Neon Lights

It’s one of those nights. Those lonely nights in splendor a bored blonde stands upon a rooftop terrace. The wind blowing as it does from 15 stories high through those pretty locks the music booming right behind. Our girl dressed to the nines staring down at the Capitol lights the blood splatter in her eyes.
“Memories…” she sighs through red lips parted just so. As he steps out she pulls the end of her cigarette holder to those lips, before he speaks “got a light?” voice that sweet kind of ready.
He makes a noise and begins bumbling through his pockets until he nabs his torch. She smiles the wind tossing her hair every so tenderly as flame meets home. She breathes in.
“So baby what you doing all the way out here?” his breath stinks of schnapps. Wrapping a well toned arm around her satin wrapped waist “you should be where the action is” he hoots pulling her closer their chests colliding. At least he’s built well she smirks taking a long drag those full red lips delighted at the odds.
Some nights a girl just needs some company. He’s smelling her hair as her attention moves toward the glass doors. Neon lights in darkness shadow all the bodies the boom of the music masking the screams in her head, blood splatter still painting her eyes. “Let’s go sweet thing you can finish that inside” he was right she only came out for the view. Now it was time for a little do-si-do.
He leads her through the glass doors the bass almost nauseating “I found the golden ticket!” the stud shouts the crowd responds though nothing’s heard.
She takes a drag watching the slow exhale of the smoke-an excuse to take in the room. She follows the show pony rather guided by his grip, reaching out taking a glass of wine- she sips that red. A drop falling from lip to breast the cool sensation a flash of vindicated regret. Our blondes remembering a face she can never forget. Blood splatter and that bass is sounding thick. He twirls her suddenly out of underneath his weight in her heels she spins the wine spilling over her silver draped body her back hitting the DJ booth. The pain in her spine the trigger.
Thud then swipe the neon colored lights dancing off steel as the beat gets hot.
A flip of our miss and she’s on top the studs shoulders. Face first. He’s enamoured by her intimate wear completely missing the fact this little blonde’s cut clear through the nape of his neck. His blood soaks her thighs as she rides the stiff backwards through the crowd. The  decapitated hottie takes her to the center of the room before the timber begins to fall. To the sound of the bass she goes flying cartwheeling off shoulders before dropping heels into the eyes of another lovely guy. Knife in hand our lonely lady shakes it off the blood splatter illuminated in the dark by neon lights. A girl screams as the blonde reaches number four she sees the rolling head being kicked about the scene. The blondes knife takes another dog while the screaming girl tries to tell someone anyone what’s she seen. Finding the only man whose still breathing, but to her horror takes the words right out of her mouth literally as he shoves his tongue down her throat. She struggles still screaming-as best she can as he paws at her flesh, so after those lips. The music is thumping the tempo a heart attack as he stops her struggle with a hand crack across her face.
Above the quarrelsome pair our blondes legs twirl over the crowd, she watches, the now silent screamers face frozen in fear as the still breathing dog continues to maul. The severed head still being kicked amongst the living.
The beat drops as the observant blonde let’s long legs fall the neon lights flash red, lips sighing “memories…” her heels hit shoulders digging in-delicate fingers release the strap on either side-another pair bites the dust. Nylon covered feet drop to the ground forcing our girl between the passionate duo, her knife comfortable within the dogs chest. She turns it. Red lips next to his breathing in the taste of vodka and soda “you won’t remember me, but I still remember you.” She turns the knife again his hands about her throat weakened by the last of the poison. Oh-how girls do love their poison heels. “All of you.” Pulling her knife out thud another one bites the dust.
The neon lights keep dancing as do the drunk honeys that showed up. The damsel screamer is long gone didn’t even bother informing the gaggle, but luckily left the blonde time to retrieve the heels and saunter out before the red lights interrupt the neon shadows.

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Self identified

What is a warrior-
a strong woman
tell me what it means
to be a champion
tell me what you’ve done
to be number one
have you given blood
or just claimed the sum
of all the work that happens
while you live on
pretending that you know
something that we don’t
not the definition though
the word rewrote.

Floods and brooks

 I am ice
my blood is water
made of vice
and unclear fotter
eaten by the barrels long
my blood it boils then it’s gone
taken as a gift in rags
dressed a table for the slab
my ribs done
over cooked
this ice it floods
my body a brook.

(18 August 2017)

Nothing is the better

When perfect isn’t perfect,

and enough is just too late

wondering if settling is up

or if true love’s off this plate.

When passions curse the aged together

and together feels like ease,

nothing simple is ever safe,

it just feels like another disease.

A cancer to the lungs, a smoking cough

to set it off

everything is just so right

but its all simmering with no hot.

And when you look at all you wanted

you see his face

you wonder if this wonder-lust

is just a wonder-safe.

Something lacking melody but imbued with

simple chants

that rhyme you with their marigolds

and stick you with their flats.

There never seems to be a charge to push you to your end

a crisis never reached only seldom-ly  in bed.

When touch can kiss the skin send ice right through its core

a trap is set through windows pouring out

Romances door.

And every rhyme you’ve ever felt is cold to hearts own game

because romance has flattened out

it needs another refrain.

For when it reaches climax you seem to come redone

and find yourself so simple,

so easy

so much in love.

But love would rather swelter where you sit in this pot

it’d rather reach you to a boil

while you bubble in your spot.

And while you sit their soaking up

all marry rhymes and shelters

passion dies, romance it flies and nothing is the better

(March 12 2012)

Tobacco and wine

I’ve got myself a new vice,

feels like fire and ice.

Bubbling and fade, misted smoke overrated.

I’ve got myself a new dream

made with lots of whipped cream

troubled and free, a triple timed Identity.

I’ve got myself a new vice

its like liquor pure nice.

A cigar in my hand and another seedy plan

oh I’m free now

breaking out the mold, how?

Tripping off the bridge and flowing right down.

I’ve got myself a new spine

rippled down and divine

a light that’s over my mind

and I’m flying high.

I’ve got myself

I’ve got myself

I’ve got my cigar in hand

and I’m thinking mad

like a hatter with a knife

I’m dreaming in tides

feeling moons pull so right.

I’ve got myself a dying wish

to make myself a fish

swimming in the sky, light drifted so fine.

And here I am vice in hand music in my head

and I’m off to take a stand.

Not a simple butterfly my life is lived

in crushing hides, a moth to feed off light and bliss

like a sand man kissing off eye lids.

Drifting down the flame and gore I’m signing out

finding how.

Like a phoenix with a pipe so high

lost up in water filled skies breathing clouds left and right.

I’ve got a new vice, a killing stick by design.  

I’ve got a new vice and I’m kicking now

fully alive.

(October 20 2012)

When the world ends.

And there was a world of possibility in this hell she lived, in this abyss of flesh and walls.

Dancing above the discarded waste, she swayed, she swayed to the freedom of foul smelling air.

Animal, beast, desperate wretch, lips painted with blood still fresh. The thirst thrust upon her

through yearning, longing, blasphemous desires. Whore caged and tortured, deranged and medicated.

Forgotten in the wreckage of days material long gone and spent.

Upon the scorched decay stood still. Savage.

The orange light of the dying sun shone clear over her ever changing flesh. Rebirth burnt its last remains.

True form and beauty let loose in reality of the feral nature near destroyed.

Natural violence through passion and flesh. Fire that courses like wind through

veins boiling the blood that thickens and feigns.

And there she stood, the only living soul, chest beating deeply, heart left to moan.

Eyes miraculous, glowing, wet with dew. As the beast is set free.

No bars, no walls. Free in the death, the burnt remains of suffocation, derogation, manipulation of the senses.

Dancing in the waste burning outward to deface the body once captured, once object-formed and standard.

Swayed she sways to the explosion of veins, to the remarkable chains, setting flesh to flame.

Cured of restriction ash falls from the skies once a danger like acid, like pills to the mind.

She dances in grace, in full form, and lace, she screams to the stars her lungs fit to burst.

Exploding like a match, heart swells with passion.

The animal, the creature, the truth and its master.

(September 14 2012)

anita sarkeesian

Flipping the script
a woman lacking integrity and wit
making the rest of us look like idiots
she’s a bully, manipulative feminist
using her gender to get out of it
this is a female who uses her tits
just a Katy Perry though much less famous…

Cassandra ‘Cassi’ Maire Johnson

The sky is a crisp blue the world is bright and the birds are singing. Everything is shiny. Everything smells of apple pies, of Liberation Day and of celebration. The not too distant ocean breeze carrying the anticipation of fireworks later that evening.

Mrs Johnson stands with her husband watching from the kitchen window “we’re never gonna find her a husband” she spreads soft hands across floured apron sighing.
“She’s a good girl, Susan” his voice is rough just as the hand he places round her waist. “Pretty too, and handy-what man don’t dream of a woman who can fix dinner and his truck!” He laughs a full belly laugh pulling his wife into him.
“That’s the problem Phil she can’t fix dinner!” delicate Susan bats at him her eyes focused on the fossil truck in the driveway. Young Cassi is currently tuning the ancient vehicle, but would burn the roast without turning on the oven. “She’s eighteen now, and has had more time with engines from the dark ages then boys-that’s a problem that’s a-”
“Attractive quality” he proudly interjects she looks up at him in horror, but before she can protest “a man loves an experienced girl for” he struggles rocking his head and shrugging “say a nice cruise up to cherry hill” she blushes as he bumps hip with her “but the girl you marry, the girl you marry spent her adolescents busying herself waiting for you.” He’s looking down a romantic smile in his eyes as she looks up still unconvinced “that’s why I married you”
Shoving him off “oh! What are you trying to say Phil!” she demands stamping delicately heeled foot to freshly installed linoleum floor.
He laughs again full belly “that you were a good girl” grabbing her by the wrist he pulls he in “the best girl-that’s why I married you while other girls were playing fast, my Susan was at home cooking and taking care of her studies. Every boy wanted you” her arms are wrapped about his rather barrel stomach looking up lovingly as he looks down smiling eyes “but I saw you, and you were mine. Cassi might not cook yet, but you didn’t know the difference between fossil and hybrid before I met you.” He hugs her tightly as she buries head into chest “or filo and watercress”
She laughs kicking his shin gently, not moving. Sighing that ever so lovely womanly sigh “you’re right, Phil, I’m sure when that boy comes along she’ll want to do those things and I’ll be here to teach her. Just like you talk her how to build par-”
The windows shake, hoots, cheers, and the roar of a road techtank fills the air. The couple sees Cassi pop out of the hood as the tank reaches their front yard “ahh the Castillo boys are home” Phil laughs waving into the window excitedly.
“Oh that’s wonderful! Diane will be so happy to have her boys home! And just in time for Liberation Day!” Susan comments to no one listening as Phil’s attention is on Cassi whose attention is on the eldest Castillo hanging off the tank looking down at her.
Musing he comments “this year let’s go to the Marina with’em pay respect to the boys”

Understand this

I need, I need, I need
to get across this theme
of everything we breed
encases something sinister.
That nothing is as pure
as my truth and word
all these lived experiences
shed light on these entanglements
the dark web of my true regret-
the message clear
you’re malcontent.
I need, I need, I need
to make you truly see
that though our plates may seem
equal in entirety-
that we are all the same-
you can’t make that claim
you just play their game.
I am the one in need-
give me your understanding
that we are not equals
for I’m the realest victim of you all.

 

diagnosis accepted

I woke up in a world I’ve lost
closed my eyes now down is up
nothing is as what it seems
cloud of smoke and brain disease
mindlessness and stupidity
led by ego and delusional thinking
grandiose but un-diagnosed
at least not properly.

When I went to sleep,
when I laid my bed,
I knew the sky was blue
and blood not the color red
when I was sleeping- dreaming ever sound
my own diagnosis was settling
down, down, down, down, down
but eyes wide open-the world is flat
am I an animal, maybe a cat?

I woke up and the world turned wrong-blinked but once all logic has gone
but if this is healthy-what the fuck is normal?
If this world is stable-how am I diagnosable?