Break in the line // Christmas Time

A break in the line.
Tell mum I’m fine,
One day I’ll be free.
Free from paying money to mend what she did to me,
But no,
No I won’t go,
I won’t be what you want me to be,
No I won’t drink the poison from this family tree,
Yes one day I’ll be free,
One day I’ll see what’s you and what’s me.
We’re incomplete. We’re unfinished business.
The four of us children.
Oh no, the six,
Left me outside half-broken but not to worry,
I found my fix,
It’s not the drug, the drink, that girl,
It’s the loving family I built to catch the plates that you’d hurl,
Don’t kiss me,
This time it’s on my terms,
Don’t miss me,
You left me with a head full of nightmares and a pocket full of worms,
Mummy, daddy, what really happened?
Why was every Christmas time always saddened?
Step-mum, step-down, step-wife,
You know he still loves her,
You never took control of your life,
You knew how broken we were,
Yet you still stare at us with eyes full of strife?
This family. This dynamic.
‘Throw those feelings in the attic’
Frightened to death, screaming, bad breath,
Friends couldn’t smell it so they called me dramatic,
Sat still, sat in fear, like a deer in the headlights, body all static, then boom.
I’d be free.
I could cope.
But nope.
There’s no hope in death, so I change myself for the better,
But if not for the better,
Then to find hope,
I hope.

Women Like Lines // My Anima

Women like lines
You do nothing for me, even when you try,
Maybe a shot of energy, a nice quick high,
But you’re no good for me, even though you’re what I need,
I’ll breath you in and fall in love,
I know you’re a sin, but there’s no Lord above,
You don’t meet my needs, my hungry stomach, your love never feeds,
But again, I’ll find myself on my knees, begging for more, another weekend, another tease, another sniff and again I’m poor,
Out to dinner, you’re crying again,
Your white darkness is alluring even then,
But I break, because the purpose of you is to equally feed me as I do you,
For gods sake, because mentally my mum was my daughter and it’ll be the same for you, no matter what I do,
Are you okay? Are you okay?
I check up on you,
Only to find out you want me to leave and to find someone new,
Trouble is, is that I try, and when you try you don’t do,
Trouble is, I am my father’s son and his blood is mine,
Half the pints are burning red but the blood he gave me was freezing blue, So I tell my father I’m fine.
So I’ll find another woman, another line.

Remembering Oklahoma; John Doe 2.

The recent bombings in Syria have reminded me of this piece of poetry that I wrote about Timothy McVeigh and the 1995 Oklahoma bombing. 168 deaths occurred and a second suspect known as John Doe 2 was never found;

John Doe 2, God knows who,
Look so blue,
He could be you,
Rolling with the punches,
He lunges,
Stops and plunges,
Swords to heart,
Doors off hinges,
Bomb’s in the car,
Home’s blown apart,
Knowing nothing,
Eye witness ducking,
There’s no where to go,
No where to hide,
Who will find John Doe 2 though?
Who in their right mind and why?
Higher cause higher love gets you nowhere,
Lower payment, harder life causes no one to care,
Needs not met,
Nowhere to go,
A bomb in the back,
Hallelujah,
No one will know,
One hundred and sixty eight down and smiling,
Words fail how far he’s gone,
T.N.T on the shopping list,
An injection was his rocket to the planet he’s on,
Hell’s not enough, they said,
His mind had an idea,
An idea cost five thousand,
Mind became matter anon,
One hundred and sixty eight lives cost the idea and the idea sent him to where he’s gone.

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