Voiceless

Poor Boy looked into the sky and said:
“Oh God, please get me outta here...”
But God did not hear him
The distance

Between

        Heaven and Earth

Being what it is

Silenced at birth by unseen hands
It was more than just the money
(or lack of it)
There was a poverty of spirit
And a quiet sense of shame
That couldn’t be erased
He was a sounding brass
A hollowed out man
Just one of billions 
Stuffed down the crapper
The justice in that
For the moment escaped him
.

Undertow

cancellations will occur      due to unforeseen circumstances      I’m coughing my guts up     a gasping clearance     of the regurgitate     burning reflux     that’s a choking sign     many are the good men     who drowned in their own vomit     that’s not the way      I want to go 

the final slumber     the open gate     there’s an easy route       to accidental escape        gluttony and carelessness      don’t swim too far       there’s a shallow shelf      then it gets real deep       the undertow will drag you down     beware the undertow      drag you down

.

Indica

Lend me your implosion

Spin me some indica

Light me a sensitizer

Pass it on quick

I’m not long for this dimension

Give me metabolic connections

To the man within

Direct me through the proper channels

To the district coordinator

For the living dead/undead

The lean mean concrete machine

Is grinding me down

Dehumanised and processed

Into human pate

I got the F-E-A-R

Chronic

.

Ghosts

Chaos bless them – prisoners of the winter skies who await the settling of the sun when night sings songs of damage and pain. Silence seeps from the cracks of less well-ordered lives to soak the heart and stain the soul. There are those who would not trade their sadness for joy, but would hold it dear for it denotes the passing of something precious. There are some who would hold the empty night close to their hearts as the only remnants of loves lost, or dreams that died. They would eschew the dawn preferring the company of ghosts.

Other

The other was inspired by the devil, the devil was inspired by Oscar Wilde. He spiked him with the promise of eternal youth – he would never be old and he’d never face death. He became the other by chance while bathing in his own splendour at the age of nineteen. That’s when he discovered he had this thing for the girls and they reciprocated quite regularly.

Soon he was way too big for his own boots and boy did he love it all. He hung with the outsiders, because birds of a feather hang together. He learned that rules were written – only to be broken. That’s a delicious thrill – the taboo in you being torn from its nest. He did it all and, for good measure, more than once. He was slick as Casanova and as bad as Jesse James. Off he went lickety split, the other knew the dance, but the devil called the tune.

.