The Mourning After – a Pantoum

An illusion of intimacy
Slashes of light on sullied sheets
Held in a steel octopus embrace
Shallow breaths of poisoned air

Slashes of light on sullied sheets
Waiting silently in Pandora’s box
Shallow breaths of poisoned air
Leaden hands can’t reach the keys

Waiting silently in Pandora’s box
Perfumed bodies scent the room
Leaden hands can’t reach the keys
Coarse exhales like rusted blades across skin

Perfumed bodies scent the room
Voices vibrate through the walls
Coarse exhales like rusted blades across skin
Eyelashes threaten with every twitch

Voices vibrate through the walls
Anticipation rises and falls with the chest
Eyelashes threaten with every twitch
Evidence discarded carelessly on the damp floor

Anticipation rises and falls with the chest
Held in a steel octopus embrace
Evidence discarded carelessly on the damp floor
An illusion of intimacy

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Queen Street

The Queen unravels
upon her knees.
Goblin lights entice
with might and manners galore,
carnal desires within the doors.
She is icy still,
absent from the dispersing,
splintering crowd.
A silent self congratulate.

A suspended smile whisked
away by a trench coat.
Her perfect face
a waste of time, as rain
drags her paint down to the sea.
They play the paramedics;
snort, snuff, puff their way
up the street like asthmatic
hamsters.

Bloodied lips beg for a smoke,
addiction giving meaning to survival.
Their hands clutch masks,
as they briskly judge
who is deserving
of their fifty cent coin.

The lack of purpose stings more here.

Find Your Happy Place – A Villanelle

The bowl is full of rotting fruit.
She waits for me, a queen at her table,
puppies and kittens are always cute.

I scrape the gum off from my boot,
smooth my hair as best I’m able,
the bowl is full of rotting fruit.

I think perhaps my lipstick does not suit.
She looms before me, like the tower of Babel,
puppies and kittens are always cute

I top the list in my head, of who I would shoot,
she clutches her purse, careful not to obscure the label.
The bowl is full of rotting fruit.

I clench my teeth as the grief takes root,
her eyes catch me, tug an invisible cable.
Puppies and kittens are always cute.

I could take this town, sell the loot.
She’s nervous now, am I that unstable?
The bowl is full of rotting fruit,
puppies and kittens are always cute.

Nothing Left But This

I make coffee
to kill the boredom
fill the empty mind
jumpstart the heart

I take pills
to escape time
quiet the mind
deaden the heart

I smoke
to avoid time
ponder poisonous thoughts
tighten the heart

I shower
to cleanse the sins
festering in the mind
soothe the burning heart
rinse the blood
from my hands
by my hands

I go to bed
to summon filth
from the mind
make the heart race
and the body ache

So I can sleep.

This Candied Cigarette

I clasp scalding amber tea
in a soggy takeaway cup
This candid conversation
holding me captive
His observations
made bold and rancid

Breathing candyfloss smoke
beneath a gobstopper domed sky
Yellow gumballs of light
spill across the lawn

A car’s smiling headlights,
windscreen wipers bent
in worship to me
Passing people in miniature
like statues on a cake
Strobe light leaves
catch my restless eyes
Parakeet fluorescent flashes
a harsh, repetitive trance

Spun sugar threads turn
to sticky cobweb tendrils, catching
tiny vessels in my lungs
A tree trunk stripped
to it’s rotting core, scarlet
sap oozing through opened scars
My attempts to capture the rainbow, futile
clinging as color spins and dissolves

It’s just a grayscale static image
Cold dregs are all that remain

She Looked At Me

She wants to weigh herself
but only weighs her sorrows
Heavy as a burdened beast
every step a wrenching strain
Getting nowhere, causing pain
The door swings open with a cry
no ones waiting for her outside
She is a melting candle
dripping acid, it burns
holes in her jeans
now she is trendy in her despair
Her clothes are too constricting anyway
the strait jacket of society
Let her be naked
look at her scars
Stark cold white pink
This is She