Gripping

Gripping hold of my breath.

Grasping the life that’s left.

Instantly open to a picture of a broken chair.

Quick come quickly to the beasts ghastly lair.

Wow to the world that so easily makes us fumble.

Woe is the death of the homeless stumble.

Let’s chat about craving labour.

Love is what’s left. Not what’s right.

The Greenbacked Graveyard Monster

A B-grade story-

For the fifth time that night Philip thought he saw a figure in the gloomy distance.
If he stays in one spot it looks like a human standing or loitering, it could be smoking a cigarette or checking it’s watch.  Whenever he decided to investigate it, it would transform into a bush or a monument.

Phil knows he is paranoid and he hates his shitty security job for exacerbating his thoughts. But it is the best paying job he has ever had and he wants to prove he wasn’t a bum. He didn’t have anyone to prove it too. His mum and Dad were dead and his brother Michael WAS a bum. If he had other family than Michael, he really doesn’t want to know about it. They weren’t there for him or Michael after the accident and in Phils eyes that was pretty unforgivable.

He’s 40 now and this will probably be the best job he will ever have, yep, security for a Church and Graveyard, not too shabby, worse jobs, even though graveyards give him the creeps.

There it is again!
Another figure.
Phil decides to ignore it and go the other way, to the rich part of the graveyard. No weird figures down there probably. He turns his head back and saw the figure was closer. He couldn’t make out what it was. This confuses him, his eyesight was usually pretty good and it was a full bloody moon! He ignores it again. Light trickery paired with the residual paranoia from previous heavy drug use can make life pretty scary if you let it.

Phil wishes he had a cigarette but knew he quit for a reason. He had realised he loved life and bungers were too expensive. He is saving for a house- or at least a deposit. He isn’t even close but knew he wasn’t gonna stop trying, to have a house for his brother, to nurse him back to health, that’s all he really wants.

He is almost amongst the upper echelons of graveyard society when he hears some creepy laughter… “oh mann, fuck this job.”
It sounds like a woman. He knew it is his duty to investigate, even though he really didn’t want to. He walks towards the laughter and sees a bit of light waving around, some kids were playing voodoo. Jesus Christ the Priest told him about this. “Graveyards aren’t that scary” with a smile that looked like it was put up with used blue tack. “Most of the time it’s just kids you have to deal with” (what do you mean most of the time?!), “Besides I always feel closer to god down here”.

“HEY KIDS SCRAM!” They all look over. One, a confident teenager, might as well be a woman in her thirties walks up to him seductively and says “don’t you wanna join us old man?” He wanted his job, he wanted them to leave. “No, I need you to leave”.
“We’ll give you this to leave us alone?” She opens her hand and $100 fall out onto the well-kept grass. He picks it up and walks way.

Out of eyesight, he heard a guttural scream.
He ran back.
There was nothing but a blood trail.
& a sound…
Chomp. Chomp. Chomp.

Lucky

And the sunlight strikes me as I sit and the Bees fill the valley with the monotonous joy that is work.
Loyalty forces my heart to beat with happiness Panting beneath my feet, this is a soul worthy of love.
Catching flies in my wake like a dedicated soldier.
My heart beats with happiness.

Someone who loves me
My flaws awake doubt
She holds my love dear
Her heart is pure gold.
Mine has colours stretched.
She loves my difference.

In my heart I know
Her love makes me glow
That it beats red blood
Used to live in mud
and squelch sour smells
Is the future bells?

Great News

Lets hear it!
Go on, spit it out!
We’re waiting for it!

Are you keeping us in the dark?
What are you hiding?
Is it lies?

We’re back from the dead.
Living a real life over again.
Beating hearts giving us the movement.
To mimic symphonies.

Deceive me

Deceive me,
But call me a liar.
Hurt me,
But call me violent.
I’m the narcissist that slips in your sheets while you sleep.

Wrap me up,
Package me for delivery.
Grip my heart,
keep it for surgery.
I’m the Masochist that licks his lips at your liturgy.

Drug me,
And label me an addict.
Starve my curiosity,
denounce my ignorance.
I’m the one who saw and thought

But didn’t know how

No Ice Please

What’s right?
The moral lesser being vanquished?
What’s right?
Building a castle on stolen land?
What’s right?
A movement on the soil of the dead.

What would you like with your whiskey sir?
Just ice.
Would you like a dash of water?
sure.
So you don’t want ‘just’ ice.
obviously not.

What do you want?
I want anything I can get my grubby mits on thank you.

Let’s go.

Our evolution,
Built upon our souls
or our souls built upon it.
What came first?

In a blip of time
we make waves from caves
so important, is it?
It’s easy to discredit

Brought it all for a moment
with you,
and our connection.
More for this.

Judgement Day

Involving yourself in the ocean of consciousness invokes meaning throughout our measly lives.
Measly in the way that it is probably insignificant, but could be greater (I’m not sure.)
And Judgement! is only pure when it is in the moment, in the context & only God can judge.
Moment and context meaning we can’t judge someone for their actions if we don’t know or understand their culture or upbringing.
So, god only judges in the context, because God is pure.
If God is within all of us than we all reserve the right to cast damnation.
As long as it’s in context.
So judge yourself at least.
That’s about as much context as your gonna get.
Cathartise yourself by at least judging something because it’s in our nature because gods in all of us & only God can judge.
SO JUDGE AWAY and we can revel in our sins together.
Dip our hands in the quagmire & really immerse ourselves in the context.
Because we gotta do it.

It’s all history…

And time just stopped,
a moment you can grasp
finally an inch of a clock
that you can almost get your hands on.

Built from the ground up
The clock tower will always boom
It’s salutation to time
and it’s non-essence.

For there is no else
but yourself’s self
as the minute hands continue
Encroaching on your damn goals.

There is still more to do
always more to do, always
unflinching in the way
life isn’t sometimes.

But for time to beat
its waves to create
A steely past
That we can mould like plasticine
That’s all we do.

The Tides of Masculinity

Bigger than the best.
Lean against that building and feel your resentment grow.
We gotta move it punk ass.
We are the perfect human.
Emotionally invulnerable
The number one sky is the limit kinda guys.
We are polite and are in touch with our feelings that we quash.
and we also stand when a lady enters the room.
How stale.
What if the lady has an adams apple, do you still stand?
Audeamus drama used to be a farmer.
But fight to save the larder.
We used to be hunters.
In a tribe.
Stronger than the rest.
Bigger than the best.