Tag: spilled ink

GHOULCHESTER!

There’s no two ways around it tonight was their night
On the 31st all the creeps and ghouls
Hop on to the sixty-fear on head street
The one the mortals though was lost in the great crash of ‘87
It flashes the ticket to the headless driver and shuffles to the back
Colchesters cream of the crop are showing up for the festivities tonight
The whitest ghosts around the abandoned estate
The zombies who’s mothers could still recognize them
And it’s not feeling so assured after a glimpse of the company
Frankenstien assured it before it left, that he made a looker
Made from only the finest people that have died within the last year
The cheekbones and abs of the slickest men
The silky hair and the thighs of the most luscious of ladies
It just crossed what could be interpreted to be fingers
And hoped it’d slip into the background

All the skeletons are chatting their teeth to the jams
A mixtape of Nick Cave, The Cramps, Bauhaus
The mummies are showing off their new designer wraps
The wolf men are showing off the kind of guns
A huntsman could only hope to fight him with
While the harpies stroke his fine coat
Dropping feathers he snarls nothings in her ears
Meanwhile the Jiangshi’s saving face out the back
Complaining how the ableist scum inside friendzoned him
While the socially awkward swamp monsters
Pet the house chimera in the corner

She spots it’s hunched physique from across the room
The proceeds to say goodbye to her fellow Alraune on the wall
Introduces herself to the monster as Ssalucard
Classicly it fucks up the introduction
No matter how much it corrects itself
She’ll always know him as Frank-I-dillies monster

Their’s no way in hiding the fact that’s she’s keen
Although if it’s theories are reality remains to be seen
She smuggles into her vial of blood a shot of JD
Thus heightening the guarantee
She flashes her fangs after she takes a sip
The proceeds to play the janitor with her tongue

She grabs it’s arm and damn near pulls the stitches off
As Jack The Ripper by Screaming Lord Sutch starts to play
They brushed past the nymphs and the sprites
That where playing pranks on the dance floor
The will-o-wisp illuminate the dancefloor
Inbetween the Dybbuks and the Golems
They shimmied the floor into submission
While never taking their gaze of each other

They wondered outside of the club together
By this point the Wolfmen and Anubis
Are barking at eachother in the taxi queue
While the Mandrake girlfriends cry to split them up
Knowing when a party’s over
They head to the pumpkin patch

The vamptress lead it through the vegetation
Dodging the awkward Jack-O-Lanterns
Getting it on like they were blending with the environment
…They weren’t
They sat down underneath the Zaccoum
She takes it’s hand, runs her finger down the stitches
Looks into it’s eyes
“Hey, stay with me Frankie”

– Lnc0

The Wolfman

On the thigh of a moulding oak
In the throat of an urban forest
Christened “The Queens Palm” by visionaries years ago
With grand ideas of distributing the wealth
Of a 2 for £7.50 ciders amongst the poor
Is the setting of our tale tonight

With the dust of the bricks
Still creeping under her fingernails
A young woman clutches to the walls
All in the hopes of gaining some balance
As she’s forced out of the bar
Using the witchcraft known as atmosphere
The glamour which takes the form
Of the shitty stares from the pensioners
The Necromancer who warps into the shape
Of a long lost lover who’s cut off all ties; in just an evenings time

She winces and staggers ontop the tarmac
After giving the moon the most agonizing cry
She takes his 6 month anniversary gift
Snaps it from her neck and throws into the gutter
Followed very shortly but her lunch
She slumps into the monochrome fields
Leaving the tatty car park behind her
Wiping the disguise leaking down her cheeks
Injects a does of oxygen up her nostrils
And turns back to address the night sky

With the force of a culprit
Of a bruised chest and broken rib cage
His footsteps scar the very earth beneath him
His snarling shaking the excess from the trees
His teeth unable to damn the overflow
Of heightened expectations
As his next meal enters his yellow stained vision
His claws sink into the bark with excitement
Melting into the perspective of the trees
Hovering through the grassy fields
He’s been stalking this one for a while now
He knows once she’s gone, no one’s gonna miss her
As he creeps closer and ever closer
To the young woman pleading with the heavens
So close now, that her sobbing shakes his mane
So close, his breathing comes to the screeching halt
So close, he knows exactly how she’s going to taste
So close, he can’t stop thinking about it

The Wolfman strikes!

The saddest part was this all could’ve been avoided
While she was dragging her way to the back fields
She wasn’t alone, she passed by a few prying eyes
There was the old couple on their way home
That took one look at her booty shorts, and low cut top
And sneered her away from the main paths
There was the group of hooligan young boys
That decided to showcase their mothers lack of affection
By steering her off the alleyways with the team calling
There was the local student brigade
Hanging out in the car park, stiff as stone
As if her sight was based on movement
So next time you see a fellow human in need
A “Are you okay?” or a “How you doing?” couldn’t be amiss

Because you may just be talking to the Wolfman’s next victim

– 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

Milkshake

Milkshaaaake
The only way to start the day
A spike of vanilla on the Tuesday
A burst of strawberry on the following day
The hints of honeycomb in my molars
During Thursdays Crunchie special

Milkshaaaaaake
Me and the Bea and the Shake
Chillin’ on the park as the sun goes down
Looking into her mocha eyes, straw in mouth
Never wanting this moment to end
And when it does I’ll go back to Shake Away
Then I’ll get another one

Milkshaaaaaaaake
It’s always on my mind
Oh lawrdy now I’m craving
If I lay you down back at mine
And serve you up the triple pop
Will you give me your spare change
So I can afford a Baked Alaska?

Milshaaaaake
The only reason to live
Spread it on your cornflakes
Use it as your bathwater
Inject it into your medicine
Guzzle a litre on the pavement
No matter what happens
No matter what gets taken away
They can never take away your Milkshake
Smeared all over your mouth

– 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

The Description Of Fear

Under the generous visibility of the cracks in the curtains
And the beams of a malfunctioning laptop charger
Reality tags out of the ring and my imagination picks up the slack
The walls are bleeding residue from the folds of the plaster
The vacant spaces that exist within the confines of my furniture
All pull together to create a nocturne of creaks and moans
With each note hitting my spine with precision
The performance fills the bedroom which serves as an inspiration
Of monsters and assassins who have materialized in my space
I start seeing profiles in pile of washing up in the corner
I start seeing a full body portrait in the shadow of a mop
I start seeing my worst nightmares flash for a frame in my sight

Force shut them level 5 security kevlar lids all you want
I can find a way to pry my way through
Injecting my venom into every vein and crease I find
That creativity and imagination you pride yourself on
Will now be your ultimate undoing
You can never rid yourself of those piercing eyes
Oh my dear you can keep the DVD player on all night
But your just delaying my glorious decent
When your daddy’s out on the razz and your misses away
I will crawl down the wall where you rest your weary head
You’ll open your peepers when you feel my breath on your head
And when you see my grin you’ll know it’s far too late

I become aware of every millimetre of movement my body takes
I begin to fear each exhale is revealing my position to intruders
Just as I am rudely dragged back into the land of the conscious
A emulation of a human comes into my sight for a brief second
With her turned a full 180, as her 6 arms grip to my ceiling
She gives a grin and a stare while is locked right into my gaze
Seems to be aimed at worlds far away from mine
As if to play a cruel joke my mind conjures up a actresses deliver
And in an ungodly tone communicates with me

Your attempts to avoid thinking of me make me chuckle
It’s not just exclusive to the confines of this house
Everytime you hear me echoing down the alleyway
When you get a glimpse of my stare in an empty window
Your body will stiffen and the dread will start to grip you
Even the act of trying to relax to junk food T.V
Becomes the most stressful task, as your muscles tense up
As you sweat and shake with your back against the wall
And you succumb to madness and you scream at the sky
That’s when I’ll crawl from below and grab you from behind

As performed by Domestic

– Lnc0

Lolita

Melting in the claustrophobic household heat,
dripping between sanity and the sickness
of a man salivating over scuffed knees.
Middle aged monotone drawls bounce
around the house enthusiastically
piercing my brain and blowing them in.
Sagged, wrinkling, shiny, plucked;
ravaged by sun and smoke and
the constant comparison to your dolly girl.
I push down my disgust and force affection,
with great effort, just to stay near her.
Her name bounces down my tongue,
silently, over and over until I can forget
you’re there; as you say:

“Oh, honey, take me away from here,
and her. The fading decor of my
fading life needs revamping;
as I blend in with the gaudy wallpaper.
She can hide behind heart shaped
glasses but I see the way she looks
at you. Her smooth innocence slips
through your fingers as she stands
4 foot ten inches in her slip on’s.
But, my love, if you just lie with me
then we can live the suburban dream.”

I’m scratching at my skin and inspecting
the bits of me under my nails; if the
definition of insanity is doing things
over and over and expecting different
results then I’ve fallen into insanity
for you, mon amour. The woman tries
to pull you away from me but you remain;
light of my life, fire of my loins and the
sequel to my young love. When she
died, I sought a replica and you are
her doppelganger. Come into me
love, struggle out of her clutches
and into my arms. I always imagine
you’d say:

“Take me away from the monotony
of not feeling special; I need to
stretch my lithe limbs and curl them
around your neck. Drive the car
down the highway, blow dust in
my face and stow me away in a
sleazy motel. I won’t ever get
bored of these games we play;
I don’t know the rules but, please,
show me. I’m already broken,
what damage could you do?”

I’m melting,
stagnating,
wanting,
waiting.
It was love at first sight,
at last sight,
at ever and ever sight.
Most of the universe
is made of taboos and
inevitability.

And the rest is rust and stardust.

As performed by Domestic

– Francesniff

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

Birthday Poem (for Luke)

I can calculate how long you’ve been here,
in a multitude of ways. It comes out to:
22 years which is 264 months
which is 1144 weeks
which is 8,030 days
which is 192720 hours
which is 693,792,000 seconds.
But maths doesn’t do justice to the impact you’ve made.

The ink you’ve spilled, the words you’ve jotted,
the games you played, the music you gushed over,
the people you’ve loved and hated and been ambivalent towards,
the way your hair grows and curls, the tiny bit of green in your eyes,
your olive skin, big feet, long legs, creased hands and beating heart.
That’s what time is made of.

We’ve only known each other 3 months which,
in maths blind eyes, comes to: 13 weeks
which is 91 days
which is 2191 hours
which is 131,487 minutes
which is 7,884,000 seconds.
But it feels like infinity because what does time know?

The chats we’ve had, the words we’ve performed,
the strides we’ve made, the kisses we’ve shared,
the times we’ve loved and hated the sight of each other,
the way we lay and breathe and think together,
and a thousand other little moments that can’t be measured.
That’s what time is made of.

I can fit the time we’ve spent together into your life
88 times and into mine 72 times.
Maths has never been my strong point
so I’d rather stick to fitting you into my life
rather than puzzling trying to count on my fingers
until I’m all thumbs. We fit together like time flows
and we’ll ride the flow of time until we’ve exhausted
everything; we’ll pack provisions, a life raft and all
our previous experience so we can battle the tide.

I can calculate how long you’ve been here,
in a multitude of ways, but – in the most cliched way –
when it comes to calculating my love and appreciation
that’s mathematics no woman could ever do.

-Francesniff