Zombie Sky Romance.

She is loud, yet tiny,

Legs of a half-starved child,

Body of a woman

With eyes that want to eat the world.

She walks with bare feet

And her hand holds precarious shoes.

 

And he is balding,

In youthful jeans

A bright red shirt

That used to baggy

And now fits his fat

Like a skin on a cheap sausage.

 

He holds her hand more tightly,

As she scabs a light

And she holds court,

With wit as sharp as her heels

And smokes partly for the drama.

 

He traps her with his arm

But he need not worry,

She likes his humour and his eyes,

And she has an optimistic soul.

 

He wants to keep hold of his prize

He is captivated by her

Dangerous shorts, one liners

And animal print bra

Barely covered by her top.

 

So their flawed romance starts,

And will be finished soon

Under a zombie movie sky.

 

 

Addiction

 The bedroom is now our tomb

With only dusty sunlight

And debris of days of sex

And our bodies,

Forever tangled

We live like half lives

With eyes only for each other,

As the rest of our lives die.

 

For our souls were misshapen

We believe that each other

Can cure us

So we need not make the journey

To make ourselves complete.

 

We creep out to see if it could work

In real life,

If this could be the sort of love

That may hold hands

And last until

We get old, ugly and fall apart.

 

We bolt back to our tomb

Where we may die to the world

And only have each other

For while we try to cure ourselves

Our sweet lust and obsession

Only makes us sicker.

 

 

Love

 

We know it’s lust

We can stay in bed for hours

And look past each other’s flaws

And enjoy each other’s body parts.

Like each other’s perfect sex dolls

With flesh bone, blood and maybe souls

Making a jigsaw of each other.

 

Like junkies,

Nothing else matters

Not jobs,

Not our future

Not our despairing friends.

Our world, land and sea

Depends on each other.

 

Is it love?

I see a dangerous rage

In your eyes

And when the puzzle pulls apart

There is desperation

In our screams of lust

And violence in our souls.

 

Do we see each other?

Or just our own egos

In the other’s eyes

Are we too close to see the flaws

That will destroy each other.

 

Closer to passionate enemies

Not friends for life.

Let us burn in sensual haven

And fall from grace

Make our own hell

Can we tell the difference?

Late Night Movies

 

Why do I sleep?

It does not smooth the corners,

But gives my world more jagged edges,

Dreams, a soap operas of deepest fears

And a Fight Club in my mind.

 

I wake more confused,

And tired of life   

Than when I went to bed

I fight through the morning

Trying to fight treacle.

 

And people I have lost,

Hated and loved

Come back in glorious

Yet gaudy colour

Shout about the flaws

In my days and

Talk in code about problems

That cannot be solved.

 

Like an immortal coil

Of horror

I ride a roller coaster of angst,

But they are never screams

Of adrenaline joy

But real horror

In my dreams.

 

 

Toxic Healing

An acid house tune,

On Morphine,

At this rave there is

No dancing

Only fitful, poisoned sleep,

To a toxic lullaby.

 

Magnesium and antibiotics

Mix with salt and sugar,

Building blocks of life

Along with poison.

They drip into the body

To a toxic lullaby.

 

And visions never seen

In life,

Come in a sick sleep

Things connect and make

Dreams that will never

Come again

Surreal visions flicker

To a toxic lullaby.

 

Soon the lines will become firm

And the body and mind

Will get better

But the only comfort right now

Is a toxic lullaby.

 

Colours

We thought we bunked off winter,

Sunshine drenched the world,

And gave us candy colours

Before the trees could show us

Their green and coloured finery.

 

Winter blew back,

And gave us drama,

It gave us shades of grey

And biblical troubled skies.

 

The world reminded us,

There is no green without the grey

That candy colours can never last

That nature has its cycles.

 

The last shock of winter

Came when the days

Should be lengthening and mellowing,

Reminded us that every colour is important.

Last day of Christmas

The last day,
Dead trees, once worshiped
clothes with lights and trinkets
dumped in gardens,
we will have to face grey days
without lights, cake, chocolate and sparkle,
while the sun only appears for a short time
showing it's fragile lovely light.

The hangover starts
with that unwanted half a stone
and looming credit card bills,
the unloved gifts
and lingering resentment

Winter rumbles on.
As we lunge for desperate bargains
and regret the things we bought
yet the unwanted gifts
and petty squabbles
show we are lucky
the love and healing
mean so much more.