Abattoir

 

 

In the light of day

the place feels serene.

Comforting.

Clean.

Feels safe.

But when the

lights go out

it's a different story.

Things get gory.

 

Blood splatter, brain matter

pitter patter down the walls,

like rain as it gently falls.

The screams.

The endless agonising bad dreams.

Tell tales steeped in memory,

soaked into yellow tinged skin,

liver rotten from years of drinking.

 

Wetware unaware

that there is a virus in his internal hardware.

Too focused on finding his prizes,

giving in to his vices.

Crimson viscous liquid

pours out of the open wound.

Self-inflicted, prophecy come true.

Turning blue like a being from avatar,

stuck here in this human abattoir.

 

Carcass on display.

Hooked up to machines that beep all day.

Prodded and picked,

feels like a stone that has been kicked.

Needles stuck in arterial vein,

like insects trying to suck any blood that remains,

as images flash through his brain.

 

Scars like a roadmap,

cover the tissue, front and back.

Decomposed.

Flesh drops

from bone.

You'd have to have a heart of stone

to look upon this room

and claim your throne

and there he sits.

His chest filled with grit,

the owner of this pit,

the mirror image flipped.

 

 

 

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Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle

 

 

Kyle Coare - Even Darkness

Kyle Coare - in shadows

Sunshine and flowers

 

We used to talk,

sunshine and flowers,

now it's warfare,

unfair,

bloodshed.

We weep for the dead.

Our tears won't make plants bloom,

or stop those otherworldly booms.

Won't bring peace

or cease the rain.

Won't somebody please

make a change

let those sunflowers grow again.

 

We used to talk,

stories and memories,

history, a lesson

not a blueprint to aim for.

We don't need another sequel

to the war to end all wars.

So can we pause.

Listen to the silence.

No air raid sirens,

no insane violence,

just the sound of birds,

starting to sing

in unison.

 

We used to talk.

It got things done,

but now,

the fighting has begun

words don't seem as useful as a loaded gun.

Remember that the only way to make peace,

is to stop and converse,

don't reverse the years into darker times.

Find common ground to build upon

This shared planet of ours

doesn't need the strain,

doesn't need more blood stained

marks on its cracked skin.

 

 

 

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Please follow the link for my books, videos and social media.

 

Every click, every book purchase, every like helps me to keep doing what I love.

 

Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle

Irony

 

Late, late.

Oh great,

people will see me entering.

They will look on

with eyes that grate.

 

The irony of anxiety,

slowing me down,

by making me panic.

Something should be happening

but all my focus

is on the voice in my head,

breathing is laboured

I want to curl up in bed.

 

Counterproductive panic sets in.

It makes no sense

the way I'm feeling,

making me feel uneasy.

The day was going so breezy

but now it's stalled to a halt.

I'm focusing more

on getting a hold,

I think my mind

has developed a fault.

 

Now I can't get moving,

I'm meant to have left an hour ago,

but that time just disappeared in a heartbeat.

Palpitations,

my panic stations on full alert.

Sad, emotions,

broken promises I'd made when...

I was okay?

Now it's like the day is turning grey

and the clouds have circled overhead.

 

The irony of anxiety,

It makes you look out of place.

When you get the shakes,

everyone looks as you quake.

The thing you feared is happening

because your fear has willed it,

Catch 22

A self-fulfilling prophecy come true.

 

Anxiety sits in the pit of your guts,

then it erupts,

spewing forth all bad thoughts.

It makes you lack trust

twists your brain

until it is turned to mush.

It sends messages to your head,

ends in a face of bright red

and that feeling

that you'd rather be dead.

 

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff 

 

Please follow the link for my books, videos and social media.

 

Every click, every book purchase, every like helps me to keep doing what I love.

 

Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle