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Posts Tagged ‘ramblings’

Small music on my mind

Brings me to you

In a haze of humiliation and bemusement

I remember those drowning days

Of pained misery

Here I am, standing the way I am supposed to be, stilled and silent

Inert for that few moments of relief from the paralysed blood sluggishly driving me away from reality

My mind whispers, an explosion in the silence

I just really want to fucking feel anything but this absence of

(heart) (head) (hope) (ambition) (noise) (warmth) ( of

(heart) (head) (hope) (ambition) (noise) (warmth) ( of

(heart) (head) (hope) (ambition) (noise) (warmth) ( of

(heart) (head) (hope) (ambition) (noise) (warmth) ( of

My body is battle worn, scarred and no longer up to the challenge of a fluttered eyelash

Without the body, the walls are a thousand years in standing, a thousand ships launched and dashed like hope

This body is cleaved, deformed and moulded now to a fearsome sight

The mind is a bear chewing off its own leg

Absent and running on instinct

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I can read Bukowski without flinching from his dirty ingrained fingernails clawing at my feminist instincts

This is my pride talking

Since generally, we are supposed to feed the carnality with pretty vagueness

Whereas I like the crawl on, roll off mindless dereliction

There is some satisfaction in self loathing

 

Revel in it whilst cold slivers of rancid intent

begins it’s long escape from your spread eagled frame

I can listen to some mundane proclamations of passion 

from the radio

for ever

I can listen to this as long as I don’t have to hear the dripping

sound of you

 

There was a time I was pride, torn apart, 

and restitched while I watched you as you came

spitting small words of thoughtless affection

your second thought is not necessary

our touch and your voice won’t be haunting anyone tonight

I am real, you are real, we fucked, we wiped each other away

Need it be any more complicated than this

 

I am a piece of shit

you are a piece of shit

together it was passable and altogether respectable

I am no romantic.

 

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There is breath left in my body

Waiting to break

On the shoreline

Spoken for at will

This blurred moment

Tales refuge inside

From beauty

It’s terrible grasp

dulling the senses

This bed cold and empty now

bereft of the troubled moment

There is breath left in my body

stilled and left to fail

Return to me I am empty

Give me something to hold

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You speak those idiomatic expressionless 

ruthless words

Dogmatic and concentrated

Seeped in heart guidance

Neither simple nor fair

No-one promised anything

Dedicated to your invisible world

Where lie my truths

High and dry

Turned into something they would

Have resembled

But for your psychosomatic truth

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I’m not a saint, there is no religion in these parts

My head is filled with a crescendo of dust, brittle and broken flecks of ash

The same old useless facts

One part me, one part all of the everyone else

That wait around to catch up with the heart

Of my pace

Drinking from the bottom up

Our time has gone

The same old scenarios, gathering moss

Embattled

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The old king is dead

Black and white longing looks

no longer exist to crush me

under a weight of a lifetime of living the memories

of old men and crusted vermin in seats

of deliverance and power 

pure sluts moulded and bonded

through despair

 

How far to crawl to the epithany

How far till alienation and depravity

poison the position awaiting

I am the architect

The slow perversion, tattered

pure slut moulded and bonded

obedient to morality

 

The beautiful apathy awash

with sweet natured suffering

existing in shadows and sweet bitter sweet

sweet bitter natured suffering sucking you down

like a litre bottle of pure escapism

flitting shadow like

The old king is dead

Pure slut moulded and bonded

stifled by pale and flaccid curiosity

 

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In our regimented, appealing culture
Alongside the cries of PC gone mad
The undercurrent stays pathologically indecent almost
Kept astray from prying eyes
Covered in reams of recycled, eco friendly paper
Malevolence repeats on us all
From the inside of this socially acceptable bright eyed
And bushy tailed
Purveyor of violence, of perversion, of sociopathy
Of chest hugging pride and tear stained dilated pupils
We mould, we chip, we measure and weigh
We starve, scandalise, tie hands behind backs
Cosset and curl, paint and time progress
Alter pitch and tone, confine to stairs and chairs and
Condemn with words and pressured stares
Bruise and bash into shape, leave to settle for an hour
Until twice the size, ready to bake
Patting ourselves at the comforting smell
Unless we get the recipe wrong

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