Thursday, October 8, 2015

The Calling

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There’s a devil on my shoulder whispering stuff into my ears, which my traitorous senses eagerly acknowledge.  The notes he strikes are clear, drawing images on my skin that reaches out in response as my instincts hone in on the object he has chosen as my prize.

In the abject world that pronounces it wrong to fly with your impulses, immerse yourself, deep and long into the heat that blazes inside, lick the flames of your wild and unbridled hunger high into the night and only turn back once you have slaked the thirst that can consume you, if you disregard its whisper for too long.

Wednesday, October 7, 2015


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My words don’t fear judgment, they do not need comprehension, and they are in no specific sequence and order, but in the way I choose to place them.
They creep from foggy forests and long forgotten kingdoms that have grown all the while from when I was a child. They reflect the streets I drive in, windows closed, doors locked. They urge me along the highway when feel-good, loud music and the depression of the accelerator seem to be inexplicably linked.
They are the laughter on your lips, the nightmares in my dreams, the freedom only rebellion and the prohibited can provide. They are me, born to hot summer nights and cold, dark winters. Words are my toys and my walls. Words are more than just words. Words are alive.
chEErs kAReN

Monday, October 5, 2015


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I want you bare. Every inch of you bare before me.
I want to see your pulse racing in the vein along your neck
and I want to hear your ragged breath calling my name.
 I want to know the words to the pictures that play off in your eyes
when you open long locked doors to let me in, just a little bit.
I want to seek every adventure that you dream about, day and night,
and I want to fall into the waves with you, like you did when you were nine.
 I want your naked body, every inch alongside mine,
and I need your naked soul, so I can fall and let go of the line.

Sunday, October 4, 2015

The World in Black and White

Feed me to the night, where I see more than the brightest sunlight can ever reveal.
Senses tingle when dusk strokes its purple breath across my skin
in anticipation of the waiting night that comforts,
its velvet black soothing ragged nerves into submission.

Moonlight washes through me,
separates meaning from the meaningless,
I aM the shadows.
Unobserved, scattered,
visible, only what matters,
cracks and blemishes that mar
reduced to what they are……
......insignificant details……
......nothing of consequence……

Friday, October 2, 2015

View from my Window

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 I’d rather stay behind the window, behind the glass that filters the clamour to an assailable level, and separates me from the madness that feeds poison into my veins, infiltrates my body without permission, and annexes my mind with images intended to stifle my imagination, stilt my freedom and pollute my thoughts with blocks that are meant to crumble, meant to collapse, so’s to create mindless pawns incapable of original thought, without hope of survival, from the onslaught of the monster that is speeding directly into our path.

Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Just Another Statistic

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Dark, dark, hollow eyes stare
at the emptiness surrounding her
the day she lost her shadow
to the calling of the dare.

Yes, heavy is the veil of sorrow
that’s descended into the air, this space, my bones,
your missing breath, your presence,
your forever-there presence that’s now gone. gone. gone.
……I don’t care much anymore, for this game.

Saturday, September 26, 2015

The Waxing Madness of the Moon

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Where does it come from, this need
to shatter in the most beautiful way possible,
to flow in the river of anticipation where expectations
never cease to surprise with deep fulfilment,
so maybe that is why I choose to chase the howling wolf
under full moon into the shadows to succumb
to whatever he elects to place in my hand.

Thursday, September 24, 2015

Listen, come and listen...

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I have learnt to deal with my shit, why don’t you deal with yours?  We all have our demons to terrorise into submission, vexations that keep us at the edge of nerves that sing louder the tauter we’re able to stretch, and you know what? Just shut them up, smother them in a silent mist, so that you can breathe for a while, sink into the falling dusk, the purple night sky, the beckoning shadows from the depth of the forest, and feel the music as it swims through your veins.  Come and listen with me for a while, it is very pleasant here…