Monthly Archives: December 2015

White Coats

“Take this” they say

Skeletons with no duty but to prey


Drug pushers universally recognised as angels

Skeletons in an angel’s disguise

But my mother can only tell me to pray.


“This will help” they say

Lifeless smiles and empty eye sockets

The only crack is when the irritation shows


So I drown in this Euphoric Powder

Reaching heights of lucid bliss and the depths of concrete evil coupled with self loathing


With the whispers of those skeletons egging me on

Agreeing with my subtle confusion


This Powder used to form clay and then slowly another version of me; to replace this morose face you usually see

Pandering to this concept of ‘me’


Agitation, the reimagining of all the things that caused me pain

A brighter day, even if there was no sunlight

Eyes would work like x-rays

The skeletons had finally gotten their way


Until the whisper fades and the young girl cries

The clay is broken; soul was woken

And the pretentious skeleton dies.


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Dreams of starlight and rainbows

Clouds that we can touch

No concrete, no rush – hustle and bustle is illegal here


Outside of the lucid Jack in the Box, outside of the little box of horrors.


Cyber chains around the neck cease to exist.


Finding ourselves amongst the bushes and shrubs that slowly transforms into our own forest desert.

Multicolour skylines

Radiant physical movements that shine

Fields and fields of walkable oceans


But even fairytales have nightmares

Even if they’re beautiful and pretty in pink


Lucifer shines the most

The most beautiful and exalted

With a voice of a thousand harmonies

And a laugh like an elegantly plucked harp


Evil can be beautiful.

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The Loves: Part Two

Diagnosis 3

The kind of love that sucks and drains you

Like a vampire after your blood.

Consumed in a venus fly-trap.

Your love seeps out of your fingertips.

Your eyes

Your lips

Even as the very breath leaves you

The love leaves too


A driving force on its own

Creating on its own.

Creating and destroying powerful bonds across the universe.


Licking at your legs like the fire of hell once it leaves you.

So-o good


Love soo good it feels like a sin worthy of committing


Starving yourself of food and water

In hopes this love will sustain you

Though it controls you


You relinquish all power to it the moment you realised it flowed through you


This love is like a spirit


Like a Siren


Calling the possessor of this love to their death

Leading them into the Abyss

Into the den of the wolf, created for their death



Diagnosis 4

The love as delicate and as beautiful as a rose made of ice

glistening with vulnerability and genteelity.


Yet the ice proves to be diamonds.

The hardest rock known to the common man

Only manipulated by high raging temperatures.

Much like when we make love.


Our Blood boiling like lava

As if to create a diamond then and there

Deep within us


Burning too hot, forming too hard and fast

Creating a beautiful hardness within us

for fear of a beauty like that will never consume us again


Hard as a rock

As beautiful as a diamond

Yet still so cold, once all the lava and fervour is gone.


Left feeling alone and abandoned

Like a floating poler icecap

Isolated from the rest of its property.

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The Gathering: Hopeful Farewell

As the sun rises

Wiping the warmth and the comfort of the moon from the sea


The mermaids disperse or sink further into the abyss

An attempt to hide all their sins


I drag myself through the waves

The sun transitioning my Siren’s locs to the braids of a Bride

My lips losing the lifeless lust of the underlife

Only to be replaced with the innocent ruse of stability


My wedding dress, white but soiled, reminds me of this burden of strife

Of safety of my sanity


The vows of love I promise to myself


I look back at the ocean of my Jaded sisters and secretly pray they swim or sink safely, to their heart’s content and with the cynical smile of positivity


But for now my costume of seaweed must be put away.


For I have decided to become married to the forest

So my wreath of Ivy will never go to waste


Instead it shall be a connection, a reminder of all that I had swam through

A reminder of all the souls I toyed with

And of the emptiness that had lain within the depths of my own


A lagoon so deep no man would have successfully gone through it.


Yet as my adorned ankles feel the dew of the Earth around it

The Siren in me laughs, for She knows of my addiction and how I could so easily once again fall prey to.


For I am a victim too.

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