Paradise

Squint the eyes so this contrast won’t last

Open your soul to accept the wonder full force

Reflections are distorted when viewed from darkness

In this case ripple the surroundings

Sort through the findings

That float to the surface

Reach out, eyes closed letting the feel guide you

Grab the gift and safely pull it to your chest

Breathe and let the heart solve the rest.

Pray

Free hand to write
On the edge of polite
To the mind and soul
Moods high or low

Circling the pain
That keeps me sane
Will I today survive
Hurt says I’m alive

Praying to the God enveloped my head
Why own thoughts are wishing me dead
Confined to the 4 corners of my room
Take me now, or take me soon

Heavy head with knees a bleeding
Nodding still, crouching and pleading
Babbling a language all of my own
Can’t find solitude, until I’m home

Various flashbacks of whom im calling
Above my eyes raising and falling
Swallowing my soul, my light to see
Who am I?, who will save me?

Answer now or forever stay silent
So I can walk peacefully
Into the twilight

Angels

Spiralling out of control towards armless hands of bones. Flexing finger tips grab to bore at my flesh.

A sunken fever brings false saviours. Hope built and collapsed in flashes of imagery, used to pollute the faith.

Out of nowhere I am caught. Is this reality or another method of torture? Part of the punishment of this realm. No this dream’s real, I am touched by substance wiping my brow, mowing away levels of uncertainty.

I am higher now, feeling cooler above the clouds. A burnt smell furrows my nostrils. Panic sets in as I scour my surroundings. It’s not me but my protector whose caught by the flames. Wings are singed, though the descent upwards doesn’t waver.

The climax wakes me cold.                      As my mind blinks to work through reality, a figure in front of me bows, and evaporates from existence. There was no expression, but this essence produced no fear. Now i know blind faith is real, as Angels have no face, just a presence of hope.

Child of an Alcoholic

Sleeping on half a sofa

Trying to ignore the stink

Shutting out the noise

Of her throwing up in the sink,

That was last night

I came to help my mum

I’m scared now that she’ll die

she’s only sixty one,

A victim of a craving

A drunk slave all these years

And when she shows remorse

There’s vodka in her tears,

I fear it’s nearly the end

All alone, she will be found

And when she’s laid to rest

Alcohol shall pollute the ground.

Living Hell

The first draft of reflective imagery that invades my mind.

Sucked into an abyss of astronomical proportions, swirling downward feeling the heat on my feet. Relief would be to perish and never look back. But this would be too easy, they’d rather I suffocate in possession of the intrusive thoughts piercing my mind, leaving transparent holes of uncertainty and frozen whirlwinds harrowing at my reality and convictions.

 

Point the forks upwards, forcing the inside temptation to scream and surrender under the guilty burden, invisible shadows climbing on my back. The weight shrugs as a reminder not to proceed with the idea of liberation and freedom. It’s part of the torture, the false hope we feed on for survival is desired of course, but only left for balance, for sanity to stay before Hell is reached. Turning downward facing obscene flames which spit obscenities, hurting the soul and spouting the stench of foulness like a spike billowing the winds of heart strings.

Prying eyes look on as a devils intent. Look is a stab, a stab cutting the Flesh and swallowing entrails of red and gold. Flashes of yellow signals the explosion of the soul collapsing inward, shades of grey elope and revel in the mix of light. In my head a giant, but not necessary a tyrant, though the horns and hanging flesh give away past intentions, and deviance outgoings. Will his look spill towards me, igniting the hunger in the eyes. Or maybe I’ll be spared, increasing fear and anxiety of the soul. Part of the torment. Being flippant with lives. Being a false remorse, leering at me, the prey, the gift.

Spinning discs pass my neck with a flys width. Razors designated to maime and cause surrender. My face blanches, filling the bottle before it’s spilt…

In the wind

Interpretation becomes a feeling,

The Emotions melts the barriers of translation,

Translates to an emotional healing.

Time moves slower

When you’re not near,

Though this is always

There’s hope you’ll appear

A letter, photo or a silent whisper

Reaches out to bring me nearer

Words that touch the soul from the inside,

I feel when you read me, I can’t hide

Emotions felt from written words Transferring to me, thoughts of beauty, love and hurt

Holding hands through the mind,

An invisible rapture

bringing our beings to travel,

and be forever entwined

Sent from my Samsung Galaxy smartphone.

Hold my Hand (listen up)

Born cold, naked, alone and reeling,

External voices give love and feeling,

Assigned guardians protecting the soul from danger,

Only listeners now are the professional strangers,

Comes a time when there’s no understanding,

Racing thoughts free falling, never landing,

A loneliness leading to a fatal event,

Humans need to evolve, to see and prevent,

Exaggerated smiling a mask of pretend,

Pre-planning inside how and when it will end,

False empathy feels the rebound of shock,

Tears fall from deaf persecutors who mocked,

Surrounded by intelligence and warm blood,

Who have time only, for their own emotional flood,

Helplessness binds tight, held with no strap,

Doors of life closing on this too frequent trap,

An unanswerable question the finger of blame,

Just decided somewhere, time to extinguish the flame,

Silence crying out for any intervention,

Signs abundant that displayed the intention,

Too blind to see? Too many to mention,

History won’t reverse for any redemption,

With only benign friends left on the shelf,

No-one to listen, can only turn to yourself,

Which can only lead to a toxic affair,

Ending fatally with a still deathly stare,

From a corse cold slab, made of stone,

Here lies the final image, of feeling alone.