Plasticity of fragility

 

She shines through broken smile.

A simile of the miles her

mind has strayed already today.

The gaps between teeth;

pits she has fallen in,

but her mind is turmoil swirled

storms of denial. Finality

at the thought

of a door kicked shut. Hurt

at the scars it has dug up.

99 smiles of unbridled joy,

undone by one grimace of pain

at the thought of another night

under the same roof as her thoughts.

 

Fingernails dig into clenched fist,

indent where a ring once bit

like teeth chewing into

chicken drumstick bones.

Her moans

scatter her home as

she swings

and hits concrete reality,

bruising only her sanity.

Crumbled dust

and smeared blood mix

on freshly vacuumed carpet.

 

I'm so sick of this shit.

 

She hears that voice echoing

in warbling cascades of grey.

Failed screams

rebound from fragile walls.

Her angry breath never levelling,

a kettle simmering, a rolling

shimmer, ticking

like a countdown timer. 3 2 1

Then boom. It's done.

Boiling over

in foaming eruptions

that seem to last forever.

 

Her frustration at not being

who she was supposed to be.

A life lived in a lie,

a mannequin by his fragile side.

This was all supposed

to make me happy, I have

all I ever dreamt of,

but my mind betrays

my facade of glee.

The plasticity of my fragility

painted in shades of blue;

The life laid out for me.

Think of me

 

Do you think of me,

by candlelight

in the flickering

embers of the heart?

Do I cross your mind?

Could you open up and speak?

Even in a whisper, a please,

sighed in silence

to the moon that

you see. Whispers seeking

me somewhere

in your midnight sky.

 

Do you dream of me?

When those blinds drop

and the curtains billow

over the mental stage show.

Am I pacing stage right, or am I

standing under a spotlight

holding the audience enthralled?

Do you dream at all?

And do I wander those hallowed halls?

Teasing my fingers

lovingly across the walls.

 

Do you listen for me?

In the aching

of the wind

sailing

through your

seascape mind,

and do I seem to be sinking or soaring?

Are the thoughts hopeful, warming?

Do you hear my voice

in the way the heavens

speak mystically?

And do songs paint a picture

in your mind

that you can’t unsee?

Do you see the swirling skies

unveiling a heart that can never die?

 

For when I sit in silence,

when I listen to the duality

of day and night, I hear

your song singing to me.

It makes me see

the future I want for me.

 

And when I think,

I see ships afloat

like dancers on an ice rink,

swivelling and swirling,

in hopeful chorus flows.

 

And when I dream,

I see your smile

and the way you look my way,

the way your hair strokes your face

as gently as I desire

to trace my fingers

to the sweeping waves

that flow in hopeful

choral echoes.

 

And when I dream

I see your eyes,

and I never want to

open mine again,

whilst I see the beauty

I so wish to embrace,

So I dream of a wish,

a kiss whispered into space.

St George's knight

 

You paint yourself in your cross.

Red on white. St George's knight.

"It’s holy, right!?"

 

You spout on the news

"Were protecting the women"

 

Would that be the same women

that succumb to your daily abuse

when your football team lose,

when you've had a sip of booze,

when your gammon and eggs

are a little too loose?

Or the same women that

clean up after you,  picking up the bill

cos your money hasn’t gone through,

making your dinner because that

is below you?

"It’s a girls job, not something

a real man would do."

 

You say they are filthy.

 

As you sit, wallowing in your own

excrement. Shit son, you missed a bit,

no wait sorry that’s just the stains

from days already gone.

Whilst they clean themselves

down for the 5th time today,

but hey, it is they that is dirty, you say.

Whilst you flirt with the idea

of maybe giving yourself a quick

flannel wipe, and a spray of lynx Africa,

before joining the lads for a beer and a fight.

 

"I just have national pride, think of all

those people that died for our freedom"

Yeah, those same people you call names

and deride. Whilst you wouldn’t know

your arse from your elbow, let alone history,

as you march  in time with Farage’s fascist rhyme.

 

Or is it possibly cos you are an ape shaped pig?

Is that really why your so scared?

Trim the fat and all that’s left is just gas and air.

 

Wetherspoons on a Friday morning.

The devil’s own sausage party.

Out with the boys. Bring on the beer.

A lot of hugs for someone

that is scared of being seen as soft.

Scared to be called queer. Oh dear.

That is the smallest of your worries.

Well almost the smallest.

 

You and your crackhead

screw loose friends,

you’ve been out on the piss,

you’re like a diver with the bends

rising through lakes of hell

and it always ends with the sound

of cracked shells as your fists continue to land.

 

"Ooh you must be one of those leftie snowflakes.

You know, the news is all fake, right,

the world is flat, and boats are causing

waves upon our shores"

 

Here comes the same tired excuse for

using a fist to fix something not broken…

 

"Whilst you give applause,

and participation trophies.

What about us? There are no

white lives matter signs,

or sigh, straight pride.

This used to be a proud land.

Green and pleasant."

 

You say burning it to the ground.

Fires that you started, burning people

from house and home. Fascist scum

 

"You wouldn’t see us taking over

other lands, or basking in the sunshine,

of some foreign sands. Ibiza is Britain, right?

They have fish, chips and pies

and I’ll smother it in curry sauce. Nice.

Good English grub. None of that foreign muck.

Now give me another can of Stella, will ya mi duck?

Better make that 3. I need some courage of the Dutch.

They just announced a new mosque

being built down the city, I’ll be home in time for tea"