1. 13 Nov


    In reality, there is only so far, One’s skin can be stretched. Eventually our bones will grow sore, From the frictions life has bore. When you’re pulled too tight, Pinned and hooked from all sides Even the smallest indiscretion, Can bring our strongest to demise. However, I am not strong, And my bones are plaster. So when I am alone, I dedicate my deterioration much faster.

    In reality, there is only so far,

    One’s skin can be stretched.

    Eventually our bones will grow sore,

    From the frictions life has bore.

    When you’re pulled too tight,

    Pinned and hooked from all sides

    Even the smallest indiscretion,

    Can bring our strongest to demise.

    However, I am not strong,

    And my bones are plaster.

    So when I am alone,

    I dedicate my deterioration much faster.

     

  2. 13 Nov


    SPIDER LOVE When in the mood for Spiders, I walk across a pages of white. But for all my eyes in all their directions, I suffer the blindness that comes with light. Well I’ve sat and I have waited for the nights, Cowering on a splinter out at sea. Hoping these flickers will create the means, That you’ll come and you’ll capsize right by me. If I promise to pull you from the blue, And I risk both my hands at Sea. I think I’d lose my legs one by one, As you reach the land without me.

    SPIDER LOVE

    When in the mood for Spiders,

    I walk across a pages of white.

    But for all my eyes in all their directions,

    I suffer the blindness that comes with light.

    Well I’ve sat and I have waited for the nights,

    Cowering on a splinter out at sea.

    Hoping these flickers will create the means,

    That you’ll come and you’ll capsize right by me.

    If I promise to pull you from the blue,

    And I risk both my hands at Sea.

    I think I’d lose my legs one by one,

    As you reach the land without me.

     

  3. 13 Nov


    TEN TADPOLES I promise to catch you Ten Tadpoles, If you swear to never succumb to waste. So don’t you dare get sick on me, Because the Grim is someone I’d rather not chase. Now make an oath to commit no crime, For I can’t see you locked away. Because should you be without or confined, I’d have to rent a cell to stay. But should you decide to immigrate, Remember the importance of space. For of it you’ll need copious amounts, So there is room for me in your suitcase.

    TEN TADPOLES

    I promise to catch you Ten Tadpoles,

    If you swear to never succumb to waste.

    So don’t you dare get sick on me,

    Because the Grim is someone I’d rather not chase.

    Now make an oath to commit no crime,

    For I can’t see you locked away.

    Because should you be without or confined,

    I’d have to rent a cell to stay.

    But should you decide to immigrate,

    Remember the importance of space.

    For of it you’ll need copious amounts,

    So there is room for me in your suitcase.

     

  4. 13 Nov


    PRISMS What we own is what we throw To make our sodden grounds An archetypal mass of prisms We form our prisons. The heat from our feet has risen A flash of pastime in the morning Once trodden has now grown Procratination’s heavy warning.

    PRISMS

    What we own is what we throw

    To make our sodden grounds

    An archetypal mass of prisms

    We form our prisons.

    The heat from our feet has risen

    A flash of pastime in the morning

    Once trodden has now grown

    Procratination’s heavy warning.

     

  5. 12 Nov


    BEER Thunder, can you hear me? Over the rackety floor. Over the voices and beer Chanting, ‘ave one more. Hailstones, do you drown me? Is my voice weaker than yours? Do I have to scream and shout, Spell the letters of ‘l.o.v.e’ at your door. This regression is my depression A heavy beating oppression. And if I’m true; hear my confession, I’m as nervous as before.

    BEER

    Thunder, can you hear me?

    Over the rackety floor.

    Over the voices and beer

    Chanting, ‘ave one more.

    Hailstones, do you drown me?

    Is my voice weaker than yours?

    Do I have to scream and shout,

    Spell the letters of ‘l.o.v.e’ at your door.

    This regression is my depression

    A heavy beating oppression.

    And if I’m true; hear my confession,

    I’m as nervous as before.

     

  6. 12 Nov


    PASS ON If I were to pass on What would I pass on? What would I leave behind For the others to find? I would leave my words, The good and the written in haste. I would leave my verbs, The bad and the bitter tastes. I would leave my pens, So they could comprehend. How the drawing and the scrawling, Became a solitary friend. I would leave my words, Letters. Seen, spoken and heard. I’d tell them all to be brave, As bravery paves the way.

    PASS ON

    If I were to pass on

    What would I pass on?

    What would I leave behind

    For the others to find?

    I would leave my words,

    The good and the written in haste.

    I would leave my verbs,

    The bad and the bitter tastes.

    I would leave my pens,

    So they could comprehend.

    How the drawing and the scrawling,

    Became a solitary friend.

    I would leave my words,

    Letters. Seen, spoken and heard.

    I’d tell them all to be brave,

    As bravery paves the way.

     

  7. 12 Nov


    THE SMALL PRINT I’m scared of packed bags, Pre-meditated and sitting by the stair. I deflated at the small print, Of a reality I can’t bare. I’m scared of airports, Of what leaves and what remains. I’m wary of the white walls, And the memories they contain. I’m scared of balconies, Of death barred behind black. I worry of the toes edging So far there’s no way back. I’m scared of phones, And the pedestal they condone. I think of the betrayed secrets, Broadcasted or spoken alone. I’m scared of my voice, Squeaky and six years old. I fear that words alone, Can only tell the untold. I’m scared of chest pains, From pastimes of old. I worry that they’re forever, Permanent. Drawn in bone. I’m scared of the brain, Of wants, wishes of sane. Of swallowed bookmarks, And the finger stained page.

    THE SMALL PRINT

    I’m scared of packed bags,

    Pre-meditated and sitting by the stair.

    I deflated at the small print,

    Of a reality I can’t bare.

    I’m scared of airports,

    Of what leaves and what remains.

    I’m wary of the white walls,

    And the memories they contain.

    I’m scared of balconies,

    Of death barred behind black.

    I worry of the toes edging

    So far there’s no way back.

    I’m scared of phones,

    And the pedestal they condone.

    I think of the betrayed secrets,

    Broadcasted or spoken alone.

    I’m scared of my voice,

    Squeaky and six years old.

    I fear that words alone,

    Can only tell the untold.

    I’m scared of chest pains,

    From pastimes of old.

    I worry that they’re forever,

    Permanent. Drawn in bone.

    I’m scared of the brain,

    Of wants, wishes of sane.

    Of swallowed bookmarks,

    And the finger stained page.

     

  8. 12 Nov


    OLDER, YOUNGER. I’m old in my youth, Too old to recoup. My congestion is perfection, And immobile to rejection. But Darling, You’re so pretty, You’re making this okay. And Darling, Were so witty, Don’t want to rush how I feel today.  Distracted, unattractive, I always think to die. Dipping in as if I never left, As I nod and yep and sigh. But Honey,  You’re so lovely, You’re making me want to stay. And Honey, You’re high above me, Don’t want to rush how I feel today.

    OLDER, YOUNGER.

    I’m old in my youth,

    Too old to recoup.

    My congestion is perfection,

    And immobile to rejection.

    But Darling,

    You’re so pretty,

    You’re making this okay.

    And Darling,

    Were so witty,

    Don’t want to rush how I feel today. 

    Distracted, unattractive,

    I always think to die.

    Dipping in as if I never left,

    As I nod and yep and sigh.

    But Honey, 

    You’re so lovely,

    You’re making me want to stay.

    And Honey,

    You’re high above me,

    Don’t want to rush how I feel today.

     

  9. 12 Nov


    BLEEDING GUMS From the falling of the frothing, This basin is brown and red. Staining the stagnent limescales, With wasted words, unsaid. For this neglect has got me crying, Uncoiling what should have been done. Can it truely be worth a risk? Well, I’d rather these bleeding gums.

    BLEEDING GUMS

    From the falling of the frothing,

    This basin is brown and red.

    Staining the stagnent limescales,

    With wasted words, unsaid.

    For this neglect has got me crying,

    Uncoiling what should have been done.

    Can it truely be worth a risk?

    Well, I’d rather these bleeding gums.

     

  10. 12 Nov


    THE BUTCHER SHOP. It was all very strange in the Butcher Shop, Where I felt it all as I faced down. Hanging from the hooks out back, And naked but for invisible frowns. In the window I took time turning in the glare, Where I felt it all as my cheeks grew red. Giving portions to the dogs as I grin and bare, For I am your piece of meat for sale instead.

    THE BUTCHER SHOP.

    It was all very strange in the Butcher Shop,

    Where I felt it all as I faced down.

    Hanging from the hooks out back,

    And naked but for invisible frowns.

    In the window I took time turning in the glare,

    Where I felt it all as my cheeks grew red.

    Giving portions to the dogs as I grin and bare,

    For I am your piece of meat for sale instead.