Self-medicating

When I was a child,
I would fall sick a lot.
My father would hoist me up
On the kitchen sink
Which I liked,
And push pills
the size of matchboxes
down my gullet
Which I did not, so much.
He said they would make me better.
It used to hurt.

When I was older,
I would wrap pills in bread
and swallow them whole
For practice
So I would avoid his fingers
wiggling, like a spiny fish
in my throat.

These days I swallow pills
all the time,
On my own.
They are not forced down
from my father
They are without bread
And they do not make me better.

They are forced down
Nonetheless
They hurt more than the ones
I remember, from the kitchen sink.

Dinner Guest.

Despair is my dinner guest.

I invited it in, and poured

it's favourite drink.

Fixed it a chair to sit at

the head of the table,

And then played it's favourite

music all night long.

We spend the night together

by the candle light

But I was alone, even though,

Despair was with me.

I should stop inviting it over.

It never brings flowers,

It drinks all the wine,

and never cleans the dishes.

Despair takes me for granted,

But I let it.

...I wonder what its doing next week?

BrushStrokes.

I would paint my face by the lamp light,
Under your dubious eyes
You would watch me grow into a
pretty girl, that made you pretty too.

Heavy.

My mask is crumbling,

I see it all, and all is nothing.
My hands have faded,
unable to carry the weight
they once could.

Conviction

The air is lonely
like my bed of white.
Whisper lines trace that
decomposing shadow

the space once occupied
now uneasy.

Lying to yourself is not the same as
lying next to me.
Hands in pockets, knuckles clenched,
a vicious, empty silhouette.

Keeping the keepers,
the wild animals at bay
my flesh is attractive to them.

Raw gums, gangs exposed
circling crows, on tattered bones.
They wait for the fall
for teeth to pass through sinew.

Yet I wait and wait, anticipate
The consummation of a wedding night
between two bruised strangers.

We are burning
ourselves on molten embers
that we placed under
our fingernails.
Though I know you know,
we are nothing,
and it's beautiful

Tonight is as empty
as my head
as my heart
as my bed

Tighten the belt around my chest and
come back into the dirt where
you belong with me.
I have no conviction.

The Devil's Sonata.

This void, filled with spite,
clutched fists, a curved grin.
Bent thumbs and turned wrists,
warm from my fingerprints.
I give you civility, through gritted teeth
but little grace,
that is all.

Crucify the spirit, adagio on strings.
But let the flesh live,
on the Devils Sonata.
Let the flesh live.

A pillaged village, burnt out
burnt down.
Plundered souls with stolen hearts,
pull their flags up high.
Both will congratulate themselves
Immersed, wallowing
rich in the spoils of war
of an unsuspecting town.

Come here often.

I noticed you from across the room,
What do you say stranger?
you whispered.
I say, freezing gusts are more welcoming,
You and your cowboy get-up and whip
this childish dream you are living
You move on.
Your eyes sparkle,
Buy you a drink sugar?
you ask me.
I say, sharp glass would have better chances,
You and your oily head and dirty smell
and mothball suit.
Be gone with you and your silver hair.
You move on.
Pardon me, but
Could I sit here?
You quietly speak.
I say, What do you want stranger?
Your eyes, they sparkle
from across the room.
Buy you a drink sugar?
You say, Begone with you,
and your silver tongue.

Awake.

Sleeping here, between these pages.
Lidded eyes lay content
within this pen
yet I'm dying in my nightmares
ceasing to exist within my dreams.

I'm sleeping here,
fingers reach out to touch the face in the mirror,
my face, my mirror, my dream.

I'm dying here, within these pages,
lidded eyes disintegrating like paper.

Words rotting into the dirt.

The Finish Line.

The smoking gun was the sound of the end,
Not the beginning.
That year that created wars,
bloodied thoughts on battlefields.
The year that tried to etch itself on my gravestone.

THIS YEARS SUMMER BLOCKBUSTER...

Based on the comic SPECIAL AGENT SUICIDE.

His mission? TO DIE. And to save the human race?

Starring:
...Tunnel Vision Ted!
...Disinterested Diana.
...Baron Von Bored!

AND INTRODUCING,

CAPTAIN NOWHERE! And The Unholy Sisters of Misery as THE VILLIANS.

Coming to a cinema near you.

Ophelia Blues.

I would have you drape me around your neck,
like a tooth on a chain,
a mounted head on a wall,
with glassine eyes and vacant mouths.

I am Ophelia at your feet

the woman in the pond

flowered deadwood in the stream

a murdered Sybil in the wings

Magdalene without redemption.

Unorthodox.

Chest full of coal,

stomach full of stones,

An untended garden,

sprouting poisonous blooms.

Scents that trace over linen,

Stripped walls of alabaster blue,

the smell in my hamper of you

waiting to be washed out of my life.