In search of olden days Of a younger I of which I dreamt I went off in pursuit To replace the doom I carried around inside me The corridors of power With a blazing gun in my hand Killing Nazis whenever found In search of olden days Of a younger I of which I dreamt The forrests of power now looming The call of duty of modern warfare Beckoning; so far no Nazis in sight Only death reoccurring -- fast
I shave my balls and wait for the
Penny to drop. The bouncing fires of
Hades matter, like time and the
Beating of hearts.I wear your earrings as a token,
Stolen; like the skin I broke as I
Pushed right through; I’m sorry.I walk in your shoes, high-heeled &
Covered with lipstick; bleeding.I am a vibrating pussy now; kneeling
I am so dripping wet; but for you I am just a
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Special
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Regret
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Days without sleep I sit down without Thinking Forehead hitting edge of Table & I bleed Profucely I remember enjoying silence Masturbation among the Sheep Days without sleeping Without orgasm or Progress Days speaking of the Otherworld To this world and the Weary Mindless sheep with Wooly dreams which I cut Without bleeding
I’m paranoid someone has been plagiarizing my work. If you see my writing published somewhere else, contact me at [email protected]
As a child I liked chocolate milk, hot and White bread; dipping I now mix the powdered chocolate With vodka: to recreate the feeling I fail with my endeavour (I fail at most things…) I blame bad parenting Or the lack of -- French bread
When funny goes to die // slowly through illness // terminally ill goes stumbling and dies // right there before us - funny has died // there are only tears left here // not of the happy type // not the type they deserve // a funny man // a funny woman // funny has died // rest in peace
Your daily routine
The contemplation of experiences
Or that which you call life
will to a greater extent improve
Once you realise that
in an equation of only constants —
There can be no variety
The recycling of souls never triggered the warning light. Not that it would have mattered, the bulb broke aeons ago
Forever is a long walk On crutches down a Slippery slope I fell hard as a youth and Not sorry to say I am still sliding
As far as time-lines go I named her my first, Not knowing her actual gender I found her sleeping rough, Beneath a pile of books I called her pretty, my dear Roseanna I convey this In the toungue of the ancient mariner, I cared for her so blessed life I carried her with me until her birth, But without knowing and intention I failed her as any parent would, Not knowing her actual gender I named her my first, my all With her legacy intact She now calls me fool, I hesitate to argue This smallest of truths, My first, my unborn will still be you
