Run,
Helter skelter.
Belting it out to the new blossom on the hill.
Damp pink petals brown at the corners.
The smashed cherries like stony bones.
Buried in broken pavement.

Amble.
Toward the red and yellow sign.
The shelves neatly stacked.
Along the grey, gritty payment.
Watching the white toe tips blinking at me.
Dragging the body home.
So the mind can rest.

Yeah I know,
Why so glum?
Just a little downtrodden.
Looking at the stars through the shit.
But feeling like I have been hit.
All things change,
Stars and shit.

Not dead yet.
But soon.
Don't know dead.
Don't care.
This existential shit will all get hit!
That'll be rare.

One day it will all be over.
The fighting and the misguiding.
It will all be over and for nothing.
The only real meaning to be known is now.
But with clarity does not come charity.
And still the fighting.

Owwwww.
Like reading human pain?
What a drain?
But still mind numbing bore is all that stops the sore.

Owwwwwww.
The bloodied fingers claw.
Crawling along the membrane.
Turning the brain insane.

When will the voices stop?
They keep calling.
When will they stop?
The funny little never heards.
Shout so loud inside my head.

One way ravels this.
Another unravels that.

What difference does it make?
They try and help.
The little white pills.
The doctors' bills.
They know what's right and what's wrong.
But really what difference does it make?
If no one listens.

It's not meant to hurt.
Head on fire.
Belly full of bullets.

The Shadow

That which you wish'd you were not, but you are.
Something insecure and inferior.
The power of the shadow can be used for good.
Making us function without a facade.

Untidy long straw coloured hair.
Lankly layering the sunken face.
Groomed waves scoop her milky neck
Her pink pout looks like it's been popping pearls.
It's pool side in sunglasses and fashion.

Just as long as I am in this world
I am a knight of this world
Just as long as I am in this world
I am the light of this world.

A sing song nod
Of easy acquiescence.
Just you wait til she reverts to sulky adolescence.
The bright spring of early love.
In happy hands and flicking silky strands.
She stoked her bare arms.
Luring him in.
Look how I stroke.
And tossed her head.
Look how uninhibited I am.
Wait until the hormones and hatred over step the mark and leave you deadpan.

No fear.
In the haunted room.
That has grown so icy.
No fear of the dead.
Because life has been conscience led.
No fear of a healing ghost.
Who else can rid this body of a strange host?

Testosterone fuelled bar room brawling bristling boyish egos
Oestrogen laced silk pants swanning from marble floor to diamond ceilings.
When will gender no longer matter?

She dapped at the corner of her eyes with a cotton shawl. Dapping away tears.
Her eyes were red and studded with sorrow's pearls.

The pale figure.
Walked past the pensioners in red.
The white, a dot all that way ahead,
I thought red and white were unlucky?
Reminding one of bloody white bandages and war dead?
Her white was white.
On the telly later it was clearly speckled with gold and silver threads.

She was as ram rod straight as a bent, proud old lady can be.
Eyes fixed firmly in duty.
Gloved hand gripping her black shiny handbag.
It rained.
And the wind blew.
But still she stood looking straight ahead.

The throngs were enthralled.
For them it was wet bbqs, a few extra drinks and time in bed.
For her it was 60 years as a Queen.

The crinkle of viking blonde chest hair.
Masts tink.
The softness of freshly bathed, creamy skin.
With lavender hints.
The almost rude abrupt ness.
The gentle considerate ness.
And the steady hand against my neck.
Guiding me in.

Percolating event's horizon.
A fizzy tiz.
Decision borne along by passion.
Indecision rips and creates strange rifts.
Dark matter and its anti matter.
Space swarms in a stellar storm.
The horizon is clear.
Dusted with sun sparks and stars' hearts.
The hope horizon.