Tag Archives: puncture

I Collect Knives For A Living, What About You?

Did you think that this was all an excuse for
Hospitality, I know you think its all because of me
At first glance, I’ll breathe in
Leaving myself no room to move, at all
My mind is so flooded and I’m drunk with regret…

~*~

The tastes of stale regret and naphthalene

Another back turned on the open doorway

Fingers doused in iodine, alcohol, chlorine

Waiting for the pain to settle down, replay

.

Rusty crowbar flirting with the windowsill

These corroded wrists haven’t had their fill

Punctures arresting moments of a contrition

Skins embalmed, synthetic human condition

.

Swirling pastel watercolours and paint thinner

Interpreting artistic gashes, mixing all together

Cobalt strings, a neon glower of vermilion stars

Punishing priorities, daggers and guns on a war

.

Consuming traitor thiamine and betrayal’s booze

The reverse of a fraud, there’s nothing left to lose

A ventriloquist’s windpipe running out of oxygen

Nauseating disorientation, from a stagnant anacin

.

Lifelines tied to sycamore trees, carved ink indelible

But the oaths made by shedding blood can be soluble

Viscera in peril, executing a resentment due fortnight

I’m provoking hospital emergencies or flashing lights

.

Self-sabotage and mutual mutinies, fractured pinky promises

Wayward ethos revolting, a temper testament, trading curses

A compromised compulsion, haldol in hazardous momentum

Meaningless psychosis, mangled liar’s baptism in moratorium.

~*~

A fake, a fraud, forked tongue and I am nervous
At least I can say I made it out this time
I am just fine where you have left me
As for you be sure to cover up your mouth
I don’t know how to say this, my thoughts have just run out…

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

the punctured spare tyre

a crippling sensation

masticating the walls of

my sovereign heart

a pendulum beat, a second

of apologies, that a lie

could never restart

intrepid decisions reveal

mistakes skewed by

colluding increments

the truth is verbatim and

reality’s imagination

is merely dark figments

impervious to quaintness

and jubilance and

optimistic butterfly whispers

interrogations turned to

awkward interludes

with a scowling stranger

my company is not the best

as my skyward eyes

are crashing to the ground

and every sacrifice is

as palpable as a siren’s

intensifying alluring sound

for the beast is a choleric

tantrum kicking up storms

in this dizzying bruised mind

behind all this laughter

and arrogant jerk banter

there’s only doldrums you’ll find.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry