peace that i need

It's building.

The tension,

it's growing and piling

and winning and taking me

over to spilling,

and there is no telling

when it'll be filling.

For nearly an hour

I'm trying to win

this whole thing.

With the me

and the quarter to three –

fuck! It's late

and I'm wasting these

moments of sweet

mellow sleep

for the recycled trees

that I'm writing on.

Maybe they'll see

that it's me,

yes indeed,

it's important to do

all these deeds

that are placed upon me

but eventually

I will plead

with the queen

of the bees

just to leave

me with me

and the peace

that I need.

Secret

Lost and broken.

Extending to edges,

where remnants of ups

turn to inwards instead.

The broke, weak and shrivelled,

the gone of it all,

the parts to the puzzle

I gave up to fall

to the base -

but i like it, is that something fucked?

To be killing and dying but thinking it's luck?

It's the waste of the atoms surrounding the cause,

when the option is there you can fuck all the laws.

And the rules and the lines

and the borders to cross,

where the other side's boring

and this side's just lost.

In the web of forgetting

and wanting and more.

In fly some options,

then straight out the door.

My turn isn't near,

it's nowhere in sight.

Even those who I try

disappear in the night.

The aim is just sat on, laughed at.

And BLIND is the chosen

with whom, I just know,

us combined,

would be great in the darkness

of shared expeditions.

Adventures of us,

and lost inhibitions.

Who knows when a "one"

or another will come,

probably never

where I am all done.

My truth lies inside,

nobody to see

- rather, nobody willing

to venture beneath.

The power of cover

becomes like a shield

from myself, from the others,

from everything healed.

The love of the serpent

to turn me to dark,

becomes my reliable secret at last!

At the end, when I leave,

and come back to this spot,

the pleasure envelopes me

back into 'NOT'.

airahcaz

This one's dear to my heart.
I hope it's loved and much as I loved him.







Fall, fragmented. Suspended in motion.
Haven't a clue where the rhythm is going.
This ship isn't sure if it's sinking or rowing.
A whirlpool of waves and I'm filled with emotion.
Broken.

Then times where the sun and the dustmites are rising.
The weight of the server turns up in its flow,
and lifts with it More Of Our DoS and our donts.
Those times that make change,
those times that erase,
bring a scent of the tail of the boot of the rest.

Fall, surrender. Suspended in motion.
Haven't a clue where the rhythm went stop.
They all know the reason this volt then came open.
A rift in the flow of the groove made it pop.
No point in waiting and wasting and moping.
Would you rather be wishing and praying and hoping?
And then there's the rest of the mob of the planet,
who breathe out the fire and strut like they own it.

His left behind wash in the face of my world,
is the reason those demons are so easily heard.
It was ruined alright, there's still remnants there:
the waste of the bang and a clip of his hair.

It was all that we got before something was taken,
when life gets upturned and you're told that you're faking.
Fake is the low of the sand in the glass.
The time running out when you're trying so hard.
All the wishing that's tried goes to hell when there's doubt,
but you know underneath that there IS no way out.

There is just this 'without' that keeps bellowing in,
from the roof and the pipes and the base of your chin.
Where the lump from the neck bring the drips from the eyes
that get stifled by one of the losers who hide.

And then all the bricks somehow lift themselves up,
to reveal where the base is so sickeningly tough.
Away with the stench for a moment or five,
and see where this pantomime seems so contrived.

Like a monkey on speed, overeager to DO.
To express and impress till its ready to spew.
There is really no cease to this windmill of red.
There's no chance to go back and just say apple-zed.

The flint will keep sparking and feeding the fire,
and there won't be a moment where he is not mine.

Iceberg

Two posts in one day.. wow!
I guess I thought the last one was a bit of a joke.
I like this one though. lots.
Whaddayareckon??




Tell me how long two separate
worlds can stay broken
from turning to one
when this end is so open.

It was when you don't
it'll be you can't force it
so for now this is ending
till later when more's said.

Good night angel out there
it won't be too long
who am I to say that
when I'm always wrong.

Who knows if one day
anything will then come
to the tip of the iceberg
were we become one.

lunch break

I had an angry day..
this is the outcome.




I am so not concerned with your blatant stupidity,
you try to be cute with your crude masculinity.
Your ego extends out through over your skin,
there is not but a pinhole to get that word in.

I heard you the first time untalented whore
did you ever consider I find you a bore?
Maybe everyone else lets you think that you're right
to avoid the possibility of starting a fight
with the fear you'll keep going till something explodes
and some of your ego might go up their nose.

Then forever they'll smell you - how shit would it be!
To be stuck with the stench every time that you sneeze.
I will stay here just trying to finish my job
with the only condition you shut your fat gob.
Your shit personality will always seep through
so until I can leave I will just ignore you.

ready freddy

The end is in sight
the bend in the night
where the slivers of mist
turn to heavenly light.

Open your eyes to the pit of despise
then the force of the rise
brings the weight of surprise.
The want to just stay,
make it all go away,
bring back the blinds
to make cease of the day.

Stop it in motion,
erupt an explosion,
all but contained
in the lifeless emotion.

Still like the wind,
dark like the sun,
closed like the doors
through which i can run.

Believe in the lost and the broke and the pain,
open the windows and let in the rain.
Cleanse from the pure, mark from the stained,
drift to the claim that we aren't all insane.

Cling to the thought that the work that is made
is believably sound and conceivably blamed.

My substance is clear
as the mud in a dam,
pristine as garbage
and solid as sand.

Where's the belief
i should share with the clan?
I should know it but don't,
and I can't see the plan.
Too many branches
and not enough roots,
the planter is crowded
by stunted brown shoots.

Come to a T-stop
and no more broad forks
where the chance of deduction
all simply deports.

Back to where it all started,
just lying in head,
wondering when the whole world
will wake up and be fred.

not there

to know that i'd rather be losing and falling
is straight away farther than two is appauling.
the waste in this place of unknowingly far
replaces the taste of a drink in a bar.
sucking me dry until wet comes to boil,
how far is the farthest one can be from soil?
how long is the longest a string can be strung?
how down can the up go to reach back to one?
when will i get there, up on the same hill
where once stood a man with a solid gold grill.
he spoke to the listeners and laid there a will
then he sold them the map to the place with the pill.
the one-in-all solve in the face of another;
reluctantly strong yet defacing my brother.
to think that it's over and forget the rest
would be recklessly choosing to omit regret.
regret is the function of being, of life,
and nothing comes close to the edge of THAT knife.
borderline lunacy losing the plot,
why are the others all there and i'm not?

two

Installment number two. Happy new year!!



LOVE CAN MAKE YOU SICK

there's a time and a place, they say
for everything thats real
but useless and unwarranted
compared to how i feel (without you)

the pit inside the guts
is giddy with emotion
the kind that's less than good
like i've fallen into poison

rattle back and forth
break apart my spleen
pull and wind me up
until you're happy (there's no in-between)

as hard as i try and try
the two as one disturb me
not to trust and more to doubt
the other side persuades me

who knows where to go
when the darkness overcomes
submerge erupt explode
the stream from head to ground is one

completing revolutions
of confusion and regret
embarrassed and diluted
nauseous and wet

the salty rivers flow
all the way down my neck
my logic remains cloudy
I JUST WANT HIM BACK

the past is in the past
the habit's there to kick
the future's only now
love can make you sick

one

As I embark on this new journey of showing my writings to the world, a small shiver of nervousness runs through me.
Here's installment number one.



ESCALATE

the rhythm is rising.
the pace is enlarging.
the flow of the movement is ever evolving.
where from do you come to?
which up do you go down?
how long do green branches stay green till they go brown?

They turn till they're knotted all twisted and rotten
then how can you think when you know you've forgotten?
All of the noise and the things and the rain
that does flips and make marks and strike chords in your brain.
From this moment to next
from that there to this now,
where does one little thing turn to tumbling down
to the pits of the lava, the black in the void
it just vanishes - gone - man I get so annoyed.

what I will say to you is the fun and the tricks
that do sometimes waft in when you're falling to bits
they will shimmer your stilts
open up all the dams
let the weightlessness into your wide-open hands
and for one out of ten
that box will suspend
and the beauty of that will come tumbling in.

Don't be fooled by some nonsense of short unforgivings
where many get stuck holding onto beginnings.
The safety of one to the hole in another
is something that grabs at you way under cover.
You then go back hunting the road with the net
when you come back promising you will not forget
all the things on the way that will lead back to dot
when I knew all along I was losing the plot.