To be ‘enlightened’ you must first realise that enlightenment is bullshit in the first place.
If you wish to further sophisticate yourself and emancipate yourself from your current form of humanity, become part of my harem by simply clicking the follow button.
My eyes are spinning a wreck
And my heart is reeling the deck
I’ve become spider
And i’ve got you in my web
Or its the other way around
I need you to get out of my head
I’m possesed
I’m scared i’ll do something I regret
I’ve never hated like this before
But looking back there are plenty
That left me hurting, hung out to dry, empty
Yet you fuel my ire like no other.
I dont get it, i’m not a violent man
But i see you or hear you and there is this silent violence exploding inside, blasting me to shreds.
I’ve heard it all now
Let it go
Forgive
It hurts you more than it does him.
But my mind has become inflamed with rage
and this beast that has grown is shaking at my ribs
Like i’m a cage
I resist but that only makes it stronger
And if I stop, i’m scared of this fuckin’ monster
What if he runs unleashed, stops grinding down my teeth and gets into my fists
What if i go on screaming, frothing at the mouth
And never stop till i drop dead
what if i let go of this muzzle and he tears into you
God, i’m Frankenstien
I’ve seen it now
I’ve created a monster
I’ve seen him
In the mirror
rolling boulders down my face
Little parts of me, chipped away
I wrote this a few months ago while feelimg extremely bitter and angry, I wrote this to get it all out then pushed it aside. Was reading through some of my latest attempts to write to see if i couuld find any lines to inspire something to write when i found this and thought, nah i’ll keept it as is so here it is.
There was a melon on a chair
I dont know what it was doing there
But there it was as round as a square is square
It was like the elephant in the room
No one aknowledged it was there
I said, ‘there is a Melon in that chair’ I pointed, ‘whats it doing there?’
And everyone turned to look at me
And not the melon on the chair
Crouched behind my face
Tightening the seams of the masks that suffocate my screams
I’m all outta love
Empty full of hate
No more thread to be spun
To weave the tapestery of fate
Its all just too much
Being begrudgingly human
When all i want to be is…..
Existintial absence…..
The clouds hang low, rigid, like zeppelinz
We hang low from them, like marionettes
Though, no, I am not a puppet
But, yes, I suppose it could be said that I am
Yes, lets call it highly strung
They make us dance to a tune i dont recognise
I thought i knew it once
I thought it was a tune i once tried to write
Back when I was the apple in someone’s eye
I think a worm, or was it…
No, I can safely say it was a worm
Corrupted that someone’s eye
They look, but they no longer see.
I may have been, per’aps the worm that wriggled
Or, no, it jus’ ne’e was meant to be.
No, quite right, it was all a lie, ne’er have i felt such love
To lose and bid goodbye
But, i have felt such things!
I’m almost sure of it, though i’m not so sure it was me
Written for W3
I ‘ad jus’ such a hunch
It was gonna be one of them rum ones
As i set to the bus station
And the B15 had only gone and been replaced
By a flippin’ stegasarus
Can ya believe jus’ such a disgrace?
”Ow am i meant to ride betwixt ‘is osteoderms?’ I asked
To not such as a mumbled reply
‘This bloody bus service is coprolite’
I shouted to anyone who passed me by
Written for W3
The pigeons cut diamonds in the trees
And the wind cut through in whispers
Telling all who would listen
What they they strained for it to be
But windows were sealed
And fences whistled
With forlorn decree
That pagan Gods had been trodden and outworn
And the world is too much with us; late and soon
We’ll always be
Written for W3
The world is drawn in rough squiggles of lines that giggle through the grape vines that intertwine my mind
a blurred map of lingering torment overrun with anxious flotsam
squiggle squiggle
so anxious the world is topsy turvy barley a picture to be drawn thats worthy
My hands wont be still
I’m all frowsy and nervy
A deer in the headlights
My feet pitter patter like the rain
They all tek it for granted that i’m jus’ prancin’ and dancin’
But heart to heart
Its all restless edge
flowin’ down to me loosey goosey feet
Am not a tap dancer, i am neurosis on legs
Maybe bordering on psychosis
Its hard to tell out here on the ledge
I dont want a ladder
Or a rope
I’ll jump off, maybe, tomorrow
But my hearts got the jitterbug
And my ‘eads got me swingin’ be the ears
Stretching ’em out too far now all i can do is bloody listen
There is music in my ribs
Wind chimes and xylophones
I can hear the river in my veins gushin’
My bladder fillin’
A rush o’ blood to the ‘ead
funny how it makes ya feel dead
Inside this caccoon of dread
Makes you notice your eyes in your sockets
Painting pictures
If only i could paint real nice
Instead of this horrorshow in my minds eye!
In the sink of our hearts
A thicket o’ rush
where the river runs
A volcanic bomb o’ flush
rinsed our faces scarlet
A momentary hush
The days dawn had broken
and the music held yesterdays momentum
the melody tied our stomachs down
anchoring us forward
and the sun looked criminal
shining upon us in the midst o’ such a dour mornin’
‘e were purple in’t face with wisteria blush
with big ginger tufts at side o’ ‘is face
‘is round belly ‘ung over ‘is trousers
which were always a jot too short
the cuff o’ ‘is socks on display
usually checkered blacks and yella’s
with black braces hitchin’ ’em up
always ‘ad a pocket watch ‘ed tek t’ ‘is ‘and at a quater t’ nine on a friday night
leanin’ on’t lampost
waitin’ fer ‘is lady luck, Mrs Esther Muffet
me gandma would look through’t window and tutt
‘e’s a rum one ‘e is!’
one time I asked ‘er what all she meant
ya know what she said?
‘Well, ‘e looks like a man who’d play’t trumpet, but ‘e don’t! I don’t trust a man who looks as ‘e does yet don’t play a trumpet!’
Well! I thought ‘er a rum one sayin’ things like that!
me grandad came in and asked, ‘What ya think ol’ Gorbet sideburns is waitin’ fer?’
”is trumpet!’ I replied
me gran rolled ‘er eyes, ”es waitin’ on little Miss Muffet! Ya know this be now!’
”ere she goes! finally got up off ‘er tuffet!’ me grandad grinned
‘Don’t ‘e know she’s married?’ Me gran would ask each time
‘don’t she know she’s married?’ would come my grandad’s reply
and we’d spy through’t window, duckin’ when thee so much as glanced our way
and that one time me granddad turned and said with a sly grin
‘Well, at least ‘e’s got the ‘orn now!’
and me gran wacked ‘im o’er the ‘ead!
This is written for W3
These meridian lines are blurred by the time we see it clear
All these cigarette burns and coffee rings mark wasted minutes
And these explosive stereo revelations
blast us spun up in knots
Fishing for thought
In this cerebral sea of noise
Like fingernails on chalkboard
Scratching beneath the surface
Searing bloodshot scattered aftershock
This is written for W3
Inspired by:
silverbackgorillapoetry.com 