Changle changle, Chain chain.
Jingle like that loose brain
The sounds of coins, full and dense
Tasting all that decadence.
Inertly, following I not must
allow that gentle heart to rust
The hole, may not of course be true
but it's reality brings
terrible news.
If this book, which it is just that,
is not fiction, but after all, a fact
That is the worst, yes, indeed
For we are all bound by our greed
We must obey, the words, the facts
Those undoubtable, untouchable
unseeable artefacts.
Yes, hell for you. And you. And you.
Heaven for me and those who agree
That some-man-in-the-sky-decided-that-he-wanted-us-to-be
Free?

Jump into that shattering window
Jump into that dark void
selectively pull out the finger nail
that remains stuck at the base of your spine
Pull the hair off the old troll doll
Until her eyes seem far to large, far to bright
The colours of the room allowed to merge
who gives a ****, its still full of light.
Beat the box against the wall,
watch it curve, the contrarious fall.
With you fingers, follow the lines
up the side and back of the spine
Then strip the pages, open and bare
Inhale the worlds lingering in there.
When the madness thickens the air
Laugh, cry, sing and die.
Don’t stop to wonder why.
Your palms are enough
Your own two hands can bare
To create whatever breathes in there.

I am a slave.
A slave to the ideas that I’ve called my own.
I’m a slave to the qualities I call home.
I am a slave to my beauty, a slave to my mind.
I am following the tail of the ignorantly blind.
I pretend to have a purpose.
A thin skin on the surface of the deep.
Beneath only hollow blackness
– the bottomless ocean, the reasonless street
I think I know more now than I did as a kid.
Truthfully though,
I bow down to the uneducated.

It can't be real. Life. Love. Whatever. It turns its head with the slightest change in breath.
Makes it all seem irrelevant. Or relevant. Or both.
The specifics alter the hue.
The weather sets the tone.
The tears trickle down and out of the mess that made them.
I love him. No I don't. Yes. No. Maybe?
Doesn't exist.
Maybe...
Is it solitude I fear?
What fills my heart, empties my eyes.
What fills my mind jingles like loose change.
Using it when the small thing catches my attention.
What can I extract from this? How much juice can I drain from this blossomed thought?
This sparkly idea.
Colourful nothing.
Love never hurts. Not being allowed to love is agony.
Not being able to express it - torture.
Head first dives - cold water fills the nose and eyes.
I'm wrong. Most of the time.
Well, I'm not right. I lie mainly to myself.
And you sometimes. When reality jabs my side.
What's best for me? Who cares.
I have to go make dinner and read an article on happiness.