A Matter Of Time Pt. 2

Now be reasonable what was a young man ment to do?
Everyone’s femurs where getting cracked in the crossfire
It’s better one man gets broken completely then that
So I treat you like an ulcer before band practice
I took every single bullet with pride
Until I’m a corpse floating in the river to you
Did you fall for it hook, line and sinker?
Or did you see through it like a silk?

I send this reasoning in little scrolls
Drop them in the handbags of your social circle
And maybe one day it’ll come around your way
Like the back page of a crossword book
I hope it gives you all the answers your looking for
Now here’s the question that keeps up all night
Will you react with a sense of relief, the lights have gone green
Will you spit on the paper, the lights have been smashed

I know there’s probably nothing I can do
To stop the filthy glares at the bus stop
And the way you cast your rod in everyone’s pond
Just to get the hint of a nibble on the hook
I imagine your eyes light up at the thought
Of being able to bring me up in conversation again
Are you trying to drop the same scrolls to get my attention?
Or are trying to burn the soil so nothing can grow again?

You like to deny but either way, you really are like me dear

*Written For National Poetry Month – 21/30*

This poem is a sequel too this one:
http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/82818526063/a-matter-of-time

Wings

Oh it’s oh so clear to me now
I may of spent a few hundred million years
Scratching the desk and knocking over my beer cans
To cold call a league of philosophers at my door
Man the tantrums seems so silly now
When I’m arm in arm with comrades of old
Gliding down the streets screeching our anthem to the sky
Oh yeah it’s so clear to me right now

They told me I couldn’t find anything better
And too take the lashing like a good little slave
They swore it never got any better then this
I was lucky to even grab where I was by the fingertips
They promised they were right
Far be it from me to question your motives for telling me that
Is this what you have to do to people to stay confident?
I’m confident that’s the case

You had to make me feel like dirt
In order to make yourself feel alive
All I had to do start living my life
In order to make you feel like dirt

All you ever wanted to do was clip my wings
Use me to shield you from the deathray
You fired straight at the mirror
Hey no biggie I’m just damaged goods right?
Well I didn’t hear the others complain
The only one who’s complaining is you
As you lay yourself in the same mousetrap
Scrape another lover to use from the highway

*Written For National Poetry Month – 14/30*

A Matter Of Time

It always conducts a glissando up my spine
When I spot your clan tracking at my sanctuaries
I don’t claim to have the deeds to these locals, but surely you know?
I wouldn’t leave these premises just for your consideration?
Are they scouts? Sniffing for my co-ordinates?
Are you hiding in smokers planning your tactics
Using the finished cocktail glasses
As chess pieces like a military tactician

Are you under the impression I’m still enamoured with you?
I’m not saying the hypothesis isn’t true
It’s just when you find yourself stuck to me like glue
I wonder, what exactly are you planning to do?

Each heckle the dogs give me on the street,
Each Chinese whisper forcefully relayed to me
Each WooWoo beaker thrown at my head
Feels like the tick of the clock
I don’t think I could call in sick for this appointment
Not even if I wanted to
I can imagine you coming up to me at the bar now
With a familiar smile, and a view to kill

Are you under the impression I still think of you all day?
If you don’t mind I’ll keep the answer to that one at bay
But when you do decide for us to meet in your little play
I wonder, what exactly were you gonna say?

This Poem Has a squeal:
http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/83517596383/a-matter-of-time-pt-2

*Written For National Poetry Month – 13/30*

The Symbolism Of Silence

I think the public image of personal growth
Has been incorrectly portrayed in the confines
Of a catch up conversation between disconnected pen pals
And with it brings a very venomous drawback indeed

Oh it shows when I’m sat slouched in my chair like quicksand
Playing Glass Harmonicas with my coffee mug
Trying to pass of asking about the rotas at your work
As a deep, meaningful and interesting conversation

Like the ones we had 5 am outside the abandoned estates
Putting the world to rights, as we deconstructed and dissect
The flawed expectations of outdated mindests of all the grown ups
But now I struggle to find the words to ask how you are

The person I long to talk too they’re dead and gone
Do you agree? Do you think the same things about me?

We were lost souls in a sea of possibilities
Being barked at from every angle to breast stroke
But young lovers will always be content
With laying on their back and floating in the ocean

But now we’ve both straightened up and fallen in line
Did we lose it? The only thing that kept us nattering for hours?
Was our sense of anarchy the only thing that binded us?
Now our paths are off in opposite directions, the distance only grows

Did you forget how to give people that look in your eye
Or do you keep it on reserves just for the next one too see?

*Written For National Poetry Month – 8/30*

And If She Doesn’t Come Back Around… (W.I.P)

It feels like i’ve been playing tiddly winks with my time
Throwing away days and days into a discarded lunchbox
Like a schoolchild killing time, bobbing at the edge of their seat
As the clock flirts with the idea of striking quarter past 3
Just waiting for that rumoured telegram from your end
To signify your return to our beloved rock
Ideas of dipping our feet in the riverbed
While gorging on pre-planned ham sandwiches
Parade my mind like everyday’s a new Mardi Gras
Made to heighten the anticipation of tasting your mouth

Oh gem stoned eyed lady, I understand the confusion
But don’t let my solitude deceive you now
I’m less a wolf on patrol at the park gates, waiting to be fed
I’m more akin to an aktia, waiting for its master on the porch
I can see you position your hands on the bar
With the precision of an open heart surgeon
Like rooks on a chessboard, ready to claim the king
But I feel I must remind, I’m loyal to my queen
Ready to get down on my knees the very moment
That she decides to grace the streets again

But this time next week, if you see me alley bound
Like a lost pup left out in the pouring rain
Lacking the usual collar, now with no one to call my own
You’re welcome to give me shelter
Take me in your arms and take me home
And while you’re at it, take away all the grief
That comes with being abandoned on the doorstep
It takes a heart of pure gold to take in a mutt like me

Oh emerald gazed woman, I’d of tried to make you smile earlier
But I could never betray her, who showed me silver lined mornings
In a sea of gray tainted days, I could never break the heart
Of a saint who never asked for it, but in light of these events
An empty inbox, and a reservoir of unspent affection
Maybe I’ll take you up on that drink

Obsess (W.I.P)

Gasping to fill the void in my lungs
Mimicking a fetus by the doors of the club
Old pastel hair walks on by and checks for a pulse
And a very special kind of cycle starts to whirl
It’s where I get a pretty young thing in sight
And she detonates the curiosity
Suddenly the prying eyes turn to blurs
I want her to Obsess over every square inch
To question the very way I walk
To notice every scar on my chin
She grasps my hair like leaves on a radish
She demands more nooks and crannies to investigate

But after you’ve peeked at the answers
At the back of a puzzle book, it becomes trash
Her attention wanes as the escape plan begins
A 4 week voyage to the bottom of the ocean
It’s where her aunt’s new flat is
She’s come to see her new proboscis worm
All to get me of her chest
And leave me scuttling on the floor
A blue bow’d lady checks to see if I’m alive
And the cycle starts again

Blue bow gets me down on my knees
Demands the anteating treatment
A one way ticket to get a glimpse of god
Through the medium of ASDA bed sheets
Once envisioned my thrills start to stagnate
I’m left crawling on cemented tiles
Like a leech without a belly to feed from
Holding back crimson waterfalls
With a mere forearm acting as the damn
Amber eyes hands me the dressing
Likens me to a NME cover model
And the cycle starts again

The Sonic Cycle IRL (W.I.P)

Now don’t get me wrong, your optimism in your admiration for me is darling
The way your eyes rival the strobe lights when your clutch my hand
Making sure we never lose contact under the mercy of the dance floor
But it’s arrogant for you to assume your the first
And it’s naive of me to assume you’ll make sure your the last
When the sugar leaves your blood and the month comes to a close
And you come to meet me on a cloudy noon by the tennis courts
You’ll forfeit that twinkle in your eyes, just like the predecessors before you

You’re name starts the chimes in my memory
Your past credentials have impressed me fellow enigma
The origins may vary from person to person
The fairy tale has ended and my interest has waned
My self-esteem will be the catalyst to my laziness
But it always ends in the same way

I’m losing my faith, that anyone’s gonna break the cycle
No matter the creed, colour or class it always goes the same
What’s to stop me from disconnecting completely?
When the excuses are the same?
When they all lead the same?
When they’re all the same?

Try as I might I’ll never escape the wheels of fortune
The scene loops again like a broken vinyl
How typical when I open my body up, and let these sensual thunderbolts
Invade the gateways into their epicentres to provide that taste of heaven
All I did was ask for a little admiration in return
Then I’ll see the same drop in their smiles on my pillows

You’re my Betty Crocker interlude
To break up a conveyor of base processes
Then why do the texts suddenly stop?
You’re my mascot clad onesie
After hours of grinding in corsets and heels
Then why does your grip loosen from my hand?

I’m losing my faith, that anyone’s gonna break the cycle
No matter the creed, colour or class it always goes the same
What’s to stop me from disconnecting completely?
When they all get bored the same?
When they all lie the same?
When they’re all the same?

* From the Gynophobia series*

I Can Show You, What He Could Never Give You (W.I.P)

My fists clench with a force to crush diamonds themselves
When I hear that testimony utter from your lips
Could it really be so, during the age of information?
That inexperienced young minds could confuse that for love?
When he picks apart petrol station oaks to commemorate a landmark
When he leaves you frowning on the mattress on valentine nights
When he keeps positive vocabulary for ransom to keep you on his level
It’s gonna be a while till I pick my jaw from the floor

Oh my sherbet clad confectionery delight
Just itching to be taken home from the seaside stand
I’m not here to lug my bottom on cider stained leather
Advertising my self, by reading you my credentials
Point out every young pretty thing standing at the bar
Whom I’ve seen the very joints in their cheeks come apart
As they attempt to articulate the serge of electrons
I’ve conducted through their very forms
That would be rather crass of me to say here and now

I want you to take a shot into the unknown
I want you to open the ribs in your chest
To take a chance on the unfamiliar
To open your eyes to a world past a single body
Did he ever run his fingers through your hair?
Did he ever scrape his jaw against your neck?
To get the engines to warm up?
To get you in the mindset to make the offer yourself?

I doubt he had neither the time nor the care honey
Scrubbed the plaque of his choppers in math class
And left you for dead underneath his desk
That’s not love dear, that’s being picked apart by the wolves
I can bow down at your feet, the second I see your shadow cast
I wouldn’t just get the feeling back in your feet
I can make sure the feeling pours from your very sockets
You just don’t know it yet my princess

Hell (W.I.P)

I can’t recall how many times i’ve seen the lunar display
Enhanced by the sheen of the beer goggles
Since I had to unlock the handcuffs on your wrist
The notion of a month passing makes the mind boggle

The hands of the analog
Are making they’re second whip around for the day
The bunions of our feet can take the strain no more
We stagger to the nearest bench to lay

I know there are better ideas then issuing a response
To your little Morse code tappings up and down my legs
Like juggling TNT’s at a pyrotechnic festival blindfolded
But lagging hearts can only think in the short term

I’ll endure your intent even while I bleed
Anything to stop the dreams
What was a suggestion has become a plea
What was a want is now a need

Oh I’m in hell
Trying to crack a smile
Oh I’m in hell
Pulling the smoke over my lies
Oh I’m in hell
Trying to enjoy it all the while
Oh I’m in hell
Stuck inbetween these two thighs

I Can’t Stop You From Appearing In My Dreams

It’s 3:52pm and it’s now I hear
That the broadcasts from down under reach their peak
Even I admit that’s a weak excuse
But anything to put off crawling to them sheets
Anything to stave off meeting you again
In the one place you van still Influence me
Smack in the middle of smoky storybook aspirations

Westbound to a plain of intangible letters and sentences
Only in this sector of the concious
Where desires are interpreted for temporary manias
Do you stand before me again

All grudges flow out through our pours like black tar
The hate seeps through the husk in our breaths
The spite flakes off our very skin
All I have left to remember is to how to stay betrothed to you
I was no one else’s to lose but yours my love

Utilizing my muscle memory you lock your fingers with mine
Like claws on a tow truck you whisk me away
We take a quick hike from the town centre to yours
With the parts I can’t recall replaced with golden plated bridges
Connecting my recollections together

The ingrates that poisoned you have been purged
Their mouths stitched shut to stop them from bringing you down
It’s just you and I with the audience of the washing up
There isn’t a thing to fret about
Just how the sunlight highlights your genius design

The smoke flows from the floor boards
I smear it through the threads of your scalp
You inhale it through your regulated pants
As it pours from the ducts into your irises

Trace the curves of optimum natural selection
Grasp the wrist of a submitted romantic intention
Groove to the rhythm of a calculated routine
Play it back those glossy sweet sugarcane memories

The Clock hits 9 and caresses my eyelids
The reality kicks in and the mist starts to disappear
I beg my master to release her grip from my limbs
But her grip stays aggressive just like an anchor

She sinks her claws, digging deep into my wounds
She tugs from within my arms to keep me pressed against her chest
I can’t stand the guilt, the oh so familiar sting
How naive of me, for it was me who brung you here in the first place

An interpretation that’s all you are
A reflection of the reality, with a sweeter taste
And smoothed out edges
A version of you that doesn’t berate my birth wronging
While you demand I clean the wounds on your arms
As you leave the ones under my legs wide open

The hate floods back into my veins
As if to cue the pins and needles
It flows to my profile and forces my eyes open
For another cycle I’m free from your grip
Until my eyes grow heavy and then I’m yours again