lunatic soul

 

I flashback on a doomed trajectory     having survived alone    in the kingdom of ghouls     my bad blood had caused a derangement     I thought I had died and gone to hell       I found myself in unfamiliar surroundings      harvesting dreams that tasted of tears     I was trapped in a hospital that felt like a prison     praying that someone would answer my prayers      I made it home but the margins were slender     I’m still in the thrall of that living nightmare     my mask has slipped to reveal my defects      I look like I'm healed    but I'm not really there

naked and alone

 

sleep will not touch me now     neither will I dream     it’s not my conscience again      it’s not what it might seem         they say there are no bad men      only bad situations          and I’ve lived through situations     maybe I brought them on myself     tell me, what difference does it make?      we suffer just the same    from things we haven’t done      everybody’s innocent     according to their tales     we are all just victims of circumstance    wrestling ghostly shadows     naked and alone

 

lice

 

same old     same old     here I am,  back in the dock again      I guess it’s too late now to plead insanity         so what’s my excuse?     I’m picking at old wounds     might even tear me a few new ones      but I can’t help myself      some memories have sharp edges      and weigh heavy on the heart    there’s pain at the core of everything      sometimes I can’t see it        but it’s always there         like worms gnawing on my bones     or lice crawling through my hair  

bullet to the soul

 

we are creatures of light and shade    but most of us are dead inside       victims of spiritual suicide      the abyss of our pain      swallows all ambition    and our darkest monuments      cast heavy shadows across our empty lives     I’m having a human experience here      typical to my generation     I took a bullet to the soul      I’m bleeding out again     but I no longer seem to care

inertia

 

paint a picture of this    emotionally squalid     got the fear on now     something chronic     but I have music inside me      so I’m not that far gone      not a damp eye in the house     must be the season of cynics    I’m too tired to make adjustments this late in the deal

lately, I’m riddled with doubt     and what if it’s bad?     but what if it’s good?   but what if it’s bad?     and what if they laugh?     so what if they do?    it’s the bloody psychogenesis     of crippling inertia      my head is black with trouble      and I’m weary of the conflict

frenzied

I could torch this world of contradictions     everything is turned on its head        good is evil     and evil is good      and no-one really cares      I get the rage       it’s more than simple savagery       it runs rational and lethal         it’s integral to my energy

I embrace my anger as something splendid     something glorious       a denial of restraint       but never of reason       I’m talking something pure       free of horror or pity       action beyond mere frenzy       the ripened grapes of wrath

I’m a singular entity    I keep my own counsel     the panicked herd does not sway me      I damn them all to perdition        I’m ruthless and perfected        in my wayward geometry       I’ll see them burn      in the hell they made for me

Loser

 

I’ll salt my beer

with my own fucking tears

I tried everything twice

it always turned out bogus

why can’t I be forgiven?

who made me the enemy?

I don’t want to be on the outside

nose pressed against the window

so who wrote the rules

that made me the loser?

maybe we’re all fucking losers

did you ever think of that?

still, you’d rather lose a lover    

than love a fucking loser

don’t mind me

I’m not bitter

I’m not sweet either

I’ve been rolling snake eyes

since the game began

I can’t win for losing

it’s the story of my life

near dead poets

 

the only good poet     is a dead poet

isn’t that what you said?

well, I died on the pillow

I died a thousand times

does that make me Buddha

or just some lesser brand?

crimson stains on virgin sheets

bad blood pulsed through my brain

lithium once was my friend

now my deadly enemy

‘do you know where you are?’

‘in the hospital’

‘where?’

‘everywhere’

the hospital is everywhere     stretching around me    like a bloody caul   a labyrinth of endless umbilical corridors      leading off into infinity      into the dark wards       the ghost wards       of ossified patients        and patient medics        tending to the dead     

but I have words

choice words

futile words

scribbled in the shadows

falsified in blood

just another near dead poet

wallowing in the mire

punch drunk

 

every story needs a villain      might as well be me       coz I’m no fucking good      but you’re stuck with me     all I want from you is the killer blow      the coup de grace     another round       one more drink     should kill me off     don’t worry, I won’t blame you       I have a conscience      but it’s slender       no, I wouldn’t blame you      I’d blame myself     I’m getting that heavy feeling again     I’m all beat up      totally punched out      I’m not the man I thought I was        that cunt thought he could fly       but I’m paralysed      from the neck up      too many blows to the head       too much poison in my cup     I feel I’m halfway dead     I do believe I’ve had enough

bread and jam

 

I’ll tan your arse     filthy boy     a lick of the belt     will teach you to cry     it was always me     singled out    this time    other times too      but I’m strong     I’ll get by      stupid cunt     do as your told     or you’ll feel my hand     you’re not too old     it’s not so bad      but if it gets worse     I’ll run away       try as you might     you can’t make me feel small      smaller than I already am      coz it’s all bread and jam        pleasure and pain      no animosity     not in this house      no tea for you    and  early to bed     where you’ll struggle to sleep       on nights filled with dread

beetles

 

hospital days are hushed and sterile      but the nights are mine alone        these sanitised corridors are bleached for deadly purpose       people come here to die     I’d bargain for salvation     …but who in hell with?     I was never born to make these deals      how do you bargain for your life?       I’ll be happy dodging between the locked wards       keeping a low profile        maybe they’ll forget about me       down in the basement      in the soul food abattoir       where the surgeons cut and paste appendages 

I‘m stalking the deathwatch beetles        that are gnawing on my bones     …the things we draw to ourselves       can be our undoing     I burn sixty coffin nails a day     cancerous nicotine stains my fingers     my world is sepia toned     spoiled milk  and   dead flowers      he who lives by the sword…     …but forget that now      I don’t want to think about that       coz I died there on the pillow      I died a thousand times       while a host of ravenous beetles      devoured me from inside     

amnesiac

 

you would not have known       to look at the cover      but the binding was faulty      the pages were loose        some were lost       others were stolen     ripped from my story       by counterfeit physicians      who erased my memories     with clumsy fingers      they burned the best ones in their incinerator       that’s a whole other me     lost in my blood      down  the fucking tubes      down the darkened corridors      through the forbidden wards     into the soft and cozy confusion      of retrograde amnesia

Radioactive

 

They had to lock me up.  For the sake of science they said. The iron in my blood had turned into plutonium. I was transformed into an interdimensional being who traversed both space and time. I had ludicrous possibilities – ever unfolding in the shimmering of dreams.    They put me in the psyche ward, because I was high, way too fucking high.   They didn’t have the instruments with which to chart my design.

‘Do you know where you are?’

‘I’m in a hospital.’

‘Do you know where?’

‘Yes, here. I’m in this hospital.’

‘Do you remember my name?’

‘Should I?’

‘No reason really.’

‘Why am I here?’

‘You have plutonium in your blood.’

Cascade and eclipse.  Another sequence of nightmare realities. This place is a meat factory. They are out to get me.  I hear them calling my name.   This is a world of paid assassins cynical and cold. Down in the basement secret mind swaps create brand new fictions. My identity is fluid and slips between the angles of things too strange to ever define.

‘Do you know where you are?’

‘I’m in hospital’

‘Do you remember my name?’

‘Why am I here?’

‘You have plutonium in your blood.’

‘When can I go home?’

‘We have to defuse you first…’

Here at ground zero, my near fatal exposure has annihilated my options.  So they locked me up.  But, I’m no danger to anyone. I just need to leave this place.  I want to go home. ‘Do you remember my name?’   No, I remember nothing.  Let me out of this cage.  I don’t belong in here.  I’m just a radioactive prisoner playing stone age games of fear.

another false dawn

 it’s early in the morning    and I can’t get myself straight     too many dead people in my bed     they will not let me sleep     lord,  deliver me from evil      deliver me from dreams      take me where the grass grows green     and a man can find some peace    I fear the devil stole my shoes   and sold them to a priest     now I walk and talk the blues      but I can’t find no relief

a king without a crown

give me a mask and I’ll speak the truth      I don’t need anyone to turn me on     I do alright on my own     I don’t have a dog in this fight      so just leave me alone      there’s chaos in the system        we’re all out of order     every life is on fire      all we wanted was a pot to piss in     but the shame was on us     when the seventh seal was broken     silence dawned in heaven     the fascista flag was burning      the sky came tumbling down      we required a human number     for a king without a crown

loveless

it’s gonna take a shovel      to dig me out of this     but I’m easily worth the effort I’ll be putting in     I haven’t slept for days       I’m sick and off my gruel      but it’s goodbye baby blue      I’m so over you     I found a new direction      I’m never coming home      I’m a slave to my ambition     I just want to be alone      

azrael

just send me home   I don’t want to be alone     grant me asylum   give me sanctuary    bandage me with kisses     nurse me heart and home    lay me down in the tall grass    somewhere I belong     may the angel of death smile on me    spread her wings  and sweep me off my feet    deposit me in that promised land     where I can get some sleep

 

cockroaches

this is cockroach  weather      the season of decay      I’m staying indoors – less cosmic radiation       it’s the rays that wear you down in the end       ultraviolent    radioactivity     desiccates the flesh     and leaves the husk behind     but my body is a temple    secluded and derelict         hidden in the shade

I read somewhere that life came to this planet on comets      I wonder how it will leave      they say that when we have finally fucked this world up all that will be left are cockroaches        maybe that’s all we do that’s of any significance         we feed the fucking cockroaches       the true masters of planet earth

you can’t kill them with pesticides or atom bombs     there’s evolutionary excellence for you – to eat shit and never die    unless someone flips you on your back      the cockroach god is waiting for accidents like that      I saw this movie once where cockroaches learned to impersonate people     it turned out to be true     there are billions of cockroach people     who look like me and you

valediction

 I fashioned this cruel distemper        from accursed fleshy instruments     and dark intentions        I bit the hand that bled me        and poisoned the well behind me       it’s too late to throw a blanket on my grave          I’m frozen root and thorn        a few will sing my praises        many more will mark my passing             with revelry and scorn

I was the author of misfortune           I was callous and unkind         I was a drunkard and a lecher        a bloody handed sinner         who left no stone untroubled       in the pursuit of a good time         I’m a criminal by nature        and now I have been caught         so commend me to the cold dark earth        without a second thought

13

the thirteenth unlucky apostle     was the bastard son     of a bastard son     and when the lights went out      he was nowhere to be found      no-one knows his name      but I’ve seen his face     I have his number     he’s a little less than holy       but more profound than some      he called himself a drinking man     and there was a certain kudos in that        among the poor and the derelict       and why not?      what else is there to do    here in the city of pain?      he was hard boiled and numb      his patter was filled with blood       but he sometimes pissed the bed     and he reeked of booze and fear     when asked about his friends      he could not recall their names       I think perhaps he lied     he may have been ashamed