smoking too many crazy

 

So this is how it is, I'm smoking too many cigarettes, having too many drunken regrets
There's a wolf howling in my hearts chambers and crying, judging me, insane labours
A Petrie dish harbouring and breeding a certain bacteria, a cure for that childhood disease, insanity
Shoot myself in the Egyptian temple because I can't rid the collapse of mental.

What the fuck did you believe I'd be. What in the hell I ain't no Robert R Mcammon swan song see
This mask isn't suddenly going to give way to beauty, just a scarred life lived double suture.
Feel free  to join in at this BBQ cook off stamp on my face and reject the eventual friend and family embrace
It's all ok you don't look bad. Fuck deep in the depth you know I know but it doesn't stop me being mad
At genetics, fingerprints, trusting the human instincts, Pepe le pew a reflection of the odour the striping black and white trembling in how to fucking think.

There's a party retrieving thoughts, and Tupperware boxes storing fresh and the old men's coats
Hanging on the back of a discoloured door
Wanting, needing, craving the sound of your voice, screaming into the abyss of the Pillow, the dragon myth of choice
If I was the complete package, the beauty alongside the council house beast no more renalto bridge
This bastardised rhyme that has allowed me a brief moment Ann Frank diary type mind crime
Got to draw this to some type of conclusion amidst the, hey did you think I'd say a mind fusion
Between you and I, listening to these words , trying to make you fucking cry.

Done. I'm the only one. The only tear in a duct filled insanitylust.
Done I can't attend your dinner date in order to anticipate
This fucked up realisation I'll take a step back and smoke another cancer stick apparition fundamental
I've lived a million cursed lives and none have made me sentimental

Do caress.

So we delve into the river seine, a night in Paris
A drop in the river that allows the poet in me to release and then collapse
We were A part of something, a protagonist, a tell me all yet let me fall
Into a cravice a shadow so dark I try to climb but I'm afraid Ill stall.

I began a journey that even the most beautiful can not complete
Born into a miserable tear driven back to back terrace, the Victorian says my see street.
It's eighteen ninety seven and my wife is a failed romance
She's my counting on one hand, she's the lead footed part of this long drawn out  dance.

Who on earth am I to justify escapism
What am I to explore the earth of a fucking mechanism
Sinning amongst earths Christians and Jews and muslims etc
The wounded arms and legs in need of multiple suture.

This romantic Parisian this thing that I try to disguise
Behind every multiple hero mask that I allow you to creep upon and find
So I delve into the river seine hanging in an eventual knot from the bridge
I explored every avenue I eventually released every word that she said.

So close that she said. So close to rhyming but not quite close enough
I apologise. I chastise myself it's just not a part of me being the new found tough
I'm a weak inner self, a dying dark spider on the wall of myself
I'm a self flagulation, inner demon, a puking insipid pale driven face,  who cries on his grandmothers shelf

Who the hell. Am I. Who am I the poet. The altogether being that thinks he knew it
But he didn't. He didn't know a god damn thing he danced in amongst the butterfly shit
That changed the world. That altered our mind our state of address
I won. I really did so tickle my heart my mind my , my, do please caress

The fabricated canvas

There's a boil on my ass and it's eventually given birth
To a baby soiled and unhappy, it's a new puss covered face introduced to this earth
But the relief is grand, like a first walking and fast talking creeper, stalking
So I finish off my bottle of wine, thinking and forgoing, this is all so thought provoking

And then the earth lit up like a new born New Year's Eve
I began to celebrate as the poison exhumed and I began to believe
In the incredible fascination between good and bad
The effervescent quality on who should stay in this world gone mad.

I call them friends but do you know what this poems a test
How good am I angainst a former love interest
Who has been doing well writing poems of positive shit
Let me show you dear reader I'm up for it

The moon eclipses my heart and leaves it bruised but totally intact
My breathlessness is sunshine against a billion grains of sand to distract
A polar cap wriggles free from the mainland and becomes an ice cube in my martini
Taking a billion particles into an ice shelf reason to live in this life and be free.

The seagulls crying in greedy content on sunset depths on each ray so content
And I make passion on the canvas of dusk, no place else to go, the postcards are all sent.
Yet I cried and left this circle in its aftermath
With temptation delivered like the beast in the coal fire warming bath

Screw it my fellow reader , that's all I have, the best of beauty and the after life conclusions
I'm better at writing than she is but it's not all positive psychology, easy words in a cauldron of ready made illusions and confusion
It's time I drew a line under this circumvented, yet illuminated , fabricated canvas, so many more to paint
I'm heading off into the picture throughout the realms I anticipate

Our mountain of a man

A simply beautiful, mountain of a man
Eyelashes of a a desert dwelling camel, would do anything,always,all he can
No sufferer of fools he built me with kindness, with a heart that wouldn't rest
Until his final day, and he passed on, leaving me to cry, as a friend he was the essence of best

We called him Tiny,  for his fortitude was that of a giant mountain of a man
He loved his family and his friends, he was life's biggest fan
I'll now have to adore him from a distance, amongst stars and planets and orbiting moons
Returned to the universe from whence he came, he's been taken way too soon.

I will miss you brother, your humour and that ever ticking cerebral brain
I will miss you brother through the anguish and the pain
I will miss you brother, the laughter, the darkness, the lightening thunder clouds
I will miss you brother, I wish I could have told you sooner how much love I felt out loud.

You will leave behind a legacy. The people that you've touched
A family of friends who love you very much
You were our very real gentle giant, we will always be your fan
Our good times, our family, our very own mountain of a man.

The monster. Part two

The little monster has returned and so I guess it's part two, a diary we can call it, a reflection upon my internal sunrised pond
He's still playing on my heart strings, he's perfecting how to place a pyramid through a complicated oblong
That develish Pygmy, that strains the tea of his brain though a strainer I guess only I can teapot in the inside of my head
Pouring thoughts of life and love of  clouds and the sky,  the tribulations, the starvation and well fed.

The monster has gained colour, a hue of black and grey with a dash of red and then yellow
A gift of feathers that's evolved, that's forcing anxiety, providing anguish, caressing the sorrow
Tiny monster has a grasp on my exposed little balls and will threaten me whenever he craves
But the key to this all, this whole fucking poem, is that our monster escorts us from cradle to grave.

He is the very essence of our existence. The thoughts that control our mind
I give not an obscure moon, a dawn of sunrise to his existence anymore, he's a loose canon a last thought illusion, a fact both angry and both kind.
I suppose I should give up this recognition, that I admit to the monsters existence
But I've learned to embrace the ugliness, the calling of his persistence.

The monster

There's a monster in my innerds, but he's a complicated little soul
He tells me different tails each and every day, but I threw him on the fire bed, my fuel, he is my coal
The monster feeds my laughter,  he taunts me with anger and snides at my regrets
He is the reason of my essence, my jealousy, my inspiration, my empty bottles of beers, the why of my forgets.

There's a monster that hides in both the shallow waters and exists in the deepest darkest parts of my mind
A sword wielding hero who can cry and laugh and stress and relax on the battlefield of love and hatred like a brain manuscript to the retina of the blind.
There's a monster that tells me every day , amongst the poor of the streets, amongst the wealthy of the promenade, a soft giving tissue , a lead and diamond ring, crushed like darkness oh  so hard
And yet he make me giggle, he tickles my over sensitive tummy, my monster plays internal anguished poker hands, yet he holds every ace and king and queen he holds every card.

There's a monster inside of me, but he also gives me flowers, he jettisoned me from a dark dank place
He's a war hero that's fought against depression and the aftermath of overthinking, with goodness and grace
I suppose I should name him, give him a personality and a face, a part of my family tree
And yet there seems little point, for the monsters name is a fact, the monsters name is me.