fly on the wall birthday boy (withdrawls of great expectations)

wing torn, broken key

brass bent, bloated spleen

theres a parasite *inside like a bad habit

and that's (simply) problematic.

they told me blood binded us

and every action broke through,

a wider shadow blast, balm and blanket at last

least you feel compelled to invoke survivals guilt

acknowledge I volunteer my time but never my mind.

we speak of smiles because tracing spines is so very intimate

so don't tell a soul, write instead

sugarcoated to be tempered and tested by the sunlight

and be gone with the dawn dew and good intentions

like all frank conversations, not all emergencies deserve sirens

or so I recall without greater detail in the backyards of cranial

delusion, inperfect strokes of eyes firmly on the ground

boy, if you circle back you earned youself another try

if the Gospel carries a trace of happiness may it match your

(great) expectations grow weary but leather glows stranger still under heat

ridin' momentum, a rope sliced betrayed no one that can 

say otherwise:

is that lost in you? 

control;

under duress and great difficulty

rise in the bright light in delight,

do you understand or did you meant

to walk beside me as if shadow

it *(does) hurts a great deal

to run out of breath up that Hill

so as to make due the good word and meetup whoevers waiting on the other side,

a pair bonds underneath the same sky as you and I

and we do not need to swap places to earn our own,

just as space occupies and vacants interchangeably

or mayhaps I imagined an angel flew by and foretold me 

that no Cure is required for those whose bump on the Road

did not evolve into a great deal indeed

Closure does not wait, it arrives and remains bittersweet.

runners high

off tempo tipsy on schedule

heartbeats are meant to fluctuate,

gracefully; ranging and raging at odds

a bar scrape gone too far as the dizzy spells

ammend anxiety patch setup atop firm ground

a devil facade that humans are meant to be sorry

feuding drums disturbing buried bones, far from paradise

the distance very much physical and self-inflicted

running jolts transpire, understanding that both father and son

sleep fertilizing the garden obscured by pavement

and bloomed quiet truths separated by womb and words

that sought to be left not misunderstood, simply irreconcilable

the fruit fly dulls the tempers and feeds

irregardless of whims or silver screams.

potholes for lifelines but we pretend as we fall

that we are enjoying the rollercoaster, singing along

to the cast die and rumble discarded for another day

not quite having nowhere to go, peeking at grace and halos

not all those that are lost turn religious: somehow (somewhat) 

he said she said okay and that's enough (if you believe you see)

the knot unfolds swiftly by bearing weight (a saviour)

a snap sheds storys, a surrender from the lion stripped of pride 

limps wobbly and weary dreaming of what was once (a pretty home)

Sat in a garden

waiting to handover 

a pertinent state of gladness 

content and general lament, 

as if shifting sands fall just as free 

as what grief parallel bittersweet divides neither zero 

nor me for I am no longer youth meant to retaliate and resist 

nor yet old enough to regret and decay, poison to the dance floor. 

to regress into a shell of name, shame and tell 

is not a beautiful lie nor prison I shall walk into, 

willingly or freely 

a shared cigarette lingers on my clothes 

clinging dearly at the back of my throat 

what makes the heart swell and beat 

does it hurt better, do you want to hurt me better? 

a smoking gun is a signal that a case is soon to be 

closed just as the body has gone numb, blue and cold. 

 

to mediate is a mistake, making it out 

break away and keep it 

now, a name 

a burning sensation as a ghastly embrace 

moves through and past, 

in the walls you raised, turned upside down 

I wish, I miss the joy of turning back to match 

a gaze, a sensation, none hard(ship)  

always belong(ing) in the waves 

of every (single) goodbye. 

 

where I'm from, not by choice (mind!) 

April's fool coincides with the workers' rights day, 

for even the jester carves at granite, carves his craft and 

ditches the lifeline: to exhale (deeply)  

Banking in the length 

Capsized from corner to corner 

From spite to throwbacks 

Keeping afloat, hoping to say 

Just enough. 

A lovely dream, perceived 

Underground, in a bunker 

Having walked through the doors (not a barricade) 

Thoughts, mere whispers, just to lament what came to be 

Heads baked in sand, caked in mud, played for a fool 

It goes to sleep angry, stays terrified of a pole 

Spilled guts, confirmed to keep in touch  

Dial, break, embrace, taste 

In this charade the tyranny stains satisfaction 

Granite shatters in vain once age calls it quits 

I just hope it is not I dangling atop of a wall 

Awaiting to be swallow whole, deeply dissatisfied... 

_______________________________________________________

Sister got off the programme# 

Short of a revolution that ran its course 

Let us face the reveal of what was 

Unseen, in existential abandon 

To refuse the system and what’s in between 

Rule of tremor, if it can be loved (and filled) 

Then he can be emptied (pour one for her) 

A dagger misses the vitals and holds them 

In place, so-so oh so carefully charming you to sleep 

Invoking futile resistance for it burns inside-out yeah 

Taste of copper and desire invade the senses and mark 

My words it triggers dreams locked away, for we all got them 

Just as right as the convocation to nurture and circle You 

As your whole world implodes, we stand, then sit finally clap and leave 

I cannot wait to tell you:” I told you so.” For it burns and hurts, 

And good things are meant to be shared.