The tree stood, as it had, for a hundred years In the green forest, full of elven tears Beneath it stood a hoard of marauding trolls They had approached in numbers, over grassy knolls.
We used to play dress up here, in this room with the faded pink walls and scent of cherry. That's why the carpet's stained with red nail varnish and lipstick.
A 'planned accident' poem inspired by William Burroughs' cut-up's linked around the theme of watching your life pass in front of your eyes before you step out into clear air.
2 till four. Clouds hang back and brain is dead. Real feel, 106. I'll prick my lips with cocktail sticks to check that I'm alive. This mute and frigid air. This stupid swamp.
Haven’t written for quite while Was thinking about changing style Yes I know, it’s about time too At least think, my work through OK, OK I should give things more thought
“Is he dead?” I ask. “I’m not a doctor. Maybe. He might be,” she holds her breath, as if to savour a thought, "I put my heel through his eye.”
So, my little girl has entered the world of clandestine operations and psychological warfare.
Human I feel sadness But more often I laugh I rejoice I cry happy tears Milk squirts from my nose Rather it’s aloud or silently I laugh Smile covers majority of my face Haha lol lmao
I do tolerate that from bottles to books She leaves prints everywhere. But, I can't stand her envy Of the potential of my solid form. Her eternity I never begrudge.