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

1,100-and-something-seconds

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

Intervention

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..

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..

Clouds.

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

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.

Disappear.

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..

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.