I try and capture the weird and the wonderful, but sometimes it falls through. Still, i try.
The vampire
In my dream…
There was a man who pulled relics out of air;
who was as beautiful as deadly
in his top hat and his grace.
There was a man whose smile gleamed red
who promised sights beyond repair
for a small fee of pain.
There was a man behind the cloak, the splendour and ambiguous despair,
who loves me more than he can bear;
everytime he draws blood.
There was a man who smiled in his induced reverie;
who proferred his blemished hand
and said life would be better.
Shambles
“Read the top line of letters for me sir”
“S.O.C.I.E.T.Y”
“Very good. And the next; if you please?”
“I.S A.N.A.R.C.H.Y”
“And the very last line?”
“J.U.S.T.I.F.I.E.D”
“Very good Mister Williams. See you next week”
Stumble. Fall. Crash. Burn.
So crassly in your competition with a treadmill and a mirror that your knuckles bleed with self loathing as you attempt to reach and inverted horizon.
Or the image at least;
Behind the looking glass and those square corneas from the idiot box that stains your retinas a blushing peach - anything to match your baby hide infused in the fiery flush of the mortified, and moral and the formerly indignant - gaping like old fish in the stench of decency.
“My it’s gone off hasn’t it?”
“Past it’s due date”
“So last season”
“apathy is so becoming of you my dear”
“I was planning on amoral but it’s slightly too flamboyant”
The mantra of the youth; hummed charmingly en masse - groaning and moaning in silent repose.
Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee
And I’ll forgive Thy great big one on me
I know at some point, i must have felt devastated, or at least lived under the illusion that i was. I must have felt like i could die for someone, and i must have felt something of undying devotion.
But where has it gone? Is this just a symptom of growing up? Adaptability - Mankind’s greatest feature and flaw. It makes happy little drones out of us to the point where we loose the very faculty to feel. A medical triumph, actually. There’s nothing wrong with that for those who want it.
But for me. The purpose in life is vague or inexistant and there’s no light that burns my retinas into a blissful ignorance, so i relish in the experience that becomes duller and duller as each day passes - like a metallic aftertaste in my mouth.
So the rat race got to me, but i’m not upset, angry or bitter. There’s just a peach coloured nothing that borders contentedness.
haven’t been on tumblr for a while, don’t know why… anyway, first post in a while, thought it should be special.
at road’s end
The distorted peers through
locks like cob web
filaments
that cascade around and
through the entirity,
the sole
bodily complexities
that fiddle and fondle with
blood and water,
mingling the two for
poisoned wine.
It ripples in the constant
triviality;
the want of substance
that pervades her lungs
as she dips her dainty
sensibility in
glistening liquer
until at nadir so peaked
black insight shines through
and plays across the surface
the most graceful melody
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