Come Sit With Me.

Take the powder out of your mouth.
Let the crimson tide flow deeply down your veins.
Rest still deep within the comfort of your cherished chair & drift.
Float.
Fall away like autumn leaves upon the cold winds of time.

Believe the dreams my friend & gather in the dust of thought.
Ask yourself the darkest question.
Is death a friend? Will it hurt?
Will nature chase your haunted mind until it screams?

& spot the girl.
The angel of your destiny.
The fraudulent one.
Watch her beckon you in with whispers of beckoning pleasure.
But realise all angels lie & disdain the truth.
Are you still numb with the ecstasy of the burning numbness held within?

Now gaze upon the mirror my friend.
Glare back at the tears you stream towards the level of hell.
Is that where you wish to end or sink?
Is life that bad that all you see are the roses which grow over you?
Are you weak or just subsumed in the tiredness of eternal exhaustion?
So many questions asked I feel you spin.

So come sit with me & let the rhythms flow.
Taste the wine or magic seed escape your self.
Breathe out, exhale & let your soul drift & seek the source of your belief.
Feel the passion of her innocence, the stories of your next day forth.
Cry & shudder & start again.
Kiss the world & then forget.

Tomorrow starts here in your powdered mind.

~ thoughtful dreams as i sit before you, the world
(c) ed simkins 2015

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Mind of many colours.

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

A late night fest.

Mute cacophony of ideas
Dreams which end, perplex & roll around to play games in the sand.
A water leaked.
Late night issues & forgotten themes.
Who cares but nobody for the dreams which died.
Incest gave way to passion & planets spun.
Midnight ramble.
Heavy hand broken on repeat.
Can u understand the criteria of the late night sleep?
Drug induced?
Apartment sworn.

Her clothes were torn.
Knees showing in pads of white,
Distance drowning in some foreign air,
Warplanes ran.
She rued the injustice of other people’s wars.
& all the time I coloured text upon the wall.

Final hours stay alert in orange flames of death.
Crimson cigarettes pass from lips.
Youth was a name I knew before.
Braided hair lost its appeal.
I cried when the dog in space died this afternoon.
& Jane was a stranger sold as slave.
Was sex always supposed to be free?

Money buries the dead in sheets of grey
& pauses wait patiently for each man to fill.
What would you say if you were here?
Or alive?
Would you talk to god about the football scores?
Or ask him if you could seduce the neighbour’s daughter?
I live on an island of solitude
Where no respect is given for deeds.

I suppose you should sleep now huh?
Bed yourself in clouds of work.
Could you think of me as I alert the police & ramble fine mosaic words across the sky,
Silent dreams of sex & angels.
Time to plug in the blanket of love & hope & peace.
I wonder if you will say how clever I am?
Is it not good that I can count the stars upon the back of my head?
Girls or drugs or both I ask
Imagine
& then step forward to illustrate the aim of all escape.

Goodnight or morn & salutations.
Robot greased & sleep ensues.
A late night fest.
I take my rest
& bid all thee farewell my friends.

~ I suppose sleep is a valid concoction. I should try it sometime!
© ed simkins