Thoughts on Losing Lilith

On first wake with beast, quietly tethered

A beauty appeared; born of filth and sediment

groomed from my own creation 

Impure dust forged clean

Coccyx stump hacked and weeping

Burned and bound 

As weakness flows into rivers of primary blood.

Surely not the same earth and clay

From which my own perfect ego birthed.

Thoughts of capture re-emerge

As the beasts distaste struggles 

against a futile coupling.

Turning to face my glorious gift

I feel hope, with a prayer

That the tide would turn

To my favour...

"Will you match me in strength and faith?

and not ask that I lie beneath you

still and tolerating as the beast you tamed and refused?"

She bears Sin, the first

Of independance and strange notion

The blood of a hardened mind shows

Within universal eyes

Weakness desert me!

I cannot contain us

The burden is hers

To re-live...

To hold...

Forever more.

"Those who know Love as the sacred word

and who use it justly,

must be strong enough to hold on for the ride"

She speaks of the light within

And travelling poisonous tides

Soaking in corrupted rains lest myself be lost

We were one, her front to back

Yet now she seeks to utter a name

In rising above, she takes the blame.

She... demon queen; in separate form, 

I see my need abandoned; a limb

A shadows departure through the boundaries

A flickered glimpse through gates of destruction

and catastrophic shores of abandoned oceans

Shame, my love, shame; show remorse

For lives of whispered children lost in "defyant" battles

Slumbered seduction bears the spawn of life's ruin

Punished and banished in free-will's cage.

With ego dimmed I ask for more

My falsified rib is ripped and torn

Re-emerging as succulent fruit

To tempt and strip bare the truth

I am no longer protected

I see the purity that once was

And I turn to regard the amputated part

With contempt and anger

My own proclivity mirrored

once more, in beauty's face

Her Sin is the second...

She has unveiled my failure as a man

~ Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010

** Illustration by Temoc

Worship

You can always sit proud

upon your hard-built monument

of jagged lines and hope

Belief? What have we here?

The self, the spirit, the hoax

The rough and tumble that appears

in battle, on a bloody field of expectant turf

Carved in sand, crumbled and solid

Taking a piece of the earth home

Valued, values, valuing nothing

Such a decorative pleasure

to trample underfoot

Idols and heroes 

I can give you all

A shining, ever-changing 

billion dollar screen

Filling in all those little, white gaps

left in haste and ambition

Blur the lines

No time, no boundaries here

Slumbering dragons do not lie

nor stay and beg when you ask

Polite though it may seem

The bite is harsh and unexpected

A new view every second

Instead of the static, eroding scenery

of time lost, bored and stagnant

behind a polaroid mask.

~ Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010

Green Faeries

I can't write like that anymore

I'm liking the real stuff, you know?

Tell me who you really are

(I am illustrating a poem I've never written

Looking carefully through keyholes

of locked doors

Because someone said

"GOD is in there")

Don't go through a thesaurus

and give me a frilled-up version

of who you want to be

Who do you want me to be?

(A cauldron boils your morbus heart

under a door handle

that contains the knowledge

of all time and space

Touch it, and let the flowers fall

from their mosaic

upon crackle-painted glass frames

with green rims)

Everyone wants to be enigmatic

from time to time

We all want to stand on the mountain side

with the wind blowing our hair back

thinking how life's not fair

and it's all such a tragedy

that we're not super hero's

nor able to wear corsets and breeches

and look deep and sad and crushed

(Wild up high on jagged rock

Black of air down steaming loch...

It's the end of the line

Terminus

Terminal

Love plays in circles

"I am beauty" it said

before she fell)

No one wants to look up to you

or be helped by you

They just want to relate

to something

grab hold of anything

they can

under 

- - - stand

(Preach it.. sing out loud

I can't touch it though

all but a stray tendril 

Flicked until it can be pulled through

Dragged screaming in to green flame

and diving, milkshake butterflies)

There's no structure

no form

we don't give a crap whether it's

a metaphor or a simile

we just want to read it

and nod

maybe smile

and go make another coffee

before we sort the washing out

and think about cracking open the bottle

in the freezer...

(It is dawn for ambitious souls

Time to go, the eager trudge

Pressing a bell to get off

but it doesn't work

The last stop for false idols

and omniscient epics in HELL)

...it's frozen to syrup

and that's as special as it gets

and half way down the special

we feel like we should be saying stuff

that's when we're on the mountain top(or cliff edge!)

but if you turn away and drink the other half

it gets real...Give me real

(I'm bouncing on my bed

and it all changes

and then there is a tunnel

It wants me to enter

but I back away

"This isn't real" I thought

So it disappeared

and I looked out of the window

once more... intermittently)

Unless you're a lightweight

and real is a bunch of random keys

hit at the same time..when your

head

smacks

the

keyboard

Copyright Charlotte Sometimes  aka SRWB 2010

Saving The World

Take your pages of opinions

out into the big picture

inset them, like a polaroid

and crush them carefully

within your hateful fist of revolution.

Validation sleeps for now, silently

Change the world, pick it up and drop it down

March a path against apathetic generations

that many have walked (and stumbled)

through centuries of unrest and discontent.

Use your newborn mind to try to achieve

that which has been done before.

Your wake up call is weak in this place

because your conviction is null.

Take it out of here and strip yourself

Naked and bleeding upon your cross

before the mass of bleating animals

waiting for a new leader, a new idea.

March upon that which you hate

with courage and weeping sores.

Let the puss and infestation

smash droplets of faith

in your wake

Carving new times

and perfect hope.

Raise a handful of justified paper

up high, punch the air

and tell them your word is law.

You are their saviour

Responsible for their vapid lives

You are free to spend your time

thinking of new ways to confuse

and trick all into believing your truth.

Those who have fallen along the way, poor souls

They fall and sleep soundly on a comfortable path

To be ridiculed for their confusion.

They once stood, shouting and abandoned

in mispent youth and early days

of fucking each other on hill tops

whilst brandishing thoughts in yelled slogans

born of inexperience and adrenaline and not much else

life never lived, not yet.

When wisdom comes, it is not born of thoughts

It's a by-product of a vacant existence

and then you're too old and entrenched

Too tired and bound

to do a damn thing about it.

~ Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010

Stuff To Do

I wrote most of it at 3am

in my head

Chapters of perfect prose and

stories no one has ever told

It's brilliant

and it disturbs my life again

forgotten genius

I'm an ordinary girl in a lot of ways

I do routine things, rinse, repeat

It's not nondescript

no

Ever

loving

ME

It's a wild ride

But never crazy enough any more

I look at here and there

and compare

I can't get deep enough

the screen is too flat

and I feel the need to go dig out

my old one

so I can reach in

and push it all back

stay

MEAN something

Translate what it says in my mind

Not what it tells them in black and white

The understanding that comes in the night

That's it, that's me

You'll see

I can't do that... be me

It never comes out that way

Fighting with what I have to do

and what I have to be

My mind's scrappin' with school nights

and hum drum days

What's for tea?

I watched a programme on telly

about Tourettes

It's not good, I'm thinking

They're just saying what they're thinking

If I did that I'd have Tourettes

People already flinch and wait at parties

When I've had a few

What is she going to say?

She always tells truth that one

and it's never for the best

I can pick you all out

and tell you who you are

but there is nothing much

to grab hold of is there?

You wouldn't understand

with a vacant look

and make-up that's been on

since 5 am

Bronzer, now there's a thing

If I put my shades on I'll see you

Bring you into focus

behind that *glow*

If I'm not smiling

it's because I rushed out

without picking my shades up

off the table

Brain to mouth filter is on the blink

mostly

But you can't do that when you're ordinary

It doesn't rest easy on the bland surface

of making buns for school fairs

and smiling like you know what you're doing

and you haven't got your Pyjamas on under your coat

not really

I just like polka dot pants

honest

Honest

now there's a word

and it's been ages since I rambled on

trying to break that block

the one that only disappears

when the lights are off

and I'm lying on my back

wondering why the hell

someone artexed the ceiling

I can see it in the black

cos I know it's there

I hate it

I'd buy a Dictaphone

and shock the world

but then I'd wake everyone up

and there is stuff to do tomorrow

at 7am...

** and a bit more...

'cos I remember a conversation

someone reminded me last night

it was all spoken in Yorkshire (like)

Of some lad reading my mind

"I could fall in luv wi ya"

easy done Lad, I said

You'll be rayt soon enough

"Tha's not an ordinary lass"

Yeah burrit's difficult innit

cos life's a journey wi' fightin'

Fightin' wi' both sides

an' never bein who ya truly are

Gettin' sick of askin' 'ow much 'ams

left in't fridge

So you walk miles as just to keep checkin'

** shit, I can speak Yorkie but I can't bloody type it, it's exhausting**

My life is a trip of incongruence

and that's the problem

right there

A running commentary on every move

Like a derby where the nags are shagged out

and you're forever waiting

for the man in the box

to shut the fuck up

PLEASE

'cos I can't think what I want to think

The extra-ordinary stuff

while Im listening to you

and washing dishes

It's only 9am...

Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010

T.I.E

We always walked home this way. Through The Industrial Estate - T.I.E. It was not one of your ordinary, corrugated, breeze block villages but an old style TIE - one with stinking, billowing chimneys that seemed to reach into the heavens as far as you could see, the smoke spewing orange, red and yellow in the early hours of the morning against a clear, pitch-black sky. It was a place filled with cobbled, broken pavement and rounded, crumbling bricks that looked like they shouldn't fit together anymore. Almost like they had been forced into a picture by a determined puzzle-doer who had rammed the pieces in any old how. It was still alive, alive and whirring. The low drone of activity a constant accompaniment to the long trudge through it's dark alleys. There were lights on here and there, intermittently lighting our perilous path home. Each building was half derelict, half functioning - as if someone had switched everything off and moved into the next room as another part had disintegrated and ceased to tick the boxes on the health and safety check list.

It didn't matter how many times we walked through it, we never went the same way twice - not by choice - it just happened that way. Often we would break our drunken, sniggering march and run off in different directions, shouting, screaming and jumping through broken doorways and over rubble piles. The only point that remained the same on our journey was the bridge that marked the entrance to this neverland... we would trot over it, *trip trap trip trap*... nervously eyeing the thick, dark water swirling underneath. Blue-painted iron would yawn and swoop it's arc overhead, but we didn't look up until we got to the other side.

We would be made to look up eventually of course. Dickhead would always climb over the top of the frame. We didn't really know who he was, just that he always seemed to follow us home. He would stop at the top and wiggle his arse to symbolise his victory at reaching the summit of his weekly conquest. We watched him every week, never tiring of waiting for his potential demise.

Many's the time I had walked through TIE on my own. On Fridays usually. Fridays were *priviledged* nights. We would all walk from our various corners of the city and converge on the club. Brandishing our shiny, black VIP cards, we'd get in for a quid and proceed to get shitfaced on half pints of cheap whiskey and coke. Saturdays were different - they were *anybody* night - which usually meant students and the odd townie who had wandered dangerously away from the zone. The door price tripled, space was short and we bought 5 drinks at a time because we couldn't be arsed to queue at the bar. Those were the nights when we had our corner - *Goth's corner* (it's still there now) - with a good half a metre of personal space surrounding it.

Anyway, Dickhead never fell off the bridge, a few others fell into the water and didn't fair so well, but I was never around to see it (must've happened on the few saturdays we copped out and got a taxi home)

It's Friday and we're crawling through TIE's alleys again. I've already lost my dress in a *who can walk in a straight line on top of the petrol station wall* competition. It was latex and I'd fallen off the aforementioned wall half way across, snagging the hem. That's the thing when you're dressed in two pieces of rubber that are glued together crudely at the sides - one wrong move and you're fucked! I can only describe the moment my dress left my body, with the speed of a deflating, untied balloon, as a right *Carry On!*  Cackles of laughter and wolf whistles ensued from my good friends, with the odd "OOOOoooh Saucy!" thrown in for good measure. I stood up boldly, dressed only in my underwear and a pair of pointed, heeled, buckled boots. The boots were the sort that had every type of fastening known to man on them - eyelets, zips, hooks, press-studs, laces & buckles - I regularly slept in them after a good night out as my drunken mind could not coordinate my body sufficiently enough to be able to take them off before I passed out on my bed. After muttering such things as "Bugger", "fuck" and "bollocks" a few times, I proceeded to wrestle Dean's shirt from his back. Like a true gentlemen he surrendered his Army & Navy Stores standard issue and I threw it on quickly, wrapping it around myself and folding my arms in way that was partly a defensive gesture and partly a "fuck me it's parky!" move. I held my head high and stomped (*cough* staggered) off, further into TIE. I can still see myself indignantly disappearing into the mists at 3am.

TIE didn't scare us, it should have done, being the creepiest place to be at stupid o clock, but that didn't matter to us. It seemed to protect us and guide us. It appeared to shift and change to accommodate our needs. Eventually we'd emerge through the other side on to the main road and the cold would hit us harshly, from out of nowhere. We would pack ourselves into our favourite take away for chip butties. Run by elderly women and cheaper than anywhere in the world, it was perfect. We could satiate our alcohol induced hunger and warm through before we started the rest of our journey home. Many is the time I would cover the counter in ketchup, being unable to focus on my buttie and missing it completely. The women would just look over and *Tsk* with sly smiles and one of them would amble over to clean it up.

I'm sitting on a wall looking at that takeaway right now. It's not *there* anymore - just an old, faded shop sign and a few pieces of hardboard covering the windows remain - but I can see it as it was.

TIE sits quietly behind me, still breathing, reminding me of the last time I felt invincible and how long ago that time was.



Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010

Thoughts on trying to find you

This is where I want to be

There is no certainty here

Just ambiguity and mist

A Wonderland with more of a dark side

SIN-chronized thoughts bring us here

into the nebula - frozen, shifting droplets

listening, edging forward with

senses other than sight - quiet

There are ill-defined shapes

amongst questionable vapours

The ground is never the same

Most irregular and difficult

All self-imposed of course

It's just a flash, a moment

They are playing that damned song again

and we haven't much time to find each other

I'm always wondering if the view up there,

at the summit, would make it all easier

After a while, and a lot of shuffling

I turn away from the sounds

and the feel of you

Aiming for the clearer perspective at the top

A good look at the mirage

so I can pin it down and remember

But I always seem to lose you

with that same, fatal, ridiculous decision

I need to go again, and wait

for the next time we both think

of the same thing at the same time

and sometimes just one glimpse means more

than all the time in the world

"X"

~ Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010