Tag Archives: collection

Feel My Bones Ignite


The Night Gets Wasted

Banned bus seat backseat sovereign serenade

Diligent difference between a limerence renegade

Demons dancing, sober stars separating names

I’m screaming underwater as you burst into flames.


Break a Leg Tonight

I’m operating on the dead doctor with understudy nurses

He’s asking for some saline sedation and anaesthetising curses

Sewn into his own gurney, an advanced state of paranoia

I’ll lie about his terminal condition before I conduct euthanasia.


The Sound of Answering Machines

Settling for the taste of bitter window glass and sweeter tonic lips

Sp hold me down with your merest memory, and take another sip

Celebrate the way the scars constellate in your homemade fantasy

Do you think you’re the only animal who can’t breathe without me?


Pretend to Close Your Eyes

Fade me quietly into what seems to be a broken dead end reverie

Liquid lights leaking into blackened mechanisms, a faltering gallantry

I’ll run away and chase your nightmares, wrap you in a labyrinth

Exit signs crying as hell reads to heaven, you fall asleep in your plinth.


The Taste of Being on Fire

Our symphony written in blood and lipsticks, for a saving grace sonata

Tiring tirades traded, turn away and face the music, persona non grata

Two faces burning into colours, on a sunrise long-dead on the highway

Don’t make me vain for viscid vials of aether to dispel innocent display.


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Fragile Disillusions



I can change, play god, and break the golden silence

But even I myself cannot shatter it all off completely

I can still choose to climb out of this chaotic dissidence

But the leftover shards scattered will still wound me badly.



Stained glass art displayed grandiosely on old church windows

Oh how colourful, in the soft butter sunlight they glint

I also clasp my hands and pray for someone to paint me so

To fill my transparent boring soul with artistic hues and stints.



Mirror, cracked mirror, on the dirty peeling wall

Why must you show us what we lust, view such superficial calls?

Cold pensieve who serves as our persistent lying companions

Glory be to our bloated egos that you help into false ascension.



Rippling, the spring water lazily flows and relaxes in the calm

Slipping, the tears angrily splatter against her restless palms

A broken child in the midst of the perfect forest garden

Wishing that osmosis would allow the beauty to pass to her skin.



Glassy eyed plastic doll with a painted red smile and the blondest of tress

Elegantly poised with delicate stitches on a stunning pink dress

Little pretty blonde doll, how much longer can you bear the lies

Do those cold blue glass eyes already want to break down and cry?


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