cloud

I'm strappin in for an impact

and listening to Floyd

The corners are calling themselves

I can hear them, in tolerant whispers

there are nothing but curves left in the room

The rain is relentless today 

I'll shine on alright

but I'm not a diamond (man)

more a lump of coal and sometimes crazy

12 years have passed and I haven't moved an inch

except to swirl in the maelstrom of utter chaos

You seemed to do it all right

still painful, but it had a process didnt it?

Your pegs moved one at a time until the square peg fit

the whirlwind brings only stasis in the end

Where do alter egos go when we switch out the lights?

Is there any end to the tongue tied shit they leave us with?

Grandma told me that there will always be one thing in your life that goes right

at any one time, but it can't all be right, all of the time

I'll just head for smooth and calm

I need peace (with a smile on its face)

and another cup of coffee

srwb 2010

very individual levelling

Fatalistic - it's drying out in damp sheets that stretch on inappropriate pegs

There's a bathroom in our house that we never use 

It's too easy to shut the door - the levelling process is constant

It doesn't work that way you see? 

Analysing it all to the point of detrimental softeners and reasoning brings worry

I'll crush my cigarette; there's nothing growing in it this week

and evaporate the ethanol from a glass of pop only an angel could drink

Any and all the other suffixes will crash and burn at the same time

or shortly after, I think - it's a(n) recipeescape, but I'm not sure what for

"It's just a phase ... she'll grow out of it"

A Priestess doesn't hurt, she contemplates 

I should be comforted by all that but I don't really know serene

A Priest wields his cock as a metaphor/excuse for power

I should be afraid but I don't know the high yet, it's far too tempting

Back to a recipe then - for lips licked slowly in contemplation (and confusion)

It's all a reflection of what I have become

minus the details and the solution

Add-ons - we all need them

Applying ourselves is impossible without application it seems

"Banish your debt worries within 24 hours"

Yes please - are they emotional ones?

I'll measure in tenths of a millimetre - next time - I promise

You see... 

I look - 

quietly (in corners?) at what's going on

Naked = vulnerable? I don't think so

It feels good - so good

I've been studying my dictionary

and striking through thewordsmeaningssynonyms that no longer mean a thing

If they are no longer available

I cannot use them to justify (or hate) that which does not exist

or does it?

We've been losing ourselves for years

Only to be found again in empty cupboards

and moving hallways in red 

that kill the silent voices screaming for help

My disgust is too apparent for those who do not want to recognise it

(and with disgust comes a numbness and a panic like no other)

It strikes me dumb at the worst of times

(I'll get anxiety like a bad dose of indigestion at best)

I should drink whiskey - and fight more

(or give in completely and structure my days)

like theyummy mummery in coats from Gap and Next

(The ones I'd only use to cover up my pyjamas anyway)

and the fact that I slept in again

and the fact that I don't know where I'm going

and the fact that I pour all this shit out right here

and right now, it means very little

I'd pack a bag

but I don't have the concentration

nor the motivation

to put a comprehensive fucking outfit together

constant

I'm listening to strangers tell their life stories

in brief snippets; in Hellbound chapters

and dark alley thoughts

I'm watching the rain

and wondering - how many writers

sit and watch the drips, wondering where they are going

and how they connect

It's such an old thought and an overdone line

that I cant imagine the answer

I'm in here - you'll have to find me (please find me)

it's all just fear; all of it

What Iwasis sitting inside of me

Buddha-like with golden skin

and she's quite content to hide in thenow

I've done this and this and this

and some of that

I've hung my medals on walls and bedposts

and scrawled "Try harder" over them all

I'm scared of fucking up now

I've been on my knees for too long

in all the wrong ways and from entirely wrong angles

writing it out comes too naturally

opening my mouth to speak feels alien sometimes

but it works still

My turn and what I say is impressive

It's written all over their faces in the marker pen

their name tags are scrawled in

But if it was that impressive, why am I here?

Starting again (again) 

and my revolving coffee cup

does nothing to distract me

from the realisation that the same fear

is all over in this room

Should I cry?

or not feel alone any more

SRWB 2010

BRICKS

[A paper to write on, read from and burn

is a to-do list like no other

Magnificent wings intensify these flames

as pieces fly softly across a silent doorstep]

No summers pass in this time

only a noticeable change of season

just now

Now I've written and then hidden

so many times; the spoon hangs itself

again, again (again)

Again wiping greasy hands on aprons

with violent strings brings dramatic endings

only sometimes

Sometimes it's a big, glass birdcage in full view

perch and swing excelling acrobatics

ever, always

Always tempt me (sometimes); do it now, make it quick

before friends across tables present truth

in abundance

Abundance?

The way you see it

The way I see it

The way they see it

It's all so understandable

Understanding is the ultimate proof; chaotic mostly

A past fills the phone, steadily, with dread

forever, maybe ...

Maybethis is the problem:

{Gold alerts for life's fulfilment; sinking liquid from that moment

It brings fuzzy logic and a feel-good-anywhere vibe that soothes the pain

and patronising terms of endearment can be gratefully replaced

Over-riding guts strew themselves on golden walkways

Screaming intuition at scuffed paint and false glitter

A shot can be colourful; and needed and distracting

It can also be grey and edgy; nondescript

Wake up! It's 11:11 am/pm

The wrong attitude takes it all for granted too soon

and it's the only thing that finally fires through my apathy

raising a Lion's anger against a Lion's pride 

and then call it some more - a bluff?

A reet game it is - but I don't play for soul bets

just fun - where did that go?

It doesn't exist above your grave, that's for sure

Organic salt travels across the pavement

dissolving more of the paint where it falls

Keeping the pleading entrails in their place

behind the line - for now

But they will mutate and crawl across it soon

It's a sure thing]

Eager for visions of Azure blue under Michaels gaze

Calling flames to return to flickers in beautiful eyes

In calming oceans of lucky breaks and pride restored

Anger recedes with tides of cool waters

Sent away on the breeze of airs purest thoughts

And the earth itself leaves us steady in our roots

as nourishment retreats once more to its purpose

Problem solved either way - may/maybe/mayhaps

Guts are often gutted

Hearts are often atrophied

Lungs are often devoid of pure air

I hope I'm not alive before I die ...

That line has been stuck in my head for weeks

Like the unconsciousness that tempts a bleeding brain

Feeling dead - or was it trapped inside?

Succinctly thinking about the clarity of vanity

and vagueness; a hopeful drop of faith

and maybe a letting go?

Born this morning (not again)

It hurt and brought anger

More than a snooze button

on the incessant ringing in my ears

Alarm bells - I've been ignoring them for ever

and a once eager soul

now seems as disinterested as the melting snow

It'll harden again in Winter - why?

and continue to kill and sadden anything in its creeping wake

I'll sit here no longer, waiting for it to play on repeat

There are ten thousand things to do

and I've got ten thousand thoughts in my head

no more and no less - maybe one extra (give or take)

they funnel into a consolidated idea

A notion of freedom from judgement

and a wall against the pain

I stand to gather the bricks

~ Samantha Rae 2010

SRWB 2010

THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF SIN

Hats litter a forest floor as a grave is newly covered with in-jokes

There's a way to drill a square hole with a round bit

and only that guy underneath knows the answer

The youngest birds only tweet (as they are left)

Fretting inside cages they have known their whole lives

The blanket darkness covers them, yet no chance of a dove resides within

This illusion is a myth, like Houdini drowning in giant water jars

sold in error amongst rusted padlocks and misfit keys

No room to move and nowhere to go

It's burnt out, stuffed gut-less and disgustingly anxious

Cowering amongst cast off moth balls - cowards?

Perhaps we are just more than a little tired

Fetch the spade, start the digging

Let's excavate these dusted bones

and shake out the secrets to cave-dwelling sense

There are misted graveyards and desolate construction sites

that'll last longer than the inspiration that created them

Birth, abandonment - death

Eyes that have no patience for candle light

feed blindness on fluorescent strips

One after the other - a bilateral squint

They pass, rhythmically, above the morgue tunnel

gaining speed in the absence of white lines

on a newly tarmacked road

How long will we be staying then?

As long as it takes, of course

We'll pay the bill on the way out

SRWB 2010