Friday, 18 January 2013


blacked out teeth and windows,
drawn near enough to tear,
closer then, nearly far too close,
breaking pieces off in puzzlement,
so damn frustratingly spectacular,
as the apples start to die,
rotting left out centrepieces,
the unavoidably blue sky,
that the tip of you will whisper to,
but it isn't nearly near enough,
with brokered deals with tired expressions,
you could have had a handfull,
you could have had a castle,
pretty white washed walls pretty white skinned princess,
clear crystalline water,
just dripping through your fingers,
passed by figures wearing mirrors,
you my son, you could have been,
you aught to of for certain,
but each day kicks you back reeling,
lip stick smears the window,
so disgusting how it taunts you,
non happenings that haunt you,
you ate broken glass and pulled through,
clinging to your catheter,
drowned in love and holy laughter,
drowned for real shortly there after.

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