its like the pitter of the rain against the patter of your brain upon the matter of your name in a batter of insane. Its like a shatter of the same in a batter of your blame in the pitter of the rain against the patter of your brain.
Monthly Archives: November 2013
citrus fresh
The day is still
crisp sunshine falls onto
silent field
that chequered art of
crisscrossed oxymoron leafs
the universe wakes
cold glass of orange citrus
encased in bittersweet clarity
an untouched mind the
empty canvas
ready to be tainted
the chaotic anti-dance
When they asked me to request a song
any song I like
unto a dancefloor of slurry happies
twisting ecstatic to the melodies
I picked the song I knew they wouldn’t like
one that hadn’t made it to the pop-charts
one that wasn’t repeatedly played on the radio
it had no repeated chants that brainwashed
the one that would never make it to their ears
otherwise
I picked a song of anti-dance
chaotic symphony of disharmony
one where, if you tried to move to the beat
you would only do it right if you
tripped
stumbled out of step beyond
the realm of sanity
found those magic moments in your
fleeting aura that reaches the ceiling
in misty lights and blurry edges
foggy sights and into madness
this is life and
it will be the death of you
to make lemonade
If I turn feelings into words
will I feel them less?
will they be contained in shapely lines and
cause me less distress?
will my feelings be encased in rhymes
and make less of a mess?
now that they are neatly verbalised and
I’ve got them off my chest
pulp
let sunshine swallow the whole day
into oblivion
like bubblegum that will remain
for seven years
with three moskito bites on the
sole of my foot
and shoes that squash my toes
into blisters
they think
the matter in my mind has evolved
but it has only dissolved into
an insignificant pulp
sit
on the edge of my bed and say
the same things again
hoping to brainwash me into acceptance
drink
this water
again
now
tell me how you feel.
snap
the sound that something makes
when it has passed its limits
the sound of breaking down
apart and pieces
apart and it all
it all goes to show
that we must we must
take it slow
in order to prevail
now snap
and its all disorder
fragmented snail
static mind stopping
thought repeating the
dull dull dull thud thud
thud of a negative
unproductive
embrace
it is all
element and
misery
toxic
Bound by a lack of choice
a glass jar
a barred cage
one of these days I’m going to break this world
make it mine
one of these days I’m going to crush
those atoms in the air that
wall my way and
water my disbelief
catch miracle as it almost
flies out of reach
from the tip of its wing
and pull it back down to earth
let it meet concrete as I step
on it and say
you cant leave if I cant
paint
everything is changing and the same
repeating bubbles fleeting
crystal shining moments
blinding scarring
meeting
leaving
connecting
separating
watching
what fickle beings we are
to break our own hearts
with the tar of self-torn souls
while the dead stars
shine
histories final stale breath
you are a world away
I remain in mine
the future is here and I’ve
met your death
when we stare at the sky
and say we’ve failed life’s
tests
The canvas is broken
watch
how this paint colours in the world
instead
remember who you are
remember who you are not
be humble and graceful and
unconfident
step warily and worriedly
onto absurd shifting pebbles
over shallow streams
sing
in a croaky voice with
eyes full of tears and a
heart full of fat
it beats
as if it rather wouldn’t do
just that
walk
with a limp in the
posture of the broken
be tamed
by society
maimed
by civility
whisper
when you speak
think softly
know nothing
remember who you are
not
life will change
and float like oxygen into the clouds
like memories that break out of
existence and leave its entity of thought
from which it was encased
encased in melodies and nostalgia
that covers you in its contentment
of having lived
fifty seven years from now
and you are watching incomprehensible news
about a stranger world
in an empty house
on a forgotten neighbourhood
pandaplatter 