Powem Prizons.

It's been a while since i've published anything lyrical...so time tells and clocks turn to twelve better post some shit.

Half Empty- New song

Now that you’re older

I don’t need to lie anymore

Cos the truth isn’t innocent at your door

It’s a sad song

To tell you you’re alone

But the future’s all be sewn in cold stone

Maybe I don’t care, I don’t care anymore

But it’s too late for that, but it’s too late for that

Maybe I don’t see, I don’t see any more

There are too many truths weighing down in fact.

Your eyes are crimson

And your blood is burning at the bones

Let the hair grow long and thin

All the pale skin

And sinking heart

You’re oldest friend will know how it feels

Maybe I don’t care, I don’t care anymore

But it’s too late for that, but it’s too late for that

Maybe I don’t see, I don’t see any more

There are too many truths weighing down in fact.

Dear A

Dear Anger

I’m in a turrets like mood were fuck is the only word to describe it

I’d like to slam my head in a fucking door but even apathy is being a twat

When your hairs stand on end it means you’re cold.

I am cold.

I want to thaw and be cold.

And when I am cold I will regret it like so many other things that influence the abstract in my brain. Knowing isn’t believing

Simply... I don’t believe and I wish I didn’t know.

Full stop.

Continue.

War.

I am burning flowers.

I am burning beautiful.

Without direction and without cause I criticise my own frustration.

I want to shout.

I want to rupture my lungs.

But I don’t want anyone to hear me.

I just want to curse in my own echo.

But why don’t you understand?

My moments of silence are drowned in noise.

Signed your sincere friend.

I got Bored

I got Bored

so I became famous for 15mins

I got Bored

so I punched the moon with a flag

I got Bored

so I went to war for oil

I got Bored

so I made a nuclear bomb

I got Bored

but there was nothing left to do....

I want to be in the Anthology.

I want to be in the anthology

Because words are nice and to rhyme in verse

And curse at hate.

Emotions that can speak as echoes echoes echoes...

Often my words don’t dance, they are broken

They stumble and mumble prose

What-used-to-be-cool-90’s-lingo

I am colour blind with words

Blue is grey

Orange is purple

And green doesn’t exist so often my images are obscured

As for sibilance I reject such sounds.

And onamatopia is a word I can never spell

So I SLASH pen to paper

SLASH pen to paper.

I’m not good with endings either.

general musing.

New song lyrics- Musing.

I raise my glass to sadness and sorrow

I’ll feel this way today I’ll feel the same tomorrow

I wanted to leave living and practice flying

Drop me from this cloud, I’m dried up and hollow

A spirit toast to all the happy times

The rain burns down my throat I curse and it is fine

Letters are lonely and lonely and lonely

Give me a direction to follow a line

My heads down, back at the start

I whisper white noise, a feather heart

I continue the story of bitter sweet

Please leave me in here in misery and defeat

It happens..

blisters.

it used to be an outlet of expression

somewhere to walk when the souls of my feet blistered

but blisters burst and the soul cracks

so i bought the shoes to cover my soul

i was a puppet master of myself and string pulled and

i walked on more painful ground and grew the pretender

so many things objectives and dreams with all the unnecessary's

disappeared as wounds

with these shoes i could walk any distance

but it was framed on appearance

so i untied the laces which once held me close to you

and admired for what exists that was honest and true.

bit of impro'

Nuclear arms///= mushroom head.

Hey!

Why don't we all dance round a mushroom cloud. That would be fun.

"EVERYONE" can hold hands and admire the mushroom cloud. I mean

we haven't seen one in a while. I mean we have more than enough sbmob mota.

I can't understand why we have so many we only need a couple to make such

a beautiful mushroom cloud. I suppose I really want to see one.

This person became so obsessed with seeing a mushroom cloud, he grew a mushroom head.

From then on he was no longer seen as a Fun-guy.

BAM POW.

Cradle your Sentiment

Cradle your sentiment inside bleak purple forearms
because circulation flows like ice in a torrid landscape.
With ecstasy.
Roll up the finished, bloody, chromatic carpet and step softly on the exhausted severed floorboards.
They yell as if infatuation would heal the tendency for them to creak when walked on
Depleted and scarred the wall paper hung heavy like the heart which that I bear.
The painting which you gave me lived docile on the passive walls.
The dust made the grey painting
greyer than death
chapters written without any desire.