Tuesday, 30 November 2010


Calling the petulant warmth of flame
With water to soothe in agitated currents
Dragging the air of justice from its depths
The depths of grounding earth
My breath upon your face, smoked
And blown softly over right hand
And uncurled fist
To return all that was given to me
No less
No more
Karma’s vacant stare is restored
To dormant state
The useless emotions leave my hands
From my heart and my mind
As passion turns to dust
As hopes are drowned
And dreams are buried in the frozen earth
Do not smile
Or shrug
Or sleep
Should the ashes float past your window
On a blizzards careless wind
Take care and think twice
It is a sad, sorrowful tale I send
A final gift.
Fire diminishes its flame as water recedes to painless tides
Air stills its breath and the earth warms once more
I feel the peace in quiet solitude
Knowing you have what you deserve.

~ Charlotte Sometimes (SRWB) 2010

Thursday, 18 November 2010

Hung-over from a past early night
and the deficient marrow aches
of too much nothingness
intuitively lived and lied and felt
in headaches and yawning and stiffness

Today’s fortune is read in the mud
            at the bottom of yesterdays coffee
Swallowed in bitterness (repentance for threepence?)
Tempered with the loss of sensation
            a circular doorway brings as a constant

It was like a spell for a four year old
Turning off the lights
And turning around and around
Widdershins; without an opening
Or a prayer

Laughter in darkness
How cute?
The motion of the sun
In a hidden exit
          became the story of a life yet to be fucked up
But only after that day…

I don’t think I ever
              found my way out

Be dumb Leccie
Be stupid
Be dull and easy and clockwise
You won’t frighten people away

~ Leccie 2010

Friday, 12 November 2010



She should be melting right now
Left only with armfuls of nothing
as the ice returns to liquid state

Twisted [sic] spelling; crumble, shatter
Frozen words; glistening
Never ignored
Too cold for the thaw
Frost still crisp and crackling
underfoot; under heart
Breathe; burned blue
Drifting, cover; vitreous vision still
Glacial movement; cold stasis
behind a favourite pair of shades
Exorcism of shivering, crystal excuses
and glacial lies; toothache
Make it quick
of riddles


A message
in glorious technicolour
She cried
didn't want it; go away

Don't look at me
Don't talk to me
Don't ask me
Don't love me
Stay the fuck away from me

The roller coaster looped
futility became normal

She's walking past the field
to a table she knows will hurt soon enough
a meeting; putting her hand on the hot stove again
except this one is cold
frozen enough to burn
the hot/cold pain is the same

Drunken misdeeds
Hedonistic lies
Trying to find a level that wasn't so high
or low
or cold
or hot
warm; slightly underneath the middle

She tried to love him
He didn't love himself

She throws it out
He slams the door


She builds the wall again
with the love in her soul
If she didnt care
Would she cement the bricks 
so many times over?

She is desperate not to let anything through
ever; She cannot care again

Read: Lilith Panics
Read: Lilith is now an Island
DON'T read: "You and ya island need to float this way a bit"

The iceberg will melt and stop drifting
And warm sand will appear beneath her
punctuated with hard fossil and solid granite
that no one will ever penetrate again


This is the last time she will cry; the last time she will think 
The last time that she will ever admire Winter's Frost in that way
She may embrace it again; but the tears are frozen forever

SRWB 2010


The answer -  in glorious, manic Technicolor now resides in her head. Sold, bargained, pleaded; possessions for green rain. He sold her car. 

A white dress; why did he put her in that? A fucking kaftan? A mounded concept of what he needed, still pleaded. And the seasoning always made a meeting more appealing. What will she bring?

Fake friends; wise? They think so with a passing comment and a cat call. A nickname, a character, a jape and a phony. 

A lock comes away in her hands; rotten? It just slid right out with the key still attached and unable to turn. Oh! It does that all the time, apparently. 

Right.  Just fix it back on; to the scalp of ghosts. The ghosts of a past lived by someone who really doesn't want to leave them behind. Neurosurgery on dark street corners. I ask you?!

He is exactly who she thought he might be before he tried to change her view. I guess that is why he was so quiet - Being someone else all that time? It’s not easy to speak in another’s name and not give yourself away. 

That first message that made her panic and think 'Oh Goddess, not again, pleeeease!'

She got over him while he was still trying to make up his mind; whilst she slept; whilst he smoked and indulged his self-obsession and unworthiness.  

He wants to be alone and to that end, she knows she is not the right person for him; nor is he worthy of her love.  

She wishes that he would see deeper than he does. She wishes that he could see the person that she sees through clarified eyes. She doesn’t think he ever will; perpetuating the need for actions that alienate him from an enlightened world. 

He says enlightenment is not being attached to anything; she says it is a letting go and experiencing what they have right now. 

He uses it to alienate; she uses it to battle the cynicism of past years. 

He knew she existed and she knows he exists. 

She’ll find him again; but he will be entirely different on the eye. 

She walks away, a piece of her heart wrapped firmly around that misinformed lock, knowing that should he ever choose to find out who she really is – she will be waiting.

SRWB 2010


The imagined are unimaginable
The thought streams harsh and fear is cold
To love; to care; to focus; to want
yet be separate - be closed
for the greater good?
Recoil from pain - still open
Silent and unwanting - *door slam*
Silence ...
Silence ...
Silence ...
This silence is louder than I have ever known
and I cannot block it from my ears
Nor cease to wonder
Which of my sins was so awful
that it created this ...?

srwb 2010


I never asked…

I’m back in my seat
Watching from distant luna-tic shores
If you ask for my location
It will be unbelievable at best
There are so many shades of blue
I cannot decipher one from another
Contact is eaten - in detriment or release?
The situation has come around
With shocking unexpectedness
That I should miss you
And that is much worse
Than the stressful boundaries
We created in the sand

I never asked …

I’m sitting cross-legged
As the demons battle upon midnight edges
If you ask why I’m leaving
It will be understandable at most

You placed me here; amongst electric
Amongst chaos, within cyan blindness
Inside Azure - muddied to Prussian hues

A coffee cup rests against my cheek
As the noise of the air around me
Becomes too obvious to my ears
I have abandoned the memories
Of prismatic reflection
in asphyxiated limbo

Resist restraint and my rattling position
Precarious - a calm surface
And somewhere inside
I am quite distressed
Which is unbearable
A non-penetrable waste

“I’m lyin … I am afraid”

My lies are shown in truth
unrealised and denied
I didn't know
Never thought to ask
I woke from my false, insipid dream
and realised my human-ness

I never asked

I never asked

I never asked

Will showing distress reveal my weakness?
Will you hate me for cracking
in uncommon situations?
What is this? Really?
No control group exists
to appease your mind
Just a wash of surgical sapphire
Released in love, of course

I never even asked

Maybe stupid questions
should remain unspoken (asked?)
Ego and [alter] are merged now

I never asked

I should ask

Do I need to let go?

*I've let go

~ Leccie 2010

SRWB 2010

Nothingness and Arithmetic

For a moment, it is quiet. One of those moments that are few and far between but when they arrive it leaves her wondering what she should do with the time. She is leaning against her apartment door, breathing deeply and slowly. All that noise is overwhelming and she doesn't realise just how much until it stops.

"I'm not well" she thinks. The pounding of her heart and the long moments it takes to steady her breathing bring a fear into her soul. A fear that comes with that point in time when one realises they are not, in fact, invincible. She is sitting inside her own skull, viewing her surroundings and thoughts through her eye sockets. That is what has brought the quiet. The retreat inside herself. A place where the stillness and silence is heavy and loaded with conflict and despair. So much so, it brings stalemate and numbness.

She can physically out-run the strongest, fastest athlete. She can climb mountains, jump from the highest buildings and destroy anything in her path. But her mind cannot cope with people's conversations... the noise... the effort that goes into listening and wondering and the exhausting process of formulating replies. It is impossible to not become utterly drained listening to others when there is already a constant conversation going on inside her own mind.

Life has become a series of rooms with a different song playing in each and she can no longer pick out the familiar melodies.From an outsiders perspective there are no cracks in the woodwork. There is nothing to suggest that the foundations are crumbling. But a battle rages inside... a battle with a history of years that has recently become a silent struggle. Swords are locked in every direction and she can no longer make a move or a decision as she now does not know what she feels or which way to turn.

There is hate in there somewhere, and love and anguish. Resentment boils the pot steadily underneath. Is it the calm before the maelstrom rages once more? Or is it defeat? She cannot see that there has been a victory at all ... although she always thought that winning would bring a deadening of sound just like this one.

The moment becomes an hour, she cannot return to normality. Remaining inside her own head is the only option she now has. There are no controls, she can only watch as the details of the corridor in front of her become burned into her memories and she can no longer remember anything else. Layers, that's all she can see... like cardboard cutouts and pop up books... her world becomes a series of 2D images one behind the other. Her mind has taken control and she stands helpless against its will to shut down.

Counting the flaws in the thick, uneven gloss-paint on the door frame becomes an obsession, until she has enough numbers to start adding, subtracting and dividing. Carrying over hundreds, tens and units in her burnt-out brain becomes a need like no other. She loses her way and has to start over again and again. Retreating further into herself, she becomes a calculator of pointless details as her life slowly disappears from view.

Life becomes nothingness and arithmetic.

SRWB 2008


A church roof leaks long awaited raindrops onto the lecturn
slow rot and which chapter next
make a sensation; feel something
pages float in the ether - not lost, just bored
keepers design blackout shutters to keep out anti-life
and banish a love that uses a ration-issued cloak to keep itself warm
it dies: over and over again
Stifling by its own intention/attention and that of its decaying environment
like Virginia's persistant cough and the planning involved in her untimely demise
Incessant; continuous in reanimation; necromancing the psyche
making paper stars to replace the shining death of those already lost
They hang on plastic leaves, with pin-point precision 
and logic; it can only arrive at a reapers door
Philandering with mean spirits and half-hearts brings new meaning
to words long forgotten; the gossips lean eagerly towards open doors
Catching a whisper of sometimes
of this downfall
To feel loved is essential; the largest part to fill my empty plate
Anything falling short is terminal
Breathing ether through synthetic fibres both agitates and calms fetid hearts
The hot, soapy water in the bucket starts to wash away the bloodied, cranial trophies
impaled, callously, along the white picket fence
I'm still alive

~ srwb 2010

Put down your tools in disgust
and pick up your soul again
Who you are today is quite enough

                                                        It's more

Consent always carries the hidden dangers
that's what we are signing for?
Twisted scales of measured lives gone by
                (slither from depths of a reticulated womb once more)
They're talking at us in percentages and probability
but it's just lip movements
and the sound of legal pressure 
whistling through rusted pipes

Strands of hair catch nostalgic leaves
and merge into the long flow; whispers
What's my name? It most certainly isn't Jane
and it ain't "Ho" but I might have wings on your death-bed

(it's true)

A mere second forward in time does not exist
only hangs in your diary - taunting, entangled
and wishing for the peaceful answers
that reading the question again may bring

I can anaesthetise numb arteries
it burns for just 0.7 seconds before darkness
and stops you counting backwards
(hopelessly) from 10

This old one is in tatters with plastic knots
wrapped around a stolen cart
The something and nothings of survival
occupy a rushed space, with a furrowed brow

No worries

Watch the road with eyes shut tight
There's a significant difference
between the consistency of wrinkle cream
and the shit that keeps you awake

Bargaining for an extra hour in bed is futile
It lasts a few non-existent seconds really
Illusory free time, wasted in an unconsciousness
that has the same pouring time as treacle

Sleep now

We'll make more syrup for others to wade through
and lie in un-owned beds; writing stories for over thinkers
Choose a direction; grab my hair and pull hard
Analyse nothing - fake/take it all …
Give nothing away
and occasionally change the sheets

~ Samantha Rae 2010

"You think when you wake up in the mornin’ yesterday don't count. But yesterday is all that does count. What else is there? Your life is made out of the days it’s made out of. Nothin’ else." 

— Cormac McCarthy (No Country for Old Men)

srwb 2010


I exist/exit/loop in chaos, where nothing really gets done. Decisions and risks and trying are all that are left to be afraid of. Studying aeroplanes with flip-top heads brings no satisfaction to my need to fly away; I’ll never free-fall the way I used to. If equal forces oppose upon a narrow base, my need for shades in the dark will become green and clear as day (although squinting still). No grey resides here anymore. Monochrome stripes mark the walls in alternate two second flashes of wrong choices and the need to change everything I did today, tomorrow. Crawling through the surface area of such an abstract Hell will never add any weight to the other side. 

In a maelstroms eye nothing can change - Trigger - Click - Stasis: It’s the same old story with a different view. 

Poaching herbal tinctures and a damaged release enable me to crush pomegranates and fermented oranges for wine’s intent. I sneer as larvae-infested juice spills amidst chanted, half-assed blessings; infused and strengthened by default and surprise. A recipe for disaster is on the menu tonight; new, improved and nasty tasting like medicine taken with extra seasoning under themoon

Seasons balance don’t they? At this time of year, the scales must stop their incessant tipping to one side or the other and rest upon my aforementioned point in perfect precision. A corrugated file containing life’s inability to be organised and smooth  - the self-tensioner is constantly a hopeful problem solver, to pick up the slack. 

How am I supposed to know that? I make mistakes because I am not a keeper of all knowledge, right? I know my shit and they know theirs (apparently) - picking the seeds out to start a new grow is fucking tedious - I’ve done it constantly for 39 years and I’m always in trouble. I waste the time marvelling at people wasting time mostly - say your two penneth and then go back to the TV screen. Paying for hypnotism? We do it everyday unwillingly - making children walk through dark buildings after office hours fucks up their routine and makes them un-talkative. Try again next week doesn’t cut it I’m afraid - they’re not cash bundles to be locked up overnight are they?

Cash bundles = patients in neat beds along the wall. The chalk mark boundaries surrounding their disease-ridden predicaments are deepened unhealthily by the hour. Giving prescriptions in anxiously precise quantities does not lessen nor darken the lethal, penultimate dose. Death is part of the stock take, the relieved sigh of one less to pay for resounds through budget-frantic restaurants and the freshly cut flowers on waiting room tables. 

So, we are back to aeroplanes; the in-flight drink being pomegranate wine. The departure lounge is filled with silent crowds on a one way ticket to the ultimate freedom. The witching hour approaches as the gate numbers are invoked from blown speakers a hundred years old. And nothing brings on apprehension like an intravenous infusion of anti-anxiety medication.

srwb 2010


Twelve men are smiling at me below the hang mans noose 
Disaster will strike when they are most relaxed - I might laugh or I might cry
If no time passes between entrance and exit wounds? - they will continue to breathe

Arrogance - I've seen invincible and shameless (in whores)
and it's not ingrained in your blood (or your bones) - but I am covered in it, by others, incessantly
Immortal souls have no knowledge of such things - I am educated and I think of other things

Dare to suppose that you are very much alive and you'll be dead in a snap
Formica shelves stocked with "shouldn'ts" do not always sigh gratefully
when relieved of their weight - cardio for red marrow is terrifying - scared is something to be shared

A lookalike - who? Familiarity perhaps or just the same old deja vous
If I have been here before, it is merely a snap shot of old memories
contained within the bricks and mortar that hold the lens - but this is a clearer view

If riding through Borderlands might take me back as an informant
Recycled people would see what I see right now; evidence in plastic tag bags
Framed as photographs from broadsheets at war - politicians lips move to convince you only of their lies

Money - it's sick and in ill health and brands all those it touched with fuck all
I've seen you all fawn and giggle for the want of an ultimate freebie
and disappear when it's no longer on the to-do-list for freeloading bastards

I meet people sometimes that shine from within
the dollar signs are absent from their eyes
and greed does not exist between the convolutions of their brain
I meet you

I love that - really love it
and I'd rather be home alone thinking about a true heart
than sitting with past enemies and the endless clickety clack
of fucked up values

These words are not thought
but felt, 
poured out unedited in warmth

Fuck cars, fuck houses, fuck bills
Fuck success, fuck greed, fuck stamping on some poor bastards head on the way up
Fuck holidays, fuck boats, fuck villas and fuck all those fucking boring occasions
Fuck expectation, fuck bankers/wankers, fuck presidents and prime ministers
fuck the pope, fuck religion, fuck everything they NEED you to be
fuck everything that tries to fuck with your soul
and FUCK pride
Fuck staring into space for 5 days a week for someone else's benefit
Fuck risking your life for some other bastards plentiful pocket
Fuck social expectations, fuck "I told you so's"
Fuck caviar, fuck salmon, fuck champagne
Fuck expensive shit that is cheap shit and breaks
Fuck the way it's all supposed to happen and live it your way
Fuck manipulation, fuck gambling your last quid on solutions that come from salesmen
Fuck believing any of it matters
Fuck thinking you're shit because the world has values that are fucked up
Fuck the measuring stick - it no longer applies

Your soul is beautiful 

fuck the rest

it doesnt exist... anymore

I love you

and I want you... for you


but that's how it is.

srwb 2010