only where they may be helpful or necessary.
The fallen statue of a killer
Lies tossed on sheets stained with lies
Eternity in marble eyes.
Inward gyre 'til no more space.
The naked eye abandons search,
The paper scored, but nothing said.
Happens every single time
I try to hold you in a rhyme.
Tarantula divine
Dancing, your hot legs
Coquette on my spine
Forgetting all else
I drink in your kisses
Your lips taste of poison
Yet savour of bliss.
I've honed the blade on the
Dull rock surface of dead dreams.
I'm slashing my life,
Friends, enemies and lovers alike.
I'm cutting throats,
Slitting memories into
Maimed paper dolls,
Parchment amputees...
A bitter lonely wind
Reshuffles the scattered dry
Shards of my fragile mind.
Confetti in an empty churchyard.
Furies of despair,
Hover in the smog
And teargassed air.
Fanning the fires
In the war zone,
Wet towels slapping
In their drone.
For those delicate, doilie-draped drawing room hours
And I spat on a clump of dandelion weed
When you weren't there in my moment of need.
For our friendship, a pretty nosegay
And for my lust, a dead bouquet.
