the Bournemouth streets are sealed with water while wafers float me further still away from land. the attention seekers belly flop from piers protruding like acidic giants battling base ants. who are they to decide what' tall and what's small? Who am I to leap from their shoulders onto their backs?
a crowd of crows are gathered around and begin cawing as one holds his crotch in a foamy suffering. it's a cock eat cock world, and the ice-cream cum tastes nice, but the worst of it really is, I crave that same sand fight, that same sticky seaside sensation. I crave it just as much as the war of terror, just as much as stuffing myself full of every flavour. who can see the errors when given so many black eyes for straying too far from the watery path?
walk as a rant from the mouths of something pretty hand in hand through the jetty, under the stairs leading down onto the beach and under the stairs leading up to heaven or down to hell – a personal entrance to leave at any time. I'm a high-grade actor with bad guts, who's sick of feeling sick who's sick of eating nothing but pussy.
birds... an ideal term, better than airborne creatures anyway, if only the girls didn't find it so debasing.
cheeky robin's, totally desensitized and fearless, keeptheir tongues tight against the inside of their mouths. I know I'd be brave enough to do the same if flying didn't take me so high off the ground.
the ideal hiding spot is right here in the place where I'm as desensitized as the robin where the girls look fat and ugly, but have pretty skinny personalities. where everyday, I see various different parts of the letter ex everywhere I go and in every face I see. ignore my predetermined life - like the robin.
A robin cursorily disappears as something stumbles head-first through the forest. in the second before escape the mind twitches and restarts. -I will never see you again, Robin of Sherwood.
A thief walks quieter with no shoes on. he predicts every creak as he trespasses further into the house, further into a strangers future. -treasure, I will never see you again.
the diamonds fall head-long into a deep ravine dying when they hit the bottom. the echoing screams are agony to the ears, breaking the barriers between being someone, and not. -death, I will never find you.
a zombie moves, slugging at anything imaginable. he stumbles over a girder and collapses onto an upturned broken bottle. -I will never make as much progress as you, dear, dead zombie, I will never eat as many souls, or achieve so much with so many cries forced from others.
I like to keep my cactus safe in the glove box it reminds me of how much it hurts to love the hand goes in quicker every time to stab at something other than skin but all I feel is the blood behind the flesh the swim of the dark red against the river there's not a slide for children into the water but a thrust of the nouveau-riche hair against black rebellious coats wrapped around a blunt point. I like to keep my cactus in the glory box and dip in whenever God lets me.
This is not a painting this is a portrait; a pour spot on a page, self absorbed into silk. plump limbs on plum lips parade circles for lonely bastards. there's no way of wriggling yourself out of this one, the squiggle is just too tight in the wrinkles.
Is it fair to say maturity belongs in the eyes of a clown? invert your smiles and make them bleed, because obscurity is everything I want. it may not be everything I need, but at least it provides excitement for a guy who has an air-phobia.