Tag: poetry duo

Real Rage [Version 1 – Ongoing]

Now that I have your attention ladies and gentleman
Ooohhh…. Where do I even begin?
With all the mountainous amount of ways
That when I see you out and about with that cheeky boy grin
You make the bile rise up to my gullet
As you wink at the guys and give them a high-five
And you leave the infected flakes on your lips with the girls
It makes me question the point of staying alive
You wear your Topman 2 for 10 tailor suit like an Armani
And the musk of new Lynx decaying pheasant acting as your aura
Your hair’s slicked backed, the cherry on top of shredding your humanity
Thought I feel it’s missing one thing, a healthy dose of inflicted gore… -a
When your up in the bar roaring and howling
About that girl you ‘had’ in the bushes to your mates
Taking each act of humiliation like a trophy on your wall
As your bros’ grip put cracks in their drinks as they hold back the hate
Because of course none of it happened did it?
So I would start on about how you rape innocent girls
But that would imply that when they set there eyes on you
They don’t take the first taxi home and fucking hurl
Two Sambuca’s and Setlla’s hence since
Your breath starts to smell like Jack Daniel’s piss
You ask a pair of ladies if they are of celestial decent
As they start to head towards the door since I think they got the gist
You just can’t take “Fuck off you Republic dwelling troll” as an answer
You treat a grope of the arse like a personality quirk
I imagine she wants a skin graft operation after that
So that the feeling of your sweaty hairy palms doesn’t lurk
How could they not fall for you? Fall under your spell?
When you scream at them, calling them a skank
There must be god, if atleast you always walk home alone
Your night ends with tears, Vaseline, Eastenders and disappointingly short wank
I hope one day a young woman’s lad catches you in the act
And he downs you with just one nads-aiming punt
And as he leans down, he identified you for what you are
A cunt

– Lnc0

Christmas Shopping [W.I.P Ver.1]

I turn my head to the tidal waves in the ceiling
I play a game of Dig Dug with the pipes
With sprites that just aren’t there in the mortal plane
Sunglasses toting tennis balls armed with 45’s
Firing lemons at the purple ball clan
I think it says something about your psyche
If you lose in you’re fictional arcade game
That’s pre-determined in your own head
Is it a sign of my own lack of confidence
To carry out the convictions in my life
Do I just assume I will fail in any task I take on?
Or is it a statement that try as I might
I cannot overcome the will of the masses?
And actually… Why have I put myself in a situation
Where I would even think about this tat?

Picture if you DARE a decaying charity shop
Wrestling for dominance in between the temptress
Of the stench of fresh ginger bread coming out the over
And the harmony of the latest electronic fairytales
Forced to be ensnared as a spectator
Bound to a cm ledge by the window
That’s like a blade digging right into the snug of my erase cheek
It’s the only thing reminding me that I’m still alive in this limbo
As I watch my betrothed repeat another contradiction

“I thought you said you wanted plaid clothes?”
“Yeah but this particular number has a thicker collar
Which of course recontextualizes the entire thing
Changing it’s status in the flow of modern fashion
From something that obeys the current trends
To something you could infer satires and glorifies them
From an outsiders point of view”

I wish someone would recontextualize me
Changing my status from the flow of modern fashion
From something that obeys the current trends
To something you could infer satires and glorifies them
From an outsiders point of view
And by that I mean punch me in the face, slit my throat,
And burn the corpse via a holy ritual
So that even my ghost doesn’t have to endure this shopping spree any more

“We have many factors to consider young patron
If I were to make a transaction of funds
For which context sensitive scenarios
It would be appropriate to utilize the piece I have in front of me
But considering the possibility that next time at Jan’s
There could be a recreation of the seven plagues of Moses
Right in the middle of shropshire! COULD HAPPEN!
Then if that where to occur it would blend with the colour of the shoes
Unlike if I wore the same ones in Blue that I have at home”

I would moan, but I can’t say I was any better
Switching back and forth in the record store
Between the Record Store day 2012 exclusive single
With the version of the obscure B-side that came with Frosties boxes
That’s 12.4 seconds longer with a slightly different flute
Or the other super rare vinyl with the outtakes
Of hit 2013 radio single, which is just the singer humming the baseline
Clearly both treasures would come into my possession
But with a agonizing week long wait in between
A 40 minute session of deciding was very warranted
It’d of been 45 but I do have them both on mp3 so it’s fine
…I feel it was just, why did my companion look so annoyed?

As preformed by Domestic

– Lnc0

0 – The Fool (Draft 2)

Like a cup of a half filled luke-warm tea
Left to freeze, at the mercy of a breeze in a picture perfect winters setting
I am slowly losing the properties linked to my overall purpose
But it’s of no fault of a good for nothing tenant
Who’s jolted the mug from it’s coaster in the living room
And relocated behind the curtains of the study
But a day dreaming priss, too meek to shift his glacier stained feet
Left to drink the pisswater that is his cooled down tea

It’s an easy routine to play out on long weekdays
It’s the upbringing, the unemployment, It’s the undesirables
It’s the crippling depression holding the door shut
Metaphorically, theoretically, possibly, Definitely!
As you chuck another Chicago Town box across the room
But parentheticaly, you know none of that turned on the telly
And made you watch that Man Vs Food marathon
But oh, it was such an easy routine to fall back on
A routine well due for another run around
And after the tax on your nerves the week has sprung on you!

Your groans don’t bounce off much in an empty room
Nothing that could recontextualized the vibrations you sent out
Mush up what you insinuated, and lather up what they inferred
And send it back your way on the silver spoon express
Making sure to seal away the output of groans
Catching all the little things you don’t wanna hear on the bib
Until you’re full and numb and empty of any debilitation
The worst way to debilitate yourself in the first place

Poor wounded dippy soldier
There’s no need to cover the spoon marks on your skull
Poor-or, idioms, sympathetic, congratulated!
A lovely assortment of flavours and spices
To smear around your perception
Dulling and sweetening the few senses left functioning
To make your ingrained into the leather a fantastic experience
Watch the hours fly away like dance recitals and funerals
Turning even the slow deterioration of your lobs
Such as the Wright Show into something vaguely enjoyable

It’s a comfortable thing to rest on, puffy fluffly reassurance
It IS a comfortable thing, yes! Well done
But the floorboards are far more triumphant
I’m sick of the soft creamy taste of easy living
I miss the salt and the spit running from my face
As I bulldoze my heel into the stage at the cafe
Screeching to rise above the idle chatter,
They should’ve all enacting basic human interactions for you
The shrugs, disinterested looks, the bloodbath for relevancy
I mean the rudeness; THE GALL!
Inhaling and exhaling as a means to communicate aloud!
The kind of words I rely to you people now

Don’t let the nostalgic dreams of angry teens suede you
The ways I had to remind myself, I was alive where abhorrent
The tightening of the chocker, the fists behind your door
A reminder you could fuck up someone’s day
The dignified exits, parallel to the pining returns
A reminder you where something to objectify
Fuck that, I’m not a tool in anyone’s narrative
I’m something your damn near mortified to see lost
I’ll take that notion of shining like the brightest star
And melt all your faces off with all 27 million degrees of it

Now everything is changing
No footholding, No excuses, No handholding
No spare tenner for Pizza Hut
Just 65,825 ways to go about the plains before me
With an extra 154,529 methods of tripping it up
On the concrete, not like the turf from before
I guess I should face it all with a smirk
And get on with it

As preformed by Domestic

– Lnc0

The Lucky Mallet

Little kids can’t help be to lay in bed at night
And dream about getting their mits on the Lucky Mallet
After just one little bop on top of their heads
They’ll burst forth to an elevation like they’ve never imagined

“For now I’ll just keep you under the sheets Mr.Mallet
Getting giddy under the golden glow
Counting the days down like Christmas till I can bust you out
Then every inch will be my playground
The coffee, The smoke sticks, The fancy clothes
The stacks of gore digitized onto little CDs
Finally they’ll have to listen to what I say
I can’t wait for the ol’ tap tap tap”

But what a depressing little scenario to imagine
That given if this fictitious object came into fruition
They would bop bop bop without a moments hesitation
It just shows that from their little eyes
All the days out with the family down the beach
All the make believe games down the local wood
All the electronic art that’s been passed down as gifts
Doesn’t mean a damn thing to them

“They hold back features on a time-based-unlock
Not even giving me the courtesy of a synopsis
Just to get a few more years on the stall
The hours of experience they’ve earned on earth
Pushing trolleys and calling Sandra a bitch in the breakroom
The prefect justification to talk me down to a hush
Well when I get big I’m gonna show them all
With a bop on the ol’ noggin I’ll shut them up”

Could it be in an effort to glorify our actions
The 4 weeks grind to get the funds
To gather dime a dozen technology and architecture
That beautiful way we lie to ourselves
We’ve altered their viewpoints too?
Despite the fact that if it were any of us
And we got our hands on the Lucky Mallet
We’d bop bop bop and go back, without hesitation

As Preformed By Domestic

– Lnc0

Acting Submissive/Domineering With The Clubbers Of Colchester

You don’t have to yell at me so loud
Why’d you have to shriek at me so fucking loud?
I’m trying my hardest to have a good time and crack a smile
I’m trying my hardest to juice a bit of joy from this car wreck
But in the midst of this gaggle of boars
But in the midst of this murder of scavengers
The type that prey on the wandering fawns
The type that pick apart the scraps of poor lost lambs
Who have lost the sparkle in their eyes
Caked in petrol station cologne, it’s a sickening sight

I see you spread out in the back of the bar like a corpse
I wish I could obey the green lights at the racetrack
But I can’t find the heart to reach out and take it
You slump in your seat as if inviting me to do the same
I was born with more class then that love
And besides what exactly have you done to sell me on the act?

Oh and you make your disappointment in my discomfort known
All you’ve done is make your disappointment in my boredom known
If I had a penny for every time I was under criticism
If I had a penny for every time I came under criticism
Cos’ I didn’t know the way to be a real man
Cos’ I refused to fall in line for the male stereotype
I’d of ran for the taxi home to save you the embarrassment
I’d of brought you a taxi home, just to get you out of my sight

I wish I could tear your focus away from your phone screen
Trying to gather the scraps of a good night out
You shell out a drug lords daily paycheck
To sit your arses in the in the side of the club
Snapping evidence of having a good night out
To justify your empty wallet the next day
I just want to grab you by the wrist, and pull you up
Into the phantasm of the violet lights
And dance the dread away, loosen up them thighs
But oh my god I’m falling asleep
Run your hair inbewteen my fingers
And plant the sweetest embrace
But you’ve lost your willpower you just want to sink into the seats
I left my mothers womb 22 years ago to have fun
So why is it such a trail to get you on the dancefloor
Lets put them litres of booze in us to good use!

Oh please let me go!
Oh please let me free!
I can’t stand to see you like this any more
I can’t stand to put up with this any more
You fidget and squirm like a child in a push-chair
We just aren’t comfortable together it would seem
There’s more to life drinking and planting evidence for it
Get a hobby, get a life, get a fucking clue
I didn’t mean to be such a disappointment
I wish you weren’t such a disappointment
I didn’t mean to make you so sad
I wish you didn’t make me so mad
I didn’t mean to fail you as a man
I wish you’d just let me be myself, instead of a ‘man’
Maybe it’ll be better if I just went home
Maybe it’ll be better if you just fucked off?

As Preformed By Domestic

A Domestic re-write of two previous poems I wrote:
– http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/84960870662/acting-submissive-with-the-clubbers-of-colchester
– http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/84961086712/acting-domineering-with-the-clubbers-of-colchester

– Lnc0

Theivin’

I still remember the first job we ever did together
It was smack dap in the middle of May

We were gorging on the successes
Of telling our employers cleverly fabricated fables
Which told tales of the valiant bout of our immune systems
Succumbing to the intent of the flu invaders

We stopped by the local pub to relive the true illness
One that has taken captive of our warmth and affection
A 9 to 5 shift at the local call centre just to get by

The look of boredom on your face cut right through me
My promises of a 3-star Chinese takeaway
As a cuisine to the début of the new series of Big Brother
No longer lights any passion inside of you
As if possessed by your intent I got up from my stool
And grabbed a box of crisps from behind the bar and gave you a wink

The clang of the bells run through my spine
It brings my hairs to a rigid salute
It gives me shivers, charging every joint in my body
And a grin to my face, the first one I’ve felt in ages
As we dash to the nearest alleyway for refuge
Illuminated by the red and blue

It was never about the heist, It was never about the loot
It was that thrill of getting away with you
Slamming the front door behind us, so hard the frames shook
Slumping down the other end like the sweat on our brows
Pumping more oxygen through our bodies in a single day
Then we ever have in a year of back to back TV nights in
Eating the monster munch we stole from The Goat and Boot
Somehow made the X-factor finals more tolerable that night

And now here we are years later, sitting on Ikea summer deals
Keeping our obedient eyes on ITV around half 5
We might as well be dead as flies take hostage in our mouths
Oh hubby can’t it be as it was before?
The thrill of dodging a 3 month sentence
While toting a basket of paninis we won’t even eat

I hear your pleas loud and clear
As we fade away into the leather of our seats
So the next time we went on our monthly trail
A silent 20 minute torture down to the big Tescos
I’ll grab a box containing latest Furbbie toy from the shelf
And I’ll throw a wink your way to confirm your suspicions
And you’ll start to vibrate up and down with excitement
As we both start heading towards the door

I wouldn’t take a penny without you there
I wouldn’t scrump a crumb If your not around
It’s the only thing we had in common
It’s the only way to stop feeling so sullen

As Preformed By Domestic

– Lnc0

An Excuse Not To Try

As I take another sip of the local suds
While you sit me down at the back
And confess to me your packing some extra baggage
A Diagnosable mindset with a name you can’t pronounce
As you look at me with doom and gloom in your eyes

I can’t comprehend how I’m going to live the rest of my life
With this shadow looming over me at every corner
It won’t get better, it won’t go away, it can’t be cured
You can’t threaten to leave it’s milk out of the fridge till it moves out
My life is ruined with this monkey stuck to my back

But just Imagine if Mr. Organised succumbed to the same mindset
Threw that job application for Dreamworks into the shredder
And handed in his resignation from the local film college
Because he knew he had to live with himself forever
He’d stay awake at night, toss and turning as if he was in a grave
Because he knew somewhere in West Yorkshire
Some plebeian decided to order their The Who CD collection
By year of release but made a calculated error
They put “The Ultimate Collection” before “The Very Best Of The Who”
So what’s the point in dreaming or making something of yourself
Because he’ll always have that image of that crime scene of a shelf

Imagine if Mr. Acne succumbed to the same mindset
Smashed that CD-r with his demo tape on it
And broke the band up before their début charity gig
Cracked the fret of his guitar in two
And slowly unlearned all the songs he’s written
Because he knew he had to live with himself forever
He’d lock himself up and stare vacantly at the walls
Because he knows after everytime he smeared that cream on his face
The new prescription medicine that guarantees clear skin
It’ll just grow back during that brief period
Of running out of cream and going to the pharmacy
A grave 10 minutes of walking down to the local Boots
Not to mention them whole entire SECONDS
Of applying the stuff two the 4 spots that remain after a shower
So what’s the point in dreaming or making something of yourself
Because he’ll always have to check his face every now and then

Imagine if Mrs. Quavers succumbed to the same mindset
Burned up the 300 pages of her novel
Stopped going to her book club every month
Threw out all her favourite books into the ravine
Fed all her magazines to the dog
Got rid of every thing in the house that has words in it
Smoked everything in the house that has a story to it
Because she knew she had to live with herself forever
She’d stay home from work and pace through the halls
Because she knows no matter how she spends her time
Every 4 hours she’ll crave for another packet
She’ll have to endure the pain of filling out the stock report
While tasting the disappointing husk of saliva
Everytime she walks into the cafe at lunch break
With another packet instead of a Freddo bar
She’s never felt so ashamed in her life
And she’ll have to trudge back home in the rain
Because now she’s 40p short of getting a single home
So what’s the point in dreaming or making something of yourself
Because she’ll always be thinking of the next packet before lunch

You can throw extreme’s at me all you like
Slather them all in the sauce of your sarcy tone
But it doesn’t change the hand I’m stuck with
Your Skitzofinniky, I’m Boretistic, and Mrs. Johnson has a Peg Leg
Those extra percussions are no doubt an annoyance
And the way our labels are like Abra-Kadabra
They can turn you into a three legged puppy in peoples eyes
If life can stub a toe, our’s can break their legs

But when has that ever been an excuse not to try?

As Preformed By Domestic

– Lnc0

The Kids Don’t Know What The Fuck Love Is

What is this bottomless source of inspiration they call love?
Will it give me a reason to step out of the door in the morning
What is this immortal and uncontrollable desire they call love?
Will it make me finally clear the dust in these arteries?
What is this mythical force they call love?
Will it’s claw reach out and slap the knife from my throat?
What is this all knowing, all seeing entity they call love?
Will it stroke my hair and stop the late night sobbing?

They tell us not to worry, they tell us it’s not everything
Then they tell us to fucking consume by every square inch
Self-indulgent scriptures of bloated romantics
Acting like it’s as natural as wearing the shirt on your frame
And if you dare turn up to the social gathers on your own
Then you’re the outsider, the kid that got picked last in P.E
Arm in arms they give you the most detestable looks
Forcing you back like a laser beam back to the dungeon where you belong

Disingenuous sonnets shoved down my fucking ears every day
From deflated personalities, who have beam devoid of it long ago
Trying their hardest to recall a time a fallacy could serve as the fuse
I’d give anything to feel something so powerful
That’d it’ll reduce me to such a pathetic snivelling wreck
But I’d be thankful, because I was eroding on the floor with another

Would I stop feeling so lazy, if someone else was there egging me on?
Get your arse out of that chair you’ve got to keep my interest
Would I stop feeling so hollow, if someone else was there to make me react?
Unfasten my bra and I’ll bring this poor lost soul back to life
Would I stop feeling like I want to die, if someone else was there to stop me?
Oh honey you’re a god, you’re an Adonis, you’re anything you want me to say
Would I stop feeling like their’s no point, if someone else was there to give me context?
I’ll rip you open from your insides and give you subtext

You sit there from a top a makeshift stepladder and bark orders at me
To make a rough estimate for every aspect of my life from here on out
But when I can’t even begin to grasp this simple and yet universal concept
How could I even be sure of 1% of what could reach out and trip me up
Student loans, Career prospects, Mortgage, Kids college funds and Pensions
I can’t even get her to hold my hand before she leaves on the 61
Oh god what’s the point of trying, I’m lagging behind the crowd by 2 years
And now suddenly 80 years till my grave feels like it’s tomorrow

As preformed by Domestic

– Lnc0

Mutual Whatever

Kisses seal my letter of appreciation,
the timeless touch of blushing pilgrims,
passed down through the ages. Four full kisses you leant me,
after months of me trying to steal them.
I’ll try and hold onto this day
for as long as your kisses allow me to. 

I’m sorry but the kiss jumped out of me, 
trying to find a brief connection or a foothold for these feelings; 
it wasn’t an admittance but a substitution. 
My loneliness was an orbital pull and you were unlucky in your proximity. 
Don’t get me wrong, the gloss on your lips is honey, not vinegar, 
but I’m not a fly. 

Does a kiss mean nothing at all to you?
With her they were exchanges of dying embers, 
with you, like trying to ignite wet, weeping wood. 
Typical of you to provide lackluster ignition, 
and then blame the fuel. 
Atypical of you to get so hung up on what is just 
the meeting of flesh upon flesh and tongue upon cheek.

Goosebumps stood raised on my arm, 
ready to tell what you were too blind to see; 
my flesh was fuelled by the fantasies of what we could be.
Desperate indulgences feel real
when we’re only speaking with our lips. 

Can’t you just give my kisses back to me?
Fill those blank spaces in your memory,
cover my indiscretions with shared moments of a platonic nature.
I’m not ready for one action to define our relationship, my dear,
don’t throw us away on a kiss

As preformed by Domestic

– Francesniff

An Innocent Enquiry

168 hours feels just like a few minutes
Spent staring at the hieroglyphics on a plastered wall
Laying with the company of plates of unfinished dinners
Tea stains on the bed, sauce stains on my shirts
Seeing the opportunity to cleanse their karma
People came and went and recited lines
From a prepared scripted emulating admiration
That was never there back when the woman took in air

I was still clutching my hands to that old DS
Bruising of the D-Pad etched into my fingers
Still on the same save file as I was that week
I never averted my eyes from the display
I couldn’t bare the images of them carrying you out
To be scarred into my mind every time I look at the stairs
I couldn’t bare the thought of acknowledging this
As the world outside this screen, with the way things are

They wanted me to come back to the world of outside
But what wonders could possibly be out there now?
I hear the moans of the spoilt lobe stretched army
Caressing the creases of a spare 10 pound note
When the anniversaries of their mothers birth rolled around
They don’t know what it is they really have

I hear boring boys prepared to put there lives on the line
All for the vine, for the retweet, for the reblog
They want to make there families feel how I feel now
They don’t know what it is they’re really doing
I hear the cries of distressed souls bleeding from their hearts
Playing roulette with the choice of life or the choice of death
The kinds of choices people have taken out of their cold hands
They don’t know what it is they’re throwing away

Even when you came back to class
We couldn’t help but notice an absence
What happened to the boy we used to know?
Who was this corpse that now carries your name?
We asked why it was you never spoke anymore
We wondered why you weren’t as funny as you used to be
You couldn’t even muster the will to crack a smile
Let alone crack a joke

Only the few of us that had the nerve to gossip knew
While collecting scraps of the article you left behind
Oh we didn’t know what we were saying to you
What could we say to a boy like you?
You carried yourself between the corridors
Like you were being carried by the breeze
Your body may have been alongside us
But I don’t think you were ever really there

As Preformed By Domestic

– Lnc0