Tuesday, 22 May 2012

I am a Button

I am convinced that this is what I have not been called before.
However, I will be me and you can press lightly on your forehead for a day.
The Picnic, I enjoyed the most.
I swear I was expecting it.
After all, we are like water only.
Sliding gracefully through the cracks just like the living dead.

...I will heal your thirst.
I will be like the whole of you.

I am the king of thieves to steal your sobs and I will etch into all of you.
I have you sitting in your chair, dining like a pig.
I am the great, grand dragon of the garden gates.
Disguised as a salamander for your convenience.
Standing in front of you with lots and lots of knives.
I want to live in a wallpaper of your misfortune.
Wrenching between the bars of golden snakes twisting your humerus.

There is beauty like this in the relationship upturned.
Cloth or silken moth devouring.
They hang like a woman lamenting.
Her husband has been swallowed by the monster of the sea.
In broken windows of your souls.

Rather than before, not after.
It will eat your children.

The softness is a cushion of warmth in the back of your chair.
I can cry at the shame of one hundred dead guard dogs.
When Violets are selling themselves cheaply it is not for crying.
Being held is on the line, lying side by side since the blood is out of the bottle, thick as jam
Save me from the milky goodness of who is in this frigid press.
I have saved you, drowned you in sticks, thrown you to the bottom of the sea.
And yet you walk among us, there to steal our very souls,
We will be forever postponed as Romeo and Juliet.

Making music from the back of a whimsical beached whale,
The kaleidoscope of the boat is blinking silently overhead.
I am a button.

(This is a google translate created parody poem)

The Carnal Flesh Of The Cleanest Sin

Are we going to live or are we going to survive this?
Squeezing our insides as the pain is one to do.

We will never know the true wrath of God.
If we do not open ourselves up to a life of most wonderful sin.

Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit and I breath it.
I can look at the world and hiss at it through gritted teeth.

Soldiers always play their cards right when they’re throwing grenades.
We are the best of that kind, we are two sides of the same coin.

Lets spit in the faces of our forefathers and dance once again.
They wouldn’t have liked how we turned out anyway.

Maybe these days hold the minutes where we can truly soar.
If we were only man enough to grasp at the straw like possibilities.

Saturday, 19 May 2012

Fighting The Tiger

Sugar me softly, oh broken one.
Bury me deep in the ground.
So when I fall from my pedestal.
I don’t dare to make a sound.

Why is it so difficult to curl up inside myself?
Find a place and implode away from here.
It’s so difficult being me and being happy.
That I fake this same smile over and over again.

I wish that happiness could be bought.
Free to anyone who needs it enough.
So when this emptiness spreads from my chest.
I could emerge like a phoenix again.

There are days in which the fake smile turns.
When the comedy act sends giggles down my spine.
Suddenly I am laughing at my own ridiculousness.
How childish my misery truly is.

It is hard to describe to others why it hurts.
Why the beasts claws rip so finely.
That the speckles of blood are only visible.
When you take off my second skin.

Saving me is a task for a brave man.
I have not found anyone whose eyes notice.
Who could find a way in and free me.
By gripping me so tight it hurts.

Romance may be dead and gone.
My life may be cluttered and useless.
I may not have much to live for.
My purpose is to write and be heard.

Sugar me softly oh broken one.
Bury me deep in the ground.
So when I fall from my pedestal.
I dare to make a sound.