Those there eyes

The man that stares into flames with cold dead eyes, no hint of a flinch until the fire subsides
Is more a danger than the flames into a which he stares, for what lies within has more potential for harm, that part that suffers no fear
The person for which no other can scare, no other can stare down or even come close to control

Perfect Imperfection

The broken lie in pieces
The merry dance around
A shadow of the mistress
That cast me to the ground
A shadow of my misery
To remind of the debt I am owed

But the broken little pieces
That make a fractured whole
Are more than just a collection
They are the love that I have owned

Every little fracture
Every little mark
Each has a story
Each a mournful moan
To sing in sorrowful union
With the one who will remind me
It’s good to be broken
Good to be alone

Alone with one who gets me
One who will have every fractured segment
Of the thing I call my love
To whom I pledge all I own




On the fingertips it burns, pure energy that with incinerating logic reduces physical potential to an ethereal state, the tingling sensation a side affect of the restless clawing of air preceding the rabid out pouring of words that with the writers touch turns fragile paper to gilded form.

For the artist it is the longing call of their subjects cause, paper, canvas or stone it matters not, just the frenzy of the creative storm as with lashing brush strokes, hail stones of a chisel or the pencils simple charm that defines with much intentional force.

On the verge of a week that defines every fibre of my path I am perched with anxious activity and nervous pause, a step to which I am resistant but without which I will fall short of the chaotic dance, life as ever with its drama and poetic tones.

I face off demons; relentless cutting at my calm with their rapid claws, angels; whose docile voices and chants of peace conflict my need for action, fuelled by fury and more in need of angry cries, no less to note the fractures of my psyche that with fairy like nimbleness I must avoid.

This post to remain unfinished, until I know more of the events unfolding and their outcomes become clear, a sign my mind’s inherent instability will no doubt fight to establish its own motives within the landscape of my future, as I seek to write, paint and sculpt by own story.

A Bad Night Pt2: How deep the rabbit hole goes WARNING: THIS AIN’T HAPPY FLUFFY CRAP

So, you’re tapping out!
Life got y’down one too many times and even looking in the mirror gives you sweetly fatalistic thoughts of purest revulsion, having to look at yourself makes you regret your own continued existence.

1. Is this latest attempt merely the half a dozen pills you just swallowed talking? and will the paramedic believe it was an accident?!, a ‘misreading of the dosage’ as you will word it; “I thought it said two packets instead of two caplets, honest”!

2. Are you alone…. You’re about to kill yourself so having an audience makes it just plain macabre/new age theatre, have the decency to save the wife and kids finding a lifeless corpse in your place, a lot better to be a stranger… Unless you have no wife and kids, thus the current life choice.

3. Did you at least pick a decent hotel to die in, no one wants to check out in a ‘No tell motel’ that has imitation pillow mints… Just plain ugly! And on that line of thought did you get two nights and leave a do not disturb sign on the door, make sure no one can revive you in the morning and ruin the moment.

4. Have a friggin laugh, whatever god you believe in sure as hell is laughing so go wild and crack a fucking joke, die smiling!!

5. Be a good looking corpse, ask yourself this; Who wants to find a body in an awful pair of faded jogging bottoms and a ketchup stained T-shirt? Go break out the Sunday best and impress them all, you won’t see the looks on their faces but you know they’ll be less bummed out.

And shave, shower and smarten yourself up will you, take some pride in your death!

5. The Note, I don’t care what you blame it all on but get the fucking grammar right, nobody wants their big reveal ruined by a missing coma or a misspelt word, also avoid auto-correct on smart phones if you’re too lazy to hand write it “I can think of s reason to live amy more” just plain ruins it.

6. The last ditch phone call… If the person on the other end points out you’re not in a ‘right mind’, reach down the phone and slap them cause that’s just stating the fucking obvious!

A Bad Night Pt1: I started writing a dating proile, I got this!!

A man’s silence is as heavy as his tomb
Let this be the epitaph of my hopes and dreams
A mere postponement of the end
To release me from the constant pain
A sentence dealt before the crime
The crime of living in a world
A world at odds with what I am

I would prefer my unpleasantly ghoulish reflection in the bottom of a shot glass, than the self loathing creature that stares back disparagingly from the mirror I preferably avoid, for years it has threateningly lingered behind the despairing pits I benignly refer to as eyes.

The damningly positive lure of a vodka rich bottle would sooth the demons tongue that so blissfully whispers in my ear, yet cursedly I am even denied the will to drink such sweetly liberating poisons that flow from the bottle, mixing with the imaginary pills I have so often swallowed for release in my day dreams, that I wish I could take in fatalist fashion.

An end to having to see my own face, sampling the soured brew of life that has been tainted so putridly by the lasting sting of loneliness, for when hatred for life hits the senses with sledge hammer style my only thought is this; “If I wake up in the morning, it’ll be a morning too far”