blankets of illusion climb upon my face
I’m lost to the destiny of today.
Dreams percolate thoughts of fatigue
If I could escape I’d try.
Soft hand request
A distant want through pain.
I’m ill & sick & the walkers pass
Hurling obscenities on the streets below.
A simple note I leave upon my door
‘find me – but only if you wish to witness death’
& I writhe below the terror of my escapade.
Sleep is a closing friend.
Searing levels of frustration & nightmarish angst cross my brow.
I care little now for your response or avid need.
Stumble up the stairs well known
& drift through books of the fallen dead.
Eyes burning, yearning, tears fill these poisoned voids.
I look no more in your direction nor call.
Flowers pray in coloured smiles
Forest angel claims no more.
Girl stands upon my feet & stares,
Asks my name in perfect solitude, no voice.
I kiss her sweetly, caress her cheek
& vomit forth the deed of sleep.
Phallic open handed gestures of tame white thoughts
Dreams which bubble from broken mirrors
“cry for freedom!” the young child screams
But her father shocks the neighbours in lauded nights.
See the mice play in terrored homes
Where will the cats play if not outdoors?
“Alcohol, alcohol! Blame it on the alcohol!”
But here I am stained in tea drunk whispers.
See the splashing collapse at the end of sex
Beds of fire bring in youth
Ecstatic expressions line the wall
As she, the daughter of death, perpetuates the lie
& If I could hold on to the golden jewels
Then I would be a rich king too.
Leaks in the fabric of space surround
while the army of lovers jump through cartwheels to draw their friends.
Now illuminated pictures of photo frames
Talk amongst the monks at night or play
& Priests & film noir actresses converge in June
To each now attend a foreign room of sin
My easing time produces mixed up fears
Tor these are the days when drugs are smoked
Do you remember just before the race
When time & kissing were friends engaged?
So leave me now, in days of gore
The blood of virgin skin has broken through her veins
The sheep will mock this tale of love
Though I bow down to kiss her bum.
A night upends & crashes the wall of sleep
Exploding man has settled down, benign
His rein of insidious thoughts & rhyme
Brings forth post moronic lust & sleep.
~ a story of how to crash & burn at 3am
© ed simkins