Sunday, 1 July 2012

Mixed Works.

100 Puppets

Sunlight drips from the master bedroom.
Onto the dancing teenagers underneath.
Red dirt blondes are flicking their hair.
Smearing the pretty boys with hollow eyes.
The room is spinning as the strings are pulled.
Lipstick marks on ice white curtains.
Vomit lined corridors leading to a garden shed.
Filled with bodies cracking and melding together.

The puppet master lies on the bed upstairs.
His body a husk of what it once was.
Cameras flickering on the screens in front of him.
Behind the  splinters of his disused underlings.
“fantasy is better than reality”
he replies to a dislocated wooden jaw.
“So much it hurts”. 

Keeping It

You lean in close to me and I hold my breath.
The sickly sweet taste of your mouth so near mine is nauseating.
You direct me and pull me until my limbs start to feel numb.
If this is the game you want to play.
I won’t make a sound, not a single noise will escape these lips.

You’re forcing me under into this sea of depravity.
When you smile like that, you remind me of Father.
That look he gave you everyday.
You’ve learned well from him.
How to look proud but demand more with one simple movement.

Every whimper or moan that I hear from you.
The tune your voice sometimes carries in those moans of ecstasy.
The soft rhythmic beauty to those noises.
Reminds me of those songs you sung as a child,
When you pretended to be alone.

I know this is wrong but I have been walking this road for so long.
That turning back now would be against my nature.
I will live for the day when I have true dominance over you.
When the smell of your skin, the feel of your hair against my face,
Does not fill me with disgust.

Lungs and Laughs

My laugh rings from my broken chest.
The world has shattered my ribs.
Days of drug-filled laughter.
Hysterical shrieks of a delusional madman.

My lungs are a mismatched pair.
One is heaving breaths of cold glass.
Sharp shards have splintered it.
Tobacco has rotted it away.
It still fights on.

My other lung is a dormant husk.
Lying in wait for the day it is dragged out.
So, I can put it in a glass jar and view it.
A reminder of my sordid past.

I hear my laugh today and I love it.
How it sounds deep and does not chatter.
The life it is filled with, the peace it has found