Old Times, New LifeThe more songs you let just run on,
The more tears you let fall free,
The more hours you spend in bed,
The lazier you will be.
The less you move,
The more you sit,
The things you might do,
The things you'll say,
The happier you will be.
In, through and out,
Six times today.
What am I about?
Ugly - mirror crack.
Read eight times your lines,
Today I died for you.
I woke - there was no time today.
I slept - I slept my dreams away,
And all my knowledge flew away,
It's all okay,
Pace here and there,
Kiss me, I'll obey.
Bright day but I'm indoors,
Happy, yeah, but my soul needs yours.
Bright day - light is fled.
Sleepy, sure, but I'll feed my head.
Had nothing to eat,
But full to the brim,
Many coffee cups,
Brown at the rim.
Grey ground isn't so grey,
Since summer took me away.
Sad notes - no, they're gay.
What was that feeling? Hate?
Nah. Too late.
All I know now is this,
All I feel is this bliss.
Are you as happy as a blowing leaf,
Or are you hidden in you
RedSometimes I don't think I'm me,
I don't think I'm me at all.
Sometimes I find myself sobbing,
I'm feeling two-foot-tall.
There's another me lurking,
Somewhere behind and above,
Someone who is ignoring all,
One who only feels love.
And I'm waiting for that Red,
Cascading crimson of life-ether fluid,
To come rushing forth,
And out of my protruding part.
Drip, drip and the blood scatters in the ceramic bowl,
Dissipating through the dirty water,
Reminding me of rusty needles
And other methods of being caught,
Or rather, catching it.
But I'm caught out.
That time of year-
The days are lighter-
That frame of mind,
You make it brighter.
But the Red to come,
Soon to come,
Nervously and anxiously,
I'm waiting for it anyday now.
And that's not all...
I'm waiting for more...
Slide out, from a back-room in your mind,
Embrace truth and love and embrace me more.
I'm still waiting for more.
Waiting on Red. For more. And ever more.
A robot and yet no moreHelium is kept afloat by its own lightness.
Behind and to the right, a window shines brightness.
Atop this pane of glass a robot smiles weekly;
Its painted mouth is gleaming, all curving peakly.
And the rest exists only in mind of vivid
Imagination, but it never even lived.
He knows no more than an idiot human does,
His lonely circuitry is but a wiring fuzz.
Alas, he sweeps not past the corridors of love;
His fleeting memories of what he loves is rough.
Nothing endears him, this robot I know; and yet
Nothing causes hate in his electric mind-set.
A heart lurches forth and in its chest of metal
No blood surges through him; no blood, no blood at all.
Guide to TranscendenceHer kiss felt like nothing; nothing but skin on skin. She uncurled from the loving ball she had momentarily become and her beautiful, black skin shone briefly in the illumination of the window's reflective sun. He watched as her afro shook carelessly with each movement of her head as she pulled herself back up to his level. He grabbed the duvet and pulled it over them both, leaving their faces showing, beaming with the pride of recent arousal. But arousal is all it was. She clutched to him, side by side, and he observed her black face on his white one, and thought fleetingly of Yin and Yang.
He had wondered for years about the psychological reasoning behind wishing to perverse a member of a different race, but after receiving oral sex from a negro, he need wonder no more. He understood it all now, suddenly, with one flash of comprehension, one glistening moment of clarity, he saw and knew - but more importantly, felt - why some people had such a fascination with it. And he sensed that
herbThis I toke as I sway forever,
Engrossed in a bubble of friends;
I love this life - this soul, this ether,
Into heaven this herb now sends.
Write a letter to the civilised,
Write it in ink made of spirit:
"I do not want your rules and lies,
I want my life - so let me live it".
A PromiseA scrawled promise,
Here it is,
Read all of this,
I've loved and loved,
It's all too much.
Sit back as I write,
My promise to you.
It's born from a boat,
This loving manifesto;
All started at sea,
A ship with you and me.
Standing at the edge,
And looking at the ripples,
I would have written this back then,
If I'd only had a pen.
A mumbling, pristine love-affair,
A beauteous frame of mind.
A swirling, hurling rush of air,
You're not being left behind.
A cradling, unfading heartache,
A footing in lame rhyme.
A pearly, twirly real, non-fake,
Drifting silently through time.
A smouldering, shouldering nudge,
A real hard push inside.
A furling, curling, anti-smudge,
Foolish time to say I lied.
A slanting, parting, old handshake,
A flick and twist on tide.
A surely moulding re-awake,
What a way to show my pride.
A rampant, wanton, harsh unfurl,
A fantastical lie.
A raging, aging, soulful whirl,
It's time to say goodbye.
A scrawled promise,
Here it is,
T.V. Rant in Sonnet FormI can't avoid that dreaded box, it seems;
Why does it entice me to watch its shows?
Its faults and immoral messages are,
Enough to sicken me to my bones.
All the subliminals! And all the hate
I feel towards this inanimate being.
This lonely, drunken siren of the night,
No peace is there in this world of spite -
Consumerism and capitalism,
Rule the seas and reside in our very hearts.
Can you not feel the dreaded end?!
Can you not sense its burning fire?
Can you please turn your television off;
Can you join me in an existence higher?