Forgiveness only when required to fight

Turn once down the path untold of treasure but loudly proclaimed by pain, a step forever in that direction and scars permanently drawn onto minds made torn so to sell the story of never knowing the sanity of been whole

Facades lined with fractures so safely concealed in innocent sight, cracks now seen in glaring detail to ones jaded by endless plight, cursed to be the hero without fame or redemptive verse when fighting the wars others know not

And of all the curses uttered in silent stares by unknowing minds when all the still skies condemn jaded warriors with clarity of light, know that all is forgiven when the dark clouds reach to strangle hope and you rise to fight

But when skies return to sunny vistas of endless light with dark clouds banished beyond sight, those who fought in shadows with cheers offered in redemptive eyes of the crowds that hid, turn back to judging stares just as quick

Pets for anti-social people


The dog walked itself to an animal shelter in a huff, animal welfare officers on your door having survived the viper’s nest of intertwined vines and exotic man eating plants miscellaneously acquired through the wilful abandonment of any sort of lawn care.

The cat just complained you were too cold and merciless, the local animal population having branded the feline in question as the most maliciously cold creature to exist a fitting epitaph for your own personality.

Why did the chicken cross the overly dangerous motorway at rush hour; it was a crap load safer and less hazardous than been anywhere near you!

The slave that made Cinderella’s life look as royalty; didn’t even report you to the police after escaping because they purely loathed having to forcible put anyone else through the torturously painful experience of sharing a room with you.

Now you are left with ‘it’; that thing that perfectly defines anti-social in every jagged barb protruding from its skin with intended malice in the relished pain forcefully endured when you have to move it, a gift from an ex that in morgue like foretelling that spelled the misery soaked future you now willingly drown in with ‘it’ by your side.

Defining your longest term relationship damningly with how long that wretched green entity has survived the almost cruelty defining lack of care you less than lavish it with, a singular spec of liquid callously poured on it once in a memory flash that you need to actually feed it.

Relationships come and fatally crumble into descending hell, friendships left on the other side of bridges that daredevil suicide applicants won’t step upon even and co-workers milling aimlessly around falsely projected illusions fade out and leave, but that thing you still drag around stands, surviving and staring.

The Cactus you lovingly ignore, the companion that viciously rivals ever anti-social instinct ingrained in the naturally occurring offence you laughingly cause the world around you, notwithstanding the point that you personally treat it with more worth than a family member when forced to transport it to a new prison cell/home/abode!

When your last girlfriend jokingly said “Would you get rid of the Cactus for me”, you’ve never seen offence so quickly produce a violent exit upon pointing out the green bar steward would outlive you and her!

The only pet perfectly crafted in the deviant depths of hell for societies miscreants like you…

All hail the Cacti, Mother Nature’s reflection of all that is wrong with creations like you!


Unfiltered Vent (Sorry folks!)

So shuddering cold and with the stinging self resentment strangling any ability to even vaguely consider the purpose of living I lie foetal style on a freezing floor

Fresh marks on my arm and the consideration that if my skin wasn’t as tough as it was I would have the ability to leave more bloodied marks on my arm!

Guilt rampantly slaughtering my very soul for the fact that trigger I never wanted in my hand was pulled again, the old rage burning hot in the chamber until I found myself verbally terrifying a room full of people (oddly fun in terms of feelings of having power over others)

The fact that I feel quite good after letting loose… worrying to say the least!

And the term ‘wraith of god’ I have replaced with ‘Unholy Wraith’, in case the big guy gets offended! (referring to myself with ‘I am a merciful god’ still sneaks in on occasion but I’m working on that)

 And why?

After I’ve made myself suffer for my sins it dawns on me, a crushing realisation that I’ve known for years (yes I said years!), I’m not guilty by means of life been an arsehole

Yes your honour I will make my plea; Not Guilty

It was life your honour, giving me nothing but dark corners and demons to turn to and no faint trace even of a glimmer of anything on the positive side of the deal

Yes; I know we should all be positive and shit about the warm fuzzy side of live, love and happiness but…

Happiness gutter punches you, love holds a dagger behind its back and the warm fuzzy stuff turns into a hell hound and mauls you without warning

Depression tells you straight it wants to kill you, rage is no mystery with its intentions and hatred plain old just hates stuff… no mystery, lies or deception

So yes I want love, happiness and all that positive bullshit in my life but I’ll never fully trust it (don’t know what trust is nowadays anyway!), so I’m condemned to live with demons and dark corners whatever I do!!

Fuck you life, with bells on it to boot!!!


Figures dark and fools who ignore the warning flames

A shadow of a figure lingers on the edge of everyone’s vision, fated death in his coldly blank eyes

Honest person’s subtlety shuffle to the farthest corner away as less positive hauntingly linger with glasses in hands, each with a suggestive nod of respect to the shadows where our figure occupies

Lacking in intelligence or self survival the most stupid turn without an air of caution to offer joyously toned platitudes of hope and happiness imbued

The figure casts stony glares with ill warnings carried with the deadest of tones, a warning carried with hellion implying words and tone

The fool turns to anger and threatens, insults and accuses the figure with ill advised energy in each dangerous term of insulting blindness to the flames in each of the figures ominously darkening eyes

A final warning thrown as daggers from an assassin’s hand, each a miss but each warning tone close enough to let even the most lacking intelligence know to safely retreat in apologetic step and begging form

Stupidity fuelled platitudes hath turned a shade of foolish insult, to anger carried so insultingly superior sounding that even angels of strong will have conspicuously stepped a thousand yards in opposite direction

Casually rising, eerily calm delivery for the hatred wielding flurry of poisonously flared verbal assaults and with a burning pitch of resentment in every razor sharp word blazingly thrown, the sinisterly escalating figure becomes as overshadowing as an evilly possessed god

The quiet of the room reflects the stunned silence in each fear afflicted eye in that pale frozen face plastered on the fool, retreating so quick as to neglect even the most basic concept of stability demonstrated in the frequent and amusing stumbling run our fool adopts to escape the room

From godly rage in every creeping tendril reaching from the largely scaled form the figure previously grew to, now slinking coolly back into the huddled mass of blackness that clings menacingly to the deep shadows

The room settles easy with the ghosts gripping glasses hunching back into broken images of former humans, complete souls pushing the edges of where light allows with weary movements, so to let the shadows bleak presence remain alone in their crippling hell

The figure’s demons satisfied and now lying low in the more warmly appearing face and features of that previously ungodly mad postured thing he had become, illusions of calm shimmering in perfections reflection of every wretched detail the dark figure has grown to detest but must project


An Old Comrade Passes

To Frame Medium

An old comrade in arms, now resting in the great garage in the sky

Thankyou for your service old buddy, and if I see the ghost of a dark blue fiesta gunning it along the back roads to Ware…

Well; give me a beep and I’ll offer you a well deserved salute!

Little Beauty, War Hound; Rest In Peace 

The Count

12 hours

A deal to be done for destruction will doth beckon an edge on the day


An hour less to enjoy the sun in all the fading light may offer in salvations way


The clock that eats my time hath ticked and tocked into every second I see it die away


The panic yet to come calls a storm on the horizon saturated with grey and hailing clouds


Hope launches one more desperate plan in facing odds a gambler would give no eyes


Six foot of rope emerges from a darkening day’s ditch of six foot deep


In that rope a noose has began to tie tight the binds by which optimism chokes


How horridly the time flies into the lessoning hours of where the deal turns downward bleak


How the silence of the mind falls screamingly into the fatal closing act of an impending end


All consciousness falls numb to the final moments


As all in the eternities game plays on an act of impossible


Beyond the act of finality a fated thing is to survive


To feel fatality and know that the end eludes this mortal hurt

How a Man Leans

“A person’s posture can sell an entire library of insight into their character, chapters so subtly implied in the slightest of actions”

I lean, not slouch, slump or support myself against but lean on surfaces. When I’m leaning it’s a sign that I’m safe in an environment and at work it’s a sign of control, the ability to control a room from one key location with a singular tone of authority. The action also implies a safety about my mood, an inherit security for those surrounding me as the trigger finger is resting idle at the side of my readily unfriendly temper.

The very activity of letting every muscle falter into relaxation is a thing to spread the warming calmness through my body; an equally important activity is how I resume upright motion. Too quick and assertive and I could be on the verge of a volatile reaction, slower motion an indication of mellowed resistance and a composed disposition.

The best photo of me that I can recall is me leaning against a pillar, unaware there are even cameras slyly pointing lenses in my vicinity!

So what about you:

     Do you hunch in a repressed posture of stress or frustration?

     Do you spring from one arena of action to another in energetic pose?

     Do you shape yourself into those dark corners of the room in shaded insecurity?

However your body naturally accustoms itself, I say make it yours and do it right


The Week Defined in Darker Skies

From the first timid time I dared to lift my eye lids from over the two cold orbs I use to see, all demonic potential of a world heavy loaded with meticulously detailed pain extended as far as my cursed sight doth see

All a storm has passed this way, a merry hell to rain down in callous hail upon all this civilly constructed shell so fragile by every timid crack that screamingly outlines every faulted thing huddling within

No shelter stays whole or defence remains in ways to be even loosely defined as a working thing, when all fire rages wildly with wilfully consuming chaos through my besieged fragment of nothingness value labelled only as my calm

Eyes see apparitions of future pain through the poison lens of a crimson stain as the path before disintegrates so purposely slowly, as if a cruelly picking god were to be laughingly knocking each stone down in corrupted joy before the eyes of tortured souls

Blades meet flesh and suffering marks it in reddened streaks lashed across the skin, no angels here to heal a demon’s ills with enlightened tones of forgiveness prayer, only thanklessly begging mercy calling for their pitted existences to be saved

So fate creepingly crawls with derisorily drawn out cries to defect to places where I dare not tread, steps heavy laden with a past’s regret do doggedly claw to bring me back to whence sorrow’s crop have chokingly seized every fibre of hope

And all such horrific visions of misspent awfulness instilled in those seven eternities of twenty four hours of waking hell, sleep as damned as when I wake to see a freshly laid burden to pitilessly whip my only fractured fragment of brightness to have made it out, traumatised and broke

So from the first time the night with cruelty sluggishly draws the curtain on that fair day of all a dystopian nightmare would weep to feel, I must hope not the dwelling memories of what misery I write will persist to remind me that I await it all with the dawn sentence of fresh light


Diagnostic scan. Rogue personality detected

Diagnostic program running…
Status request on systems pending…
Sanity; Error detected. Definitions too corrupted to properly initiate diagnostic  
Functionality; Percentage beyond standard range… 5%. -56%. 123% .conflict in percentage range Repair attempted…
system overriding corrective measures  
Normality; Core files corrupted. Source files not found in system
Erroralternative values asserting base parameters  
Sociability; -113%… negative percentage… [Alternative values overriding] comparatively positive percentage detected  
Social Filters; Multiple code sections missing… filter malfunctions 2. 6. 8. 16. 19. detection algorithms overloaded
Emergency shutdown of compartment analysis  
Stress; 999% evident in base systems… normality core files saturated… sociality deconstructing.jkkl.oimh… [Contaminated values overriding] deconstructing… no error detected   Diagnostic program concluding…  
Report; Core files corrupted. Normality definitions misaligned. Sociability voided. Social Filters borderline functional. Stress at fatal levels  
Status; Impossibility Recommendation; Delete prograkkl.kj89..kjkkk [Alternative values overriding] FUCK LIFE. With bells on it. Exclamation mark