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..

Leader Theatrics

I recently read an article in the Times Newspaper about the comments from Peter Mandelson about the Leadership contender Ed Miliband. He warned Ed Miliband that going back to "old labour" politics will not win them an election and he stated he was backing his brother David Miliband for leadership. It is clear from Mandelsons comments that he values popularity over political morals. Of course in this new era of politics PR and appealing to the electorate are extremely important but it seems Mandleson is in a deep love affair with the "New Labour" fiasco, who's public image is no better than when Nick Clegg wears a yellow tie. New Labour now has somewhat of a cheesy cliché image which the public do not want to associate with. Ed Miliband is proclaiming his strong political views on social justice and civil rights, rather than swaying to the centre ground like so many politicians who mask over their political morals when yearning for the electorate.

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'

soooo WHAT. (K)new stuff

Chasing round every corner into a dark alley

A subsequent scream and yearn for a normality and comfort

Shouting and singing mantra to satisfy your peace

Trying to touch abstract walls of contempt where bricks are wood and as the finger reaches

Out it strokes the edges and DNA lines become detached

Oh flee

Flee from Saturn bruises on your right arm

Crawl left

Where dust floats in sparing light

Harmony and virtues are baron and colourful ice and binary

Who’s turn is it

Stand up

Internal monologue needs casting

Before the pace of my shadow feet catch up

And before

The sun in the day becomes grey

Like the stone

In eyes.

APATHY

Apathy, Apathy, Apathy, Apathy, Apathy.

= nuff said

When the blood dries in my veins And my, heart feels no more pain

Such a tune. appreciated///plan b

Room of ajdjhdbksksb.... to say the least////

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 my chest.

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.

Going through the jade pine door into the room of novelty, is such like going through a hormonal palisade where I find emotion naked and free.

Instantly I find a chill surrounding my bodily vicinity.

The aroma of the room squats vividly and plagues my lungs; the cardiac organ is the corner is one you said you sung. But all the signs and lies you love to give me, it has been too long too long since I wrote destiny.

The same is the same I need to break from this room, it’s never too late it’s never too soon. The synapse confused of what I should do, too many splinters stand from the wood. I step into the light and become a cliché; warmth from the air kills the dust from my lungs, trapped in a coma of time.

Perfect in motion.

Running free.

I’m fearless.

Earlier poem which i blogged.....basics now is finished.

boobloomboo enjoy

BAM