Thursday, December 10, 2009

The bins that crash in the night.

Impulses don't lie.
From drunk drivers to match sticks the coincidences cannot be denied.
Muffled voices.
I just know.
Pyrokinesis, burning the butterfly.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Home Again

And I just can't wait to get on the road again...
Fuck these bastards. Can't even pay the fucking rent.
A knife to your throat, how fast will you repent?
Stare at the ceiling
If only I could grasp this feeling..
Tick tock tick tock
Mental block
Train station dilemma
Can she get any thinner?
Race up these stairs as fast as you can
You can't catch me, I'm a pedophile, man
I'm feeling festive
And I'm not one to be arrested
House arrest
Drug intake control
And I'm still on the dole!
Tame those demons
But satan is still here
Right over in the corner with a bottle of clear-
Eyes, I am not surprised
The bong smashed on the pavement
I spent my entire center link payment
On hookers with aids
No time for a rubber
Fuck having a lover
7 days sober
This shit is almost over..

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Where Do Flies Rest At Night?

Hazy peripherals embark their way into my tunneled in vision. I'm looking at too much! Sober days and sleepless nights. Vision extends and adjusts with each passing drug free day. Going strong, going strong.

Gum tree days of dry air and red dirt. Star filled nights of icicle winds and silence. Was it wrong to think I could find myself in this ghost town 500ks into the middle of fucking no where? Sure beats trying to find myself in a lost city of lost souls and tradgedy. Out here people seem to find purpose in themselves and if not they create some. But I mean, these people, there is like 10, surely that cannot be counted as a statistic. And there goes the ramble.... Maybe this time away from the poison air of perth will assist me in growning some appreaciation for what I have at home. What is home, and, is it even my own? Suddenly I don't have all of the answers.

Traffic fumes and street lamps. Illeagle activities and undercover guessing games. Bong hits and lust. It all seems as though none of this occured. So now, the rugged earth crackles under my shoes as it is slowely baked by the sun. Until the sun takes it's nightly absence, leaving the moon to reverse it's work.

I watch the coils of my cigarette mist converse with the moonlight, while the stars keep me in good company. Sitting outside, it's hard not to get spooked with the mouths of delapadated tin sheds staring me down.

Open your fucking eyes to the beauty..

Tuesday, October 27, 2009


Paper flower, our adventure
Haunts my dreams
Empty spaces, the contrast of night and artificial light
Air appears so delicate
Openly escaping, denied to fresh lungs
We crawl through
Many passages, they lie beneath the ground
Misinterpret coded language
Upended staircases, find the door to exit the bright
Odd angles disorientate
Disassociate, to prevent knowledge of the date
The sky bleeds
As we, laugh atop a building twenty stories or more
While below us
Lonely pavement, begs for our company

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Hugs for Belle and no one else..

I sit on an imaginary throne of cloy. Growing contiguous with the ceiling. Composed of trickery, smoke and your insipid 'heart'. Seated so tall now, set upon tier after tier of grotesque displays, I behold the prosaic boy's mistake and although my throne is quite unfathomable in height, the depth is only relative to the rhythmical filth sloshing to and fro within the confines of your skull.

Sunday, October 11, 2009


The land is grey
the sky, a purple myth
Nobody breathes here
The trees are all rotten
The setting is silent
but no one would care
If you were to scream,
Bloody murder
They'll tell you to
Simply turn up the volume,
On your tv
Walking on broken bones and
Dirty fits
The truth is hard to deny
You only veiw it in
Little bits

The Sparrow caws the bitches name
Her eyes peak out from a surage drain
Covered in flies..
Her soul has died..

The land is grey
But so alone
There is no sky,
No vision to condone
The flame licks away
at it's green and brass fate
Brown paper bags are torn open
In an effort to exploit you
Cigarettes are lit
In such a way, to avoid conversation
These cheating twists knot the rope,
From the tree, so as not to admit
Two nights ago I let him have me!
These white picket fences don't quite reach
To where they should
We ran out of wood!
Ran out of care, (the paint got everywhere)

The Sparrow caws the bitches name
Her eyes peak out from a surage drain
Covered in flies..
Her soul has died..

Monday, September 21, 2009

Waiting for public transport to commence..

Is painfully fucking slow.

Role Reversal.

A single light bulb hung from the ceiling in the center of the room. It's dim white cast a circle of light a meter wide across her snowy skin, grey floor and battered chair. Snowy skin that perfectly contrasted against the rough black rope that bound her wrists behind the chair. If she ever gets out of here, they're going to know it was me. Her thighs were held open by thicker rope binding her ankles to the front legs of the chair, exposing her pale, shaven cunt. I gazed at her blindfolded eyes and stroked her long black hair. She whimpered and shook, fearing what her master had in store for her. The chair rattled and groaned as she began to sob.
" No! No.. please master.. don't hurt me again! I'm begging you! Please! Master!"
I gave her a swift slap to the face, feeling the moister of her tears against my fingers.
" Shhh dear, the fun is yet to begin! Don't wear yourself out."
I bent my head to better examine the scars covering her thighs. The scars I dealt her during the years of abuse. I stroked them tenderly and reached into my deep pocket with the other. It was almost as though she had a sixth sense, as soon as the silvery, curved knife left my pocket her shaking increased in intensity and her feeble attempts to break free became dramatically frantic. Oh yes, she knew what was coming, this nightly ritual of repetition. Of blade and flesh. Of blood and home made stitches. I rested the edge of the blade lightly against her thigh, ready to drag it across one last time before I disposed of her once and for all....

Greatest dream I ever had.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

These guys are doing it right:

Thursday, September 3, 2009


My ghost is lonely
All caught up in fright
Drink from the bottle
Whos whoredom has stuttered
Blood, bone and semen
All caught up in this ocean
Live wired dreams working in the real
Masks, smoke and mirrors
Begging to begin
Their trickery and longing
To debunk the plan
I knew it from the end

Inner demons fighting
To keep the devil at bay
But surely this is merely
A copy of a copy
A silly hex
Another day is red nothing
Rolling into the next

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Bubble, Pull, Choke.

The trees wither and rot
A baby is born into a river of snot
Swine flu and congealing blood
Soon the cities will all flood
People mill around for hours and hours
They don't know of my hidden powers
I darken my heart and blacken my soul
As I direct a car into a metal pole
The metal screeches and wheels turn
I laugh manically as the family burns
I rise into the sky and let out a squeal
I dive into a hooker and cop a feel
She screams, she cries, she runs
But it's too late, I've got a gun
The safety clicks
The bitch shits bricks
I shoot her in the cunt
And stub out my blunt
Without a second thought
I continue to walk
Along a dark street sprayed with pale
I steal a boat
By cutting some cunts throat
Then proceed to set sail

Monday, August 10, 2009

Super Mega Bong Time.

You know when you feel like you're floating and the room is spinning?
I love this.

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Stab Wound Orgasm.

The flowers are forever sodden
The heart forever stained
The blade is never sharp enough
To over ride the pain

From autumn days
To winter clouds so grey
For this spark of hope
I would have to fucking pay

There is a price
Of high ideals and looking nice
I hope you choke you fucking cunt
You will never possess anything that I want

Feeling ill, living in dirt
Stumbling through a concrete hell
Time spent protected from the hurt
Just keeps me from getting well

False emotions inside hollow heads
Remind me of dead flowers in a garden bed
It's a story told over
A life wasted is a life spent sober

The mirror is shattered
The illusion is broken
The kiss is meaningless
No truth is ever spoken

Monday, August 3, 2009

We Wont Relaxe Our Axe

So, Sinead and I accidentally wrote a song:

Fuckin' relaxe or I'll axe you wit mah axe,
Yeah dawgggg we aint frontin for no frills
Sit the fuck down or therez an axe in ya grill
Ya blood be spilled

Axe. Hate. In ya tooth ache, axe you in tha tooth,
theres ya proof, dont relaxe the axe, blood spillin,
mah axe be chillin,

Axe in my hand, bitches at da stand.
Relaxein' or not, i'll be axein ya tooth rot.

You guys think we will succeed? : D

Sunday, August 2, 2009


So right, August 3rd 2008. What were you doing on this day?
I bet you can't recall. Uh huh, you can't.

I was spaced out on benzos in some bullshit white room. Marijuana induced paranoia. Bat shit paranoid of death I tells you.

Alright. Okay.

So, a few months ago, I don't even remember how many, I started smoking this godly substance again. Everyday, every night and oh sweet Jesus it felt good.

The catch is, smoking all this pot is making me bitch out again. So, as of today I am quitting all over again. I have spent today and tonight sober. It just seems to fit. I felt like announcing this to you all. Wish me luck.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Cathy Roe.

I walk through the city, not another soul in sight. Abandoned windows stare at me with an intensity that appears hungry and hollow. It flows like water no longer, it catches, stumbles. The stars are empty, glaring at me. The bell tolls it's sad tale and I wonder if anybody sees what I see, notices the grains in the brick or the tears in the tortured old man's eyes. A negative perception.
Are the stars meant to shine with meaning? Every flower glow with life? Strangers smiles fill me with joy?
I love my Grandma like a best friend.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Too bad.

Loop the knot,
secure the hold.
Pierce the skin, it is the end,
of control.
Tear the flesh;
turn it on.
Blood every where,
Oh the commotion;
You and I
all over my bed.

Such a sad story,
The horror of the morning.

Friday, July 3, 2009

Lover I don't have to love.

I picked you out of a crowd and talked to you
I said I liked your shoes
You said, "Thanks, can I follow you?"
So it's up the stairs and out of view
No prying eyes
I poured some wine
I asked your name, you asked the time

Now it's two o'clock
The club is closed
We're up the block
Your hands on me; Pressing hard against your jeans
Your tongue in my mouth, trying to keep the words from coming out
You didn't care to know who else may have been you before

I want a lover I don't have to love
I want a girl who's too sad to give a fuck
Where's the kid with the chemicals?
I thought he said to meet him here but I'm not sure
I've got the money if you've got the time
You said it feels good
I said, "I'll give it a try."

Then my mind went dark
We both forgot where your car was parked
Let's just take the train
I'll meet up with the band in the morning

Bad actors with bad habits
Some sad singers they just play tragic
And the phone's ringing and the van's leaving
Let's just keep touching; let's just keep... keep singing...

I want a lover I don't have to love
I want a boy who's so drunk he doesn't talk
Where's the kid with the chemicals?
I've got a hunger and I can't seem to get full
I need some meaning I can memorize
The kind I have always seems to slip my mind

But you, but you...

You write such pretty words
But life's no storybook
Love's an excuse to get hurt
And to hurt.
Do you like to hurt?
I do, I do..

But, you can dream.

Reality, ( a dying breed )
ebbing, falling, ceasing.
a thousand vibrations,
a million less ( or more )
Ignorance, falling through;
/the leaves/
A thousand vibrations ( as the pebble breaths)
Streets of empty energy, surge through me
( like the ocean )
Trains of man,
You are almost,
speaking the dream.
The taste of;
( the old man's despair )
you must pay the fare.

Monday, June 29, 2009

For What It's Worth.

The seconds tick by and I am struck to wonder if I ever existed. I think you have all forgotten or much worse, given up.

How can I fill a page you will never read?
How can you exist if I will never see?
How can you make a promise I will inevitably break?
How can I love you when my insides are cold and fake?

I can't.

It seems everyone's houses are crumbling.
The storm is devouring cement, blood and bone.
Breaking branches from trees and flooding the ark.
Paper flowers sodden and cotton wings rendered useless.
The purple clouds enabling the water works for ever more.
An exchange of words,
An exchange of disease;
There isn't much difference these days.

Wait for the break in the looming clouds.
Water will return to the oceans and
Sun shine will crack the sky.
Dry your wings in the beautiful light.
Spiral on air until you find a better life.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Good Fortune.

" We are going to pick it up, meet us in one hour."

So, we went to the bottle shop to pick up some booze. Got some food. Went to the trainstation. Went five stops down and departed from the train.

Waiting.. Waiting..

I listen to my iPod for a while and get bored. I decied to crack a drink.

Within 10 minutes they rock up and we get a lift to the party.
We arrive and I am very doubtful on my chances of having a good night. The people at this 'party' are all incredibly derro looking.

They wern't half bad.

Time drags on.. and so do the drinks.. It is now 2:00 am and I have no phone, a fist full of silvers, one can of bourbon and no way to get home. Everyone is passed out and I am unable to find a pay phone. So the journey begins..

The air is ice cold and I'm breathing frost. It feels so damn fine to walk in the night. Paranoid at first, weary of the raised voices in the distance, the barking of dogs. Still walking. After walking for around 15 minutes and failing to find any familiar streets I find a couple, passionately kissing against a wall. I walk up to them, apoligize and ask if they know where the train station is. They tell me they are looking for it too and I should come with them.

Walking with them is fun and they are very intoxicated. They both fall over a few times. They ask me a lot of questions about my life (it is a long walk) and out of no where, the man hands me $25.

I get to the train station and I have missed the last train. All of the pay phones are busted. I seem to be trapped here, but I get an awsome idea to use the train gards phone to get picked up.

Over all it was a great night and a fun adventure.

1. Go to party.
2. Drinks.
3. Walk home.
4. Random drunk people.
5. ???????

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Cult Status. Pt 1

Strips of flesh hang from rusty hooks in the shed out back. I stand in the hallway. Taking in the smell of stale sex and metallic blood. The site of an array of sharp objects, thread bare carpet and walls in need of a paint job or two suit the site of her cadaver in the corner perfectly.

Legs spread. Mutilated labia. Her clitorous lays feet from her on the carpet, like an over cooked pink pea on the ground. Face turned way too far towards the wall for it to be healthy. The sounds of movement from the next room stir me from my thoughts and I turn away, slightly aroused. Stroking my hand down the damp wall I feel a light switch and flick it.

" Hey, Jonesy, you there man?"
" Yeah.. urgh.. ahhh.." I hear a reply through the wall. I take three steps up the hall, close enough to touch her.. and enter the living room. The room isn't very well lit by five candels in the center. Light flickers across everything in the room, giving a slight strobe light effect. I look towards the grunts and see a small, ghoulish man with blue hair. I clear my throat and he stands up abruptly. Leaving the unconscious girl he was furiously fucking. Is she still breathing..? It is too dark to tell. Jonsey begins to walk over. He looks a sight. Naked. His large, erect cock sticking straight out and covered in dry blood and semen.

" What have you done to yourself? Jesus Christ.." I say as he pulls on some torn denim jeans and a pair of boots.
" Nuffin' man, nuffin'. I'm fine. C'mon I'll show ya the stuff I picked up for ya. It's in the shed." We walk out of the room after he pauses to give the girl a thoughtful kick in the head.

Too be continued..

Tuesday, June 2, 2009


And the night is spent.
Spent listening to music, smoking cigarettes and inwardly reflecting. Inwardly reflecting until I can't even look at myself in the mirror anymore.

Consult the dents in the varnish for advice.

Grey sky. Blue clouds. Black heart. Exitland on Earth and a peice of my existance left behind.

Orange lighter. Transparent key chain. Red button. See through the white text. To the transparent key chain. Pass that to the dented varnish. Through the varnish, to the grain of the wood.

Silly girl.
Sharp object.
Through the skin to the fat. Through the fat to the muscle. Through the muscle to the bone. It cuts from the bone to marrow.

Today is worth hating for.
Or is it worth anything at all?

Monday, June 1, 2009

Death Bloomed.

When I lost my Black Obsidian I started to feel strange. I didn't think anything of it but as time passed I started feeling stranger and stranger. The shadows seemed darker. The rediculous suggestions of aliens and angry spirits seemed more and more believable. The beat hammering through me was just making it worse. Pure anxiety and paranoia. Unable to escape from these feelings with my Dad totalled in the tent on lsd and pot.

I felt so alone. Everyone I spoke to seemed to be on a totally different level. The feeling was pure disconection. After a few hours of this and the bad vibes getting stronger I decieded to sit by my fire. Building it. Building it. Watching it start to die down and then building it some more. This process continued until the sun rose. Just as pink started to line the sky I began to have deep realisations of existance. Realisations that I cannot express.

The sun rose enough to see very well I saw a field. This field looked very pretty from where I was standing. So miss Conflicted, Experience and I decieded to go take a look. They were still tripping. By this point I was dead sober.

We walked down the slope and reached a small barbed wire fence. Miss Conflicted went over first. The hairs on the back of my neck were already standing up. It was my turn to go over. I really didn't want to but at the same time I felt as though I had to. It was then Experience's turn to get over the fence. She climbed over and we started walking. She then started backing away and wanted to get back to the doof. I guess she could sense the bad vibes too. But we convinced her to stay. I started to feel incredibly animal. This weird primative feeling. Like I could smell fear and sense danger and this really fucked up dark feeling beyond anything I had ever felt.

Miss Conflicted and I started running through this field, zig zagging, laughing, bumping into each other. It was all smiles. Smiles of insanity, we should not have been there. We where some what crazed. Pulled our selves together and kept walking. We saw this fluffy thing a little in the distance. I walked up to it and saw what it was. The corspe of a mutilated white rabbit. Only then did I realise that we were walking over mountains of shit. Everywhere I looked, shit covered the ground. Shit.. and hundreds of little dead animal bodies?

We kept walking on. The vibes just getting worse and worse. We reached the second fence and climbed over. I walked 10 steps at most before I felt certain that if I continued I would die. I saw something.. moving.. in the distance. So I turned and ran. I didn't look back until I was over the first fence, even then it was a look of fear.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Lava lamp malfunction.

I lit this cigarette. Now I have 10 left. That is excatly half. Does that happen to mean I am half way through what it was I was doing?
I don't know. Anymore.
Aparently it is time to go back to 4H. Let them pump me full of all kinds of wonderful brain poison.

You see, they don't understand The Blue or Exitland or the castle with the ocean and grass or my nimbus cloud made of bread that is prone to breakage.
See, here, when you strangle someone there, their throat has the consistency of playdough.
So soft and precious. But see, when you fucking snap it, there is no fucking snap, it's just this sloppy sound of the skin-dough hitting the grass.
Shine on. Sleep on. Shine forever in this sleep.


To scale size of my finger. Stop shrinking.
This feeling is deep set. I am awake in my dreams. I am fucking lucid.

How many more times can it be tarnished before it will never shine again?
In there, they wont understand. They don't know how to shine. Blood stained, tarnished and orange, lying on my floor. It would be better if it was made of grass or bricks.

Put it to your mouth, tear off the end with your teeth, see, it tears off just fine and neat if you bite it on the perferated line. Sparks fly from the flint and metal. Now, suck.
9 left. 9 out of 10. 10 out of 20. 20 from a thin card board box. The box that cost you $9.43. Those cheap fucks round it to $9.45 because aparently every cent counts in this crisis.

Back to 4h where they wont let me have my box or my fix.
9 left.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

455 stresses per serve.

I watch it desintegrate and decay. I watch myself in the mirror as I pull off this skin, this mask. Shred it up with a cheese grater. Never again will I "dable in the scenery", as I like to call it. It caused me to forget why I am here. I am not here to please some christian, fake, scene, player bitch in skinny leg jeans and a fringe used to hide the ugly truth. I am not here to be changed. I am here to change the fucking world.

This world..
I sit on the train every night and I look at Perth's population under an ugly yellow light. I watch people's hands. Their facial expressions. The thousands of hours behind their frequently more hollow eyes. Funny how the ones with the deepest frowns are usually the ones with a ring on their left hand.

The beings on the train stare straight through each other. Being in such a close vercinity to them all fills me with pan awful feeling. For me, catching the train is like visiting a friend in the psych ward. It's horrible to see but you still feel as though you have to. I can't help but read into their lives, look into their eyes and see how much they have seen, how much they hurt. I want to help but, would they listen to me? No..
Empathy turns to disgust and I feel it is time to start hacking blindly with a machete.

This world isn't happy. Or maybe it's just me.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

We stare at broken clocks, the hands don't turn anymore.

It is a strange and tainted morning. My face is still swollen and sore from the unknown cause of impact. Most likely a fist. I feel as if I have fallen down a flight of stairs or two. The soft morning light turns to a harsh overload of uv rays to remind me I have to hurry. Have to get ready. Have to leave my house for another pointless day of social interaction.

This roads leads to emptyness and nothing more than that.

I wait.

Now it is nothing more than a cold, surreal night.

Time stands still and I stand alone. Alone in our garden, filled with roses growing through the branches of hollow trees. The garden with the pool. That pretty pool with the leaves floating on the water. The sun wont rise and it wont set either. Nothing could put the solar system back the way it was suppost to work. When time fails to separate events, time fails to exist at all.
I fail to exist.

Monday, May 4, 2009

The weekend that mutilated my mind.

It's an autumn evening and I find myself filled with empty dreams.
Drifting through a sea nothing so are we even drifting at all? Drifting or standing still, still in a still time.
Head down ready to work at your brand new school desk,
Or, face down ready to fuck on your brand new bed.
We are in a state of repetition, people.
Every moment that has previously been experienced only exists within your mind.
I'm not real unless you're in my bed, isn't that right Mr.24?
Oh and yes, I did sabotage it.

"I love you

So much"

Fuck off and die.
Fuck off and die.
Fuck off and die.

I wish I never stumbled across your path at 4am that fucking disgusting night but there would be a part of me missing if I never did.

Okay, so it all starts with this flower right, back when I hated kids like you, the ones that hung around the city, with tight red jeans and multi-coloured hair. So I'm standing alone, speaking down the line of a pay phone in the mall and I noticed you out the corner of my eye. I had never seen you before.. You gave me a flower. You smilled at me and gave me a pretty little white flower. When was this, January, Febuary? I don't know. Some where around this time.

So about a month ago, I was all set for a big night out. Money, phone, cigarettes ect. We went to the liquor store and purchased a fuck ton of booze. On our way to a friends apartment in Northbridge we were aproached by Lebs, trying to role us of corse. We tell them to chill the fuck out and keep walking. After some time we are finally there.

Everyone is all fucked up and I start drinking like a fish. This is where my memory starts to become massivly impared. I step out into the stair well and there they are smoking pot. So I did the stupidest thing I could have done, have a few fucking cones. After this I remember falling down some stairs and breaking my finger. The pain didn't last long. I then remember walking past some cops trying not to stumble too much, they didn't give me a second glance.

I breifly remember jumping some fence behind a night club and falling on the ground, I was approached by four people, asking if I was okay. Oh and I was better than okay, I was fucking brilliant.


I am in a car park drinking beer with some ravers, I remember seeing all of their flashy clothes.


I realise I have lost my cigarettes.


I am out side of a 24 hour Mcdonalds at god knows what time. This guy. I have seen him before tells me I should go with him. I say no as I fall on the floor. He leaves me alone. Then, someone scares the shit out of me and I decide to go down the mall. The guy from before runs up and grabs me, he knows my name. I do not know his name. Filthy scum. He grabs my arm and starts pulling me down the street.
" Where are we going?"
" Don't worry."
" I don't want to go."
" Yes you do."
" Please.."
But that was all I could do, I was too out of it to stop myself being dragged. We walked for what seemed like an eternity and I remember pissing agaisnt a wall on the side of some road.
Next thing I see is a big fence with barberd wire, he pulls at a gap in the fence and informs me that I need to shut the fuck up and climb in, I obey. I don't know why I obeyed..
We walk along some gravel and I fall over, hard. He rips me up off the ground and tells me to be verry quiet. He pulls away a grill from a wall and tells me to climb through, I didn't want to but I did it anyway. It wasn't untill I was inside that I realised where I was. I was in a fucking squat.
I start to cry and he holds his hand over my mouth.
" Shut the fuck up."
I am flung onto a filthy mattress covered in grime. It smells terrible in here.
This is where my memory gets extra hazey.
He put himself inside me..
I felt so sick. I stoped crying. Stoped breathing.
" Stop."
" Stop."




I am crawling through the tunnel and flying through the fence as fast as I can. I cut my arms on the fence.
I have reached an empty massive train station. I swear it went for miles. I dream about this place, so quiet and dark and empty.
I am the only person here. Of corse there are no trains, it's three am. I decide to walk down the train tracks. Finaly after what felt like hours I can see the city. I remember scaling the barbed wire fence and cutting myself on that too.


For some reason I walked right past the city and ended up at McIver train station. So I walked back in the direction of the city. I walked passed these crazed drunk aboriginal women and I pretended to be black and it worked. ( Hey, I was pretty fucked.)

On my way back to the center of the city I started sobbing but no tears would come out. I craved a cigarette so badly.

I stand outside 24hour maccas and start trying to scab smokes. I look at my clothes, they are torn to shreds.
I see two young guys walking down the street, so I decided to ask them when they walked past.
He said no and kept walking. Then he turned around and we recognised each other. He was the boy who gave me a flower so long ago. He gave me a smoke and we got chatting.
I breifly remember the taxi. I got in the taxi because I no longer cared what happened to my body, but thankfuly nothing more did.
The house was nice.
He saved me. Oh how he fucking saved me.

Mr.24 how you confuse me.
I can't even sleep in my bed anymore. You were there only nights ago.

I havn't had a night so intense since, nor have I been out at night. I havn't gone into many of the details but it was nessasary to write this anyway.

Saturday, May 2, 2009


I feel like I've eaten 10 great pills every time I leave the house.

Nothing can stop this, it's just like the old days again. The days when I were happy are no longer a memory. Happy once again but of my own accord. I sit here having my morning coffee and charcoal filterd cigarette wearing a smile. I havn't slept but who cares?! I'm fucking happy so fuck you.

Sweet non-medicated happiness.
Sunrises look better when veiwed without glazed eyes.

I ran around laughing and yelling. I couldn't stop slapping my hands around. I couldn't stop talking. I am feeling dandy fucking fine.



Friday, April 24, 2009

Going Sober.

It is the morning of the 5th day and I havn't been sleeping much at all. But I think I am doing great. This a strange place as I lie on my bed next to you, watching my fan turn, listening to you mutter contently in your sleep. I question what beauty you dream of.

It's getting bareable. It's getting worse. I'm getting hot. I'm getting cold. Every emotion doesn't fail to hit me, but it hits with a stale blow. Like it's already been felt a thousand times before. Like a toy that has long lost it's novelty. Picking at the skin of my thumb as I ponder many thoughts I can't help but wonder if someone is watching me through the slits in my blinds.

I can walk a little better today. I only need one crutch instead of two because I am now able to put pressure on the side of my foot. This keeps my spirits high in the hopes of leaving the house in the next couple of days. This also lets me know it's time to test my will in resisting the drink of poor taste. It wont be much of a test because I already know the result. I will suceed.

This room has become my santiary and my own personal hell. It makes me feel protected and unreachable but it also provokes feelings of isolation and paranoia. But I need to be here. I need time to reflect. But this room, this house, it makes me notice things I'd rather happily ignore. They haved turned into zombies. Slaves to the pot. A slave to the 12 hour shifts she needs to keep their habbit thriving. He doesn't leave the house. He doesn't talk unless he is mumbling rubbish or explaining to my Mother how he disaproves of me as a person and how he wants me to move out. I can predict every movement, every move, every assumtion they make. Or maybe they're not even real. Maybe I live alone. Am I real? Am I dreaming?

I am doing good these days. I can think a lot clearer and as you can see, I'm writing again. 5th day sober is going to be a treat, Ms. Conflicted is coming to visit this afternoon. I hope the joy she bring wont feel stale. Stale like bread, not quite fresh enough to eat without toasting it but not past the point of comftable consumtion, it's not mouldy.

The fan appears to be spinning slower. Like a snail crawling across my ceiling. Your snores are deeper now, but you just woke up crying and I had to hold you until you fell into some kind of sleep. I don't mind though, because it's all I can do to help. You're ill too. Back at the keyboard I peel the skin off my lips and I wonder what my computer thinks of me. I wonder what will have become of my life by the end of this year. I wonder what my age will be when I die. It is predetermened so there has to be a way to find out when we die and well, everything.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Cabernet Merlot.

Her lips taste like plastic explosives,
With her eyes smelling of death,

I do not dream.

" All of you are so dearly lovely!"

" I would love to kiss you all!"

Squares of letters.
White letters!
Black squares?!
My god, you are so hard to read!

A blank rectangle..
An arrow on which I love to flip lines.
Squares of letters on which I love to express.

The cylinder falls victim to my mouth.
Falling in volume, it seems to scream to be emptied.

The cardboard, it contains the others..
The pretty white cylinders..
" Burn them, burn them!"

The pretty ones get jealous as I hold the cylinder to my mouth.
" You must.. consume.. them.. ALL!"

The shapeless hit my ears.
To my pleasure.

Fill me from the outside in with the shapeless, the smokable and the drinkable..
Yeah mother fucker..

Yeah.. I've been drinking.. hehehe.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009


Look at you.
Golden perfection.
Silence is golden, but, tape is silver.
Rape is momentary, but, memory is forever.

Constrict her breathing, a chloroform dream.
Did we really kill her, that night of Halloween?
Black market, the organ trade.
Be afraid baby, be very afraid.
Oh sweet, abdomen dwelling spleen,
Did we really decapitate her, just for a hit of morphine?

Fuck her body, but,
Rape her mind.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Submissive by trade.

Drag the carcass along the dirt.
Yeah slut get down on your knees.
You are a dirty, dirty girl.
Foul bitch, you make me sick.

I slap your face until you scream,
I tweak your nipples until they bleed,
You love it,
It makes you sick.

Dirty gravel on an even dirtier moral ground,
Ingrained into my genetics like dirt in my pores.

" Fuck yeah, like that. Tell me you like it. You are a fucking dirty little girl."

Don't touch me.
Drag the carcass along the dirt.
Do with it what you will. It's dead isn't it?
She is so dead. Look at her yellowing eyes.

Fucking her with a knife, oh yeah, she screams so nice,
She flinches at the touch but loves it all the same.
Nothing, not the drugs, not the booze,
Nothing could hide her shame.

She is a shell.
Yeah, it's okay, it's all alright, she doesn't care, she doesn't care..

Staring at my keyboard with a blank expression.
Constantly fiddling, twitching, shaking, chewing, smoking.
I know you feel it too..

Monday, March 16, 2009

We draw at noon.

So empty, emptier than something that's empty or some shit like that.
I fucking hate it all. I will never forget;
" You have to look after yourself in this world, because no one else will."
Every day it becomes more apparent.

You can't pretend to care forever, unless you are a Christian asshole.

Fuck, I could go a huge healthy sack of goon right now.

I can't sleep at night. I feel this weird sick feeling all the time. I go days to weeks without sleep.
I guess I am just drifting, wasting time, waiting. Forever waiting. Who will make the first move?
This is a standoff. We are Mexican cowboys. Except I don't have a fucking gun for this round. All I hold is shit load of violence. Intense violence. Violence against YOU.

I guess I am just drifting, wasting time, waiting. Forever waiting for something dramatic, life changing even. Waiting for one event or a chain of related events to do or change something.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

I'm walking on sunshine.. whooaoooh.

Don't let me fall any further than this, this, this has to be it.
I can taste the failure. I can fucking taste it in the kiss.
It's 3:18,
My mouth tastes like the corpse of every pregnant teen.

Hollow streets on an even emptier night,
Your presence is poison, I'm addicted and NOTHING IS ALRIGHT.





Sunday, March 8, 2009

There is an exit here.

Fly to the land of dreams and nightmares.

Smile brightly as a score of dogs take hold of all four of your limbs with their cannibal fangs, ripping you apart. Smile as you get into the wrong car and become separated from the one you love. Smile as you climb into your favorite person's back yard and discover it isn't a yard at all, but a field. Smile while in your dream you realize you are straight. Smile as the four of them enchant you. Smile as you run from the cops outside a medieval castle. Smile while you kill your family and regret it.

There is no solace in sleep.

Smile because it is all you can do weather you are dreaming or not. Smile for the ones worse off than you and laugh for the ones fucking you over.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

It happened.. AGAIN.

The warm fuzzy feeling inside, the great goofy happiness, the fucking idiotic behavior that doesn't seem to matter at the time because you are too fucked off your fucking face. It was dirty, messy, dangerous, something to be ashamed of, and it definetly WASN'T beautiful. In more sober moments, I have no idea how much later it was, could of been minuets, hours, days? I tried to gain some comfort.

Again the cigarettes led me to you, and a bit of confusion and a bit of sadness and a bit of comfort. In that scene, there actually was beauty. You looked, so pale.. with messy hair and your pretty eyes.. the soft morning light being so complementary. Sitting at the wooden table outside. You asked me if I was okay, I lied to you so you wouldn't worry. And when the cigarette was stubbed out, when we embraced and you kissed my shoulder, you left.

I pulled my hood over my eyes and some kind of liquid was leaking from them.

You have no idea. Maybe you do. It doesn't matter, but I have no intention of telling you anytime soon.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

"Uplifting Refreshment"

I was sitting there, alone. The grass was slightly cooling against my skin. The booms of track 1 on my walkmen made for a high heart rate and anticipation as I rolled up my sleeve and pulled my tool of expression from my bag. Just like the night before, but not as satisfying, the sickness seeped away a little, but the relief was not as great. Just settling into my light trance, I saw them coming, the group. I looked at my walkmen and track 3 had started. Wow, has it been that long already?
I walked up to the group shaking, trying to hide my shame. I grabbed Her and pulled her aside. We spoke words of trust and I told her what was going on, so she let me go, to the other side of the park.
I took a seat, making sure not to cut my self on the broken glass that littered the spot which I chose to sit. Yet again I pulled up my sleeve and took out my pretty little tool of expression. The bite was just so exquisite, so beautiful, so relieving, so sickening, so sexual all in one. I sat there and watched the river run down my tool for what seemed to be a few moments. The tranquil booming of my headphones came back to me at the same moment I saw a movement in the corner of my eye. So much anger, shame and anxiety shot threw me as I jumped about a foot in the air, who dared to break such a deep trance?!
Thank fuck, it was only her. It was such a beautiful moment. She just sat and we conversed over my river. It marked the end to my little trance. I got up and was taken aback by the beauty and long awaited dimentions I now noticed. So shaky on my feet. This distraction from anxiety and frustration was great.
So beautiful, ecstatic and destroyed all in one.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Do not drink the sickness within.

The event caused black sludge to drizzle down my swollen wind pipe, seep slowly into the cancer of my lungs and start to choke my words of unimportance. Self disgust, self disgust, self disgust; at my actions. The feeling, it tends to fluctuate. I will feel 'urghhh' then I will be feeling fine. I am guessing the changes are caused by the situation I am in.
Just what you did?
What is wrong with me? I just want to scream. I feel so stuck, so God damned confused. Automatic thoughts of life and death just further the confusion. Can't stop thinking thoughts that would send a saint crazy. The pathways in my brain intertwine to create a heavy head of nonsense.
I carved your name into my chest today..
Don't even bother to drink the sickness. It'll just keep bleeding out. Today I realized I can't keep sweeping everything under the carpet with alcohol, because and I am sure everyone could agree, it just leads to more things needing to be swept under.
The need for nicotine increases as all comfort betrays. Strictly because every inhalation of the smoke reminds me of the name carved within my chest, never does the cigarette fail to poison my mind not to mention my grateful lungs.

Thursday, February 19, 2009


Indifference. The one that plays hard and thinks ahead, looses. Plans disrupt and fall apart. They fall apart much like the mechanisms of my thoughts. The receptors clog with substance.

What are these questions? They say they're normal. Don't question me, question why it is that you question me with your rhetorical question. Normal. Fuck you, I'm special.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Utter Conflict.

Mutiny at best. I couldn't kill her. What with her pretty face, golden hair and sparkling eyes. Her skin appeared to be so soft, so soft that if I was to touch it, it would bend. In her eyes there was a deep hardness, a hardness that I lacked. A hardness that made me feel insignificant and so God damn pathetic within a second of her gazing into my eyes.
Some melodramatic part of me wanted to pull her from that car to cry on her shoulder and apoligze for the heartless thing I had done to her, repent for my previous moment of bliss. But no. She didn't know me, we had never met. She has yet or wont know the deviate act I had commited against her. The angry, jelouse part of me just wanted to pull him from the car and start screaming to him right in front of her. But no. She didn't know me.
So in my drunken moment of confusion I did the only acceptable and most self conflicting thing I could have done. I smiled widely at her and made the peace sign with my free hand. I exclaimed " Seeya!" And I was off down the road back to my friends to consume unknown amounts of alcohol.
So beautiful, looking at her through the tinted car window. I must kill her, I must. I can't. I need I want.
Fuck love. Fuck her. Fuck him.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

The Bliss IsToo Real.

I awoke that morning feeling strange, feeling as though I should never shower again. You left me clean. Hazy memories came to mind as I reminisced in the past 48 sleep deprived hours.

A great sadness overcame me and I was unable to speak. The entire effect of the anguished speechlessness took hold as the memory of your words from some two nights previous fluttered across my mind, like a butterfly trying to escape death. The words, they bounced around my skull.
" This will never happen again."

I stared at the stars and cried. They looked so pretty with tears in my eyes. While running through the empty night streets feeling hollow, a simple thought crossed my mind; Would it be so pointless to live, if my point was to make them all die?

I noticed a middle-aged woman bustling along the sidewalk with her dog. I approached her, sporting a smile and a hunting knife. Before she could scream, think or cry I thrust the blade into her right lung. I twisted and withdrew. The dog started barking. In such a waste of animal life, I gently slit it's throat.

Monday, February 2, 2009

Sleep and repeat.

Each day begins with a struggle,
A struggle to escape the lucid coma,
The closest thing to bliss, however much tainted in nightmare.

Each day I drag myself from the semi-conscious state,
Into the wretched world, sugar coated in sex and hate.
The pain within my chest implodes on my mind,
While my lungs tease me with a craving of such power,
You could never find.

Most days I lay there for what appears to be a second,
It turns out to be an eternity and I am late again.

"But late for what?" I exclaim as I stumble from my bed,
Thoughts of death strangle what's left of my soul and swim around in my head.
I force my eyes to open,
To view a life void of meaning and internally broken.

Within a moment I discover that my throat is dry,
It hurts too much to smoke,
It hurts too much to think,
And with a great discomfort I proceed to get myself a drink.

This water feels far from pleasant, rolling down my throat,
A river builds behind my eyes that I struggle to choke,
With immense hate and shame the tears spill down my face.
"Oh why? Why can't the world just give me a fucking place?"