Thursday, 10 November 2011

Various Poems


Where are you, my betrayer?
Is it the glint in my eye?
My hand gestures at dawn
My demenour in blonde
Are my broken glances
What they noticed?
Ode to my betrayer
You have painted me colourful
Let me be ordinary for once
Show me my solstice quietly
I flick my wrists
Do you not know how to whisper?
Dream quietly and be humble
Or I'll cut my eyelashes off
Break my mind against your castle

My betrayer is a liar
He uses my words against me
Spits at me as I step
There is a horrible thing within
But sometimes he is gracious
Lets pretty men open doors for me
The gruff Sirs turning into flowery Misses
And when the night comes
He uses my voice against me
Makes me scream an octave higher
He chose how I sing
The  notes I hit, he plucked the strings
But if he does not stop
My betrayer will see
How nasty I  am
When I pursue a flawed masculinity

Denim Jeans

I want to see how your bones knit together
I want to name your veins
After greek gods till there are no more
Please, make me scream so loud
The neighbours are horrified

I want to see jealousy as I take you on parade
I long to cover you in blood
I want to see you red and glistening
Let me see your nightmares
So I can be in your dreams

I want to sew our souls together
So we will be one
Then we can take the bastards down with us
I want to feel the rush of pain
As we burst into flames
And tumble forever downward

The March Of Toads

We march like toads
Our fingers glitter with icing
Our worries behind us
The ones I forget I own
My teeth are grazing
On our despicable nature

Your lips are wet
Unpleasant in their anxiety
My lips like two half moons
Are trying to lead us down the path
Where we will not destroy ourselves
We slouch together, tangled
Unimportant limbs are weightless
Meshing and crunching of bones
All of our words have been spoken
So let us not speak at all


The streets I name Verona
Although they are not fair
The stretch to a leather infinity
Brick by brick, we will rebuild

It houses many a Tybalt
The skin tight jeans of the Juliet
Romeo drinks his sorrows often

I perhaps am Mercutio
I tell tales in my insanity
Tempered under my breath
I see my ending days
And I will go down laughing
Call upon the plague
On all your houses
On all your houses

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