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.

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.

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…

 

The One that Follows

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Lifeless as the broken wings of a butterfly in the wind,

my heart reaches out to you but I cannot let you in,

it is I that drown in the flood that I am in.

The waves break above my head again, I’m engulfed by the tempest sea,

that feeds my tears into the sky but rain can’t wash me free.

I will drown before you ever me will see.

I don’t belong, there’s no missing breath, as if I'd never been,

my footstep gone, a thousand years, I’m the sea upon your skin,

but I drowned before I could’ve let you in,

I drowned before I could’ve let you in.

Dance to the Tambourines

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Tonight we dance in the wilds of the woods

in moonlight that colours silver our limbs,

the smoke of the fire calls out to the spirits

who lick the flames high into the night sky.

Follow the queen with bells jingling from her hips,

let the song of the earth sing through you,

she releases your soul into the ethereal light,

mingling sweat that is glistening on our skin.

The Monsters Underneath Our Bed

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The dreamers, the loners, observers by choice,

the teller of tales and those who dance under the full moon,

we all walk as written, with a quill and ink,

the path paved with monsters looming underneath our bed.

We are sinners. Sinners with good intentions,

who listen to the melody of the moon

when sleepless nights follow restless days,

when even the stars hide shyly behind the breath of a cloth,

and we hear the unspoken, feel the unsaid, we do what our monsters tells us to do.

One Thought Leads to Another

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  Dream. I love to dream. And I love to sleep. I especially like that moment when you slip away into your personal heaven, although I NeVeR remember it.  But it 'feels' like a tunnel of multi-coloured ribbons through which I zoom at the speed of light in a cushion where nothing, nothing can hurt me, and it’s loud and quiet all at once, and I can taste the sugary sweetness that runs though my veins, it fades into me and I become a weightless, timeless, perfect nothingness. A blank slate for me to create. And thus I begin...
 

  

Once I was a Lonely Girl

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Once I was a lonely girl, I did not belong, to nothing, to no-one,

who prayed for a stillness she couldn’t capture, and she prayed for silence! Silence! from the unending influx of pictures that streamed through her consciousness unbidden, a piercing hell of clamouring voices, one louder than the next, vying for her attention when all she wanted was to disappear into oblivion, into a thick mist, frozen by the eerie silence that holds you on an early weekday morning, and all you can see are the imagined outlines of what should be beyond the blinding, radiant white, whilst another traces whispers of ‘you are truly alone in the world your imagination created…’ on your skin…  

……it’s easier to embrace the flames. Bound through space, feel the thrill of agility and speed, feed your darkness, revel in the prohibited realms where you can express your self unhindered by judgement, fore when your star explodes, you are scattered into the fibre of aLL, you breathe to others what they need to see, and it is there, exactly there, where I am meant to be.

my story

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The touch of the moon scribbles over my dreams with a restless passion that pulls me into the silence of the night.
I’m compelled to heed the urgency of this call, this yearning into his darkness where tomorrow is in the palm of my hand, and I can feel his bidding like braille on my skin, impressing upon me the map of infinity where sanity and madness merges with the howling wolf, and I can run with the pack on an empty stretch of forever before I burn up in this darkness, lined with picture I would otherwise never get to see.

It Is But An Illusion?

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I am watching the invasion of alien seeds into the forests behind the home of my birth, blown here on the angry currents of heated winds from the fires of a hell in an unknown land.

But they do not respect the ways of this forest, their scent overwhelming the harmonious balance of a system my forefathers carved with their blood.

They inject their roots amongst roots of old, laughing at our monuments in celebration of our birth right, strangling my voice in the foreign tongue of falling leaves, as they extend their reach of slow extinction, the extinguishing of my being.