crumbled in to delicate memory,
Unbridled, beautiful dust of no particulars,
Thousands of names of loved ones
Scrawled on wounded wrists,
Virgin flesh hollowed out, beaten to fit,
The signal dies 300 million a second,
Vanishes, we all distain the passing of our own lights
Like shadows against the wall before the firing squad
When this certain conclusion is just reward for hanging on


NEGATIVE FIRST NO FOUR

Judge me from behind
Some clever pretence,
Secrets shaped in profile,
I look on through
The holes I bore though skulls,
Like a telescope to within,
View a life torn from afar,
Distance forms as a wall
Free from strangers,
Real or not so fake,
Lapse in to the tarmacs patterns,
Here forever
To fall sick with shame,
Break my back,
This weight is the price I pay,
Miss Unknown smiles,
In theory this is clean,
When I smile back
There’s a mouth full of dirt

No. 16

Camarilla

Another grave
To dig tonight,
Casualties,
Accepted loss
But only for me

Blame everyone,
The light the sin,
It's just a viewpoint,
Empty derived
From within the wound

Inside it fails,
Inside you cut,
The tombs a vessel,
Bury the truth
In fields of carrion

You never learnt
To recognise
The great divide
Between the likes
Of you and me

Daylight brings illumination,
Shows me endless rows of
Human sanctuary,
Concrete barricades,
Defended derivatives,
As a species we take
That which is not deserved,
Spend without question,
Self satisfy,
Hope and dream a harlot,
Act out the arrogance,
Pray for the undeserved everything

I want out,
For better forever,
Protest the world
With suicide,
END.

No. 15

GREEN CIGARETTE

Colour me indifferent,
I wanna vanish from this picture,
Trace remains I trace a line between us,
Non-connection seperated,
Jokes on me, now I'm screaming for your head,
Bring me apathy,
Make me want nothing
Cos I crave for crimson tides,
Words never echo in dead ears,
Choices made to live dearly departed,
Cut me open,
Rip this cord,
Pull at this misplaced hope and spill me,
Jokes on you, now I'm throwing it all to the wind,
And when the thought counts
You can count me out,
You should know all I ever wanted was your head.

No. 14

Homemade Amateur Beast Movies

Service with a greasy grin,
What's your name?
What's your order?
What's your phone number?
What's that odor?
Spin me a sample,
Wrap your lips around my fingertips,
Taste my trade,
On the stroke of midnight a choke delights
My undercarriage length,
I'd rectify your rectum if I only had the strength,
Let me tickle your fancy,
Open your gullet, maybe I'll
Let you touch my mullet,
Serve you up a treat,
Re-digest my sweaty meat

No. 13

The Harvesters Of The Forest

Darkened was the woodland walkway
Strayed on to in drunken folly,
He breathed air rancid, dangerous, synthetic,
Bushes russled foreground and stage left,
Paralytic panic,
A watchful owl observed the disturbed
With eyes full of relentless curiosity,
Mist stole the path to freedon long ago,
Safety was extinct, death seemed imminent,
Pause.
Something this way was comething,
No taller then a ten year old,
Sythe in small hands,
Semi-toothy grin shining like a phat bowl,
The strut of a slut,
The beard of a barberian,
Our protagonist could do nothing
But soil his CK knock-off Y-fronts,
A voice, strained and strong yet
Slippery and short, declared in a thick Cornish accent
"Mmm... those are some fine ass legs"
Before further descriptive narrative could
Be conjoured the sythe lept to life,
Tore boe from sinu like a plaster from balls,
Whole became halves,
Then silence...

Local newspapaers claimed a serial killer
Hacked him to death,
But we know the reality all too well,
Dwarves dine on drunken dickheads

No. 12

VICTORY DISEASE

Far beyond the safety barricades
Past the rows of aged wood
In the black and white wilderness
I stumbled alone
Sometimes it feels like I'll never leave
Even if you're around...
Down wind they called to me
Told me you didn't feel the bond
You'd found strength in numbers
Then you came in to view
Mirrored myself in isolation
Breaths drawn back, I tore the pages
Pain was all around
Did you know the truth of your head resting on me?
Then silence
You'd fallen back off this world
I won't be standing here forever

No.11

This is kinda like me playing catch up with myself, posting recent pieces I'd not got round to putting here for whatever reason. Possibly my periods getting in the way or being too busy frightening the elderly with thatch theatre...

An Obscene Circle Of Hatred

I live alone with my family in quiet, safe part of town. We are no different then our neighbours, or any other family in town for that matter. We carry on through the same tragedy's as everyone else. It saddens me to say that I haven't learnt to cope with pain. More specifically, the pain of life. This is such a big world with empty words, trivial problems and guilt for feeling so alone. I love my parents, but they are lost to this. They think they understand. They talk and talk and talk like I've skinned my knees. Their child has fallen over and needs to be piked up. How shallow. All they want is their release, their pain removed. But I don't hate them. I love each and every person in my family, even when they pretend to have it all figured out.

I want to be loved too much. Of course that sounds strange yet it's the truth. I'm very much isolated from the ideals we perceive a everyday facts. I can't help myself. Yeah sure, I can bite on this tongue of mine as it trembles more words out in earnest desperation. But where will that drag me down to? All that seems to stick in my throat and mind is 'Pain is life'. My pain rises to the surface when I cut. My smile widens when I dig deeper through my soft body to touch what I know they just can't see. What they ignore.

There are so many reasons to carry on self-harming, but the most unbearable one is me. I'm the quiet, docile creature being made room for. Pampered like some malnourished pet. I'm watching the living understate me until I disappear. So many times on a daily basis I'm made aware of my complete lack of importance, purposely it seems. And they're right. I DO lack importance. Funny, to be lacking in a world of fake happiness.

I want to draw a circle. Inside this circle I will lace myself, and watch diligently in third person the hatred manifest upon my thighs, my arms, my stomach, my chest, my back. Anywhere I can feasibly hide it from a lifetime of piercing glares. With common household items sharpened to remember and meek smiles to forget, I'll dwindle inside this obscene circle until my body falls apart to a neatly slashed rubble. Then maybe I could begin to understand how someone so small fits in to a mausoleum so consuming.

[this is a character study of Lee from the film Secretary, not my own thoughts/feelings. Yes I do relate to some of it lol but I like that film a hell of a lot and felt she deserved a piece about her. Watch it, that film is fuckin' sexy too]

Buck The Harlem Smoke

Let him breathe, give him space,
Ignore the gaping shallow wounds
Like a septic trench across his face,
Bare fists and jaws connect,
He suffered severe hemorrhaging
With collapsed lungs and
Re-digested stomach acid indirect,
I consider the necessity to dissect,
A fanatical desire for reanimation,
In this homicidal gaze nothing
Nobody is safe,
Carefully and with sadistic conviction
I make good my excuses,
Removal met with fearful approval,
Fact becomes a horrid work of fiction,
Dragged by his ankles through agricultural
Phases in this country uncaring,
Better judgement asks where I faltered,
How far have I fallen my friend?
The end becomes the beginning of
An endless blood lust,
Wrists pumped with composition compounds,
Restraints hold us back from what
We never believed could materialize,
I just want to lose myself in other peoples death,
There is immense pain in staying alive,
Severed flesh crawling back to claim
Rewards, disfigured inhuman forms of
My hands still born,
Dearest friend, save me this grace
Before my redemption brings scorn,
Find my confession buried in
Rotten flesh under the surgical lines I've drawn


Hubris And Its Major Design Faults

Let me paint you a picture,
A portrait of myself and humanity,
See the colours smudge,
Note the lines jarred jagged,
Inconsistent,
Revelation in inspiration,
Let me paint you a picture with words,
Let me spell out this landscape,
Maybe you've seen it before,
You're running head-down through life,
Barged past every friendly warning
Wit that stupid grin,
You're on a roll,
Smug as fuck,
The clingers-on bow,
The gods ignored,
The rules broken,
How sure you are in what you're not,
Only human,
Now we define the downfall,
That one you should've seen coming,
Ignoring the idea you could be wrong,
Friends and foes won't step aside,
Force fed your own belated pride,
Merciful lord of malice intent,
Colours run and bleed,
How sure you were,
You mistook hands to shake
For fingers to break,
And there's the image complete,
Hubris mis-designed so perfectly


...Followed By Reflections

That fear,
That pain of being reminded of our humanity,
It drags you away from those you love to the nothings you hate.
It understands how best to hurt you.
To pull your walls down,
To unveil your insecurities
And remind you of your complete helplessness to your desire to self-destruct.
We fail.
Or is it just me?


Long Hard Think

Opps, I slipped and fell in
A puddle of ball-bag blood,
Shattered my pelvis spitting it out,
Call a penis paramedic