Slipped halo

 

Your halo fell around my neck

to form a noose, devils eyes in

angelic disguise, I fell for the lies.

A wolf in with the sheep,

pulling the wool over my eyes.

You said you only knew love

but your words bled

smoothly into my skin,

oil or balm, or fatal venom.

A judas kiss staining my lips.

 

I hold all the receipts.

Those meals for two.

Those broken promises you swore true.

The smashed temple of our solitude.

As you forced your

words down my throat,

and punched

confetti crosses into

my heart. A cemetery of trust.

 

Black and blue tattooed tears

streaming down my face.

Bruised memories never regain

the same clean relief.

I still hold the belief

in my parting seas, the waves

that will crash creating my story,

but your islands always dammed me.

denying my own shore

where the sun would shine.

Instead guiding me

over brimstone sands.

Where I’d be damned for all time...

 

 

Well no.

I don’t accept this.

 

I take my steps

and walk into the wilderness,

and I find the me that exists

in the atoms of all of us.

 

A temple rebuilt of sand and dust.

 

And in those atoms, I find love.

 

And now I walk head held high

And those stains did fade in time

 

And the heart now beats

at twice the pace it did

when I accepted your lies.

Infantile

 

Preach to us about global warming.

Tell us to show restraint. Ask that we

enjoy the games, but to do so sustainably.

keep your footprints low

For if you don’t the icecaps will melt,

the oceans will grow,

and our watered down sporting spectacle

will be a wash out before you know.

 

Now, a word from our advertisers

disguised as an "hydration break",

need to be in two places at once

then take one of our hight tech super jets.

It will only cost the lives of millions.

 

I hear the rushing torrents, a tsunami of rage,

as the world sinks below the ever-growing waves.

A watered down grave.

 

So, Mr Infantino, how can you justify

being at three games in one night,

across borders, thousands of miles of fuel

burnt in flight, you are probably

eating dodo as well just to give that extra evil sheen.

We are not fooled by the lies

choking the atmosphere on the shit that you spout.

Those air miles don’t grow on trees.

Could you not sit at home, watching on tv,

like the rest of us peasant scum, or is this society

below you in your tower of ivory.

 

Advertising break 3072...

Hey Bud, not to make Light

of your plight, but crack open a bottle

and all will feel alright.

Amazon want you to pour your money

into their warehouse economy,

Coca Cola poisoned the wells.

Whilst south of the border

a rainforest is destroyed,

all in the name of McDonald's beef.

Hell, we are just chicken feed

to corporate greed.

 

But whilst you may now have

money to burn, as the advertising fees

come rolling in, and whilst some

have been turned away at the

amazon fire churned bill gates of hell,

because Mr Trump doesn’t like

the colour of their skin,

or where they were born, we should

just chill. Relax.

It’s okay if a few people

are attacked, as long as the money

is falling in and landing in our laps.

 

You push sustainability

whilst flying in constant luxury,

one rule for we, another for thee.

Well, the world is the same for you and me.

Even musk doesn't yet have

an intergalactic hideaway.

That we know of.

If it gets fucked

then we all end in the sea.

 

I hope you can swim.

The future sends flowers

 

My mental arrangements

lay in disorganised confusion,

like an illusion of rose petals

cluttered over the floor.

Scattered pictures. Nothing more.

No concrete memories to pour,

not a statue of your face

nor of our racing hearts. Now I stand.

Alone in this shell,

a cocoon in deep space.

Floating along. Alone in this well

of deepening self-disgrace.

Alone in this sinking quicksand

like a slow-motion hourglass.

Just passing through.

I paint myself, and the image stares back.

 

A man without a face.

 

Flashing lights,

cinema screen distortion,

burning, bubbling

who I remember

and who I will be.

A calendar without dates.

A diary with no pages.

My thoughts clatter

through the uncovered

cavernous space, scrawling

smiles upon the walls of

this empty temple. Smiles

to the moments that time has erased.

 

But as I look back, I see only frowns.

 

Time begins to crack.

Lightning strikes etched into glass.

All around I see slivers, fragments

cut from this jaded timepiece galaxy.

Jigsaw pieces of who I have been.

Faded, so the edges are the only guide

to complete the image. Photographs

that should exist are now just plotholes

into a weathered past.

Holes I can’t help falling in,

as my stumbled steps keep crumbling.

 

Memories run away and leave me.

Rats fleeing a sinking ship

and I'm left afloat on a sea,

in the hazy fog that circles

menacingly.

Staring deeply into the void...

 

 

 

 

And my future sends me flowers,

and in those flowers I see galaxies,

all the grand colours of the cosmos 

as space opens up,

and in the fields I see you and I,

planting love to grow in memories to come.

A universe of love always ready to bloom,

cuddled tight like the trees above.