downfall

Manic

I am what you would call a maniac,

A manic.

I am the Hyde to a Jekyll,

A creature with clawlike talons and razor sharp teeth.


But I am no monster of the deep,

I am simply an animal with desire, passion and love, forced

Through my veins by my ancestors.


I am no harmful creature,

But one that should be pitied.


My Body is wired,

Like an android I stand,

Helpless to my desires and instincts.


Society deems me a brute,

A monstrosity,

Yet the human species deems me perfect.


Live, Die, Breed


We are a natural process,

Subdued by societies concrete walls,

Imprisoned in ourselves,

Subverted to a nature that slaughters the souls of men.

 

 

Bring me my death, for life's meaning is massacred by the weight of suppression.

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Endlessly

Depression swallows me,
Consuming every inch.
Destroying the very foundation i stand upon.
Falling in an endless pit of darkness.
Nothing to grab nothing to hold.
So I fall, endlessly.

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tags:

THE DEEP DARK ENGLISH HEART

Folder: 
LIFE

THE DEEP DARK ENGLISH HEART

The nation in itself has been strangled by intrigue
Before they’d formed the UK, the first great league
The British dominated as far as could be seen
From Europe right down pass the Caribbean
To Asia Minor and down under
When they clap their thunder
Poor natives quake and obey
For only the English had a say
Rule Britannia was their song
And they’d reigned very long
Anyone who resisted them
Got into serious problem
They knighted their robbers
Whom we called buccaneers
To them the British did no wrong
You’re compelled to sing their song
To save their dilapidated sugar industry
Their righteous sole answer was slavery
This was one cause for their downfall
To feed the pot-bellied British and all

They did a lot of good which had stood the test
Their laws and education system were the best
Their snobbery and hypocritism and all
Left a deep dent in many an ex-colonial
They were so brainwashed with all the hypocrisy
Some still stuck up with their colonial mentality
What was once a shining lure
Is left today without a cure
The hidden heart of this once regal country’s fates
Is a collection of very battered old housing estates
Red-light areas and inner-city ghetto
Singing Rule Britannia as their motto
Festered with crack houses living on the dole
Hoping for improvement with pole after pole
And a haven for all refugees and social exiles
Crooks, home grown terrorists and pedophiles
Really a place where the poor gather
Where colour or class doesn’t matter
Snubbing or smirking at you in hat and cane as they pass
As you focus on the glass houses of the upper middle class

The rioters were leaving all things cheap
This was their harvest their time to reap
Why risk imprisonment if caught you query
To them they had nothing to lose why worry
They had no jobs and no respectability
Nothing for them to pay off eventually
At the bottom of the barrel you can’t scare
They’ll face rubber bullets they had no fear

They were damaged goods all of them
The results of a fragile lopsided system
The plot thickens years ago into this predicament
The architect being the Conservative government
When The Iron Lady sold off public housing
Failing to replace it with zilch with nothing
Her Big Bang turned London into financial crisis
The result was huge bonuses, soaring house prices
Labour using welfare to save an economy already drowning
Doing his utmost to with its killing what Cameron is doing
So how do you feed of self esteem of your last grain
You riot and you even shame yourself you go insane

You steal junk that makes you feel posh
With your mates getting all that rush
You are filmed pretending to help a bleeding boy
But stealing from his back-pack is your real ploy
You do disgusting things giving blows
You break doors and smash windows
Ask why you doing this, you have no clue
As you take what you think belongs to you
For the poor has no one who is helpful
Especially when they turn out ungrateful
It is easier to report about who set the fire
But why they lit the fire in the first place sire?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this afte the recent riots in England.

Dreams

Waiting, waiting, waiting. Tik-tok. Tok-tik.
Minute hand edging as you sit.
When you must wait for your entire life,
Waiting becomes no more a sign of strife.
Even as you sit in the sheltered boughs
Turning over wherefores, whys, whos and hows,
It is that which you are accustomed to,
A bit tedious, but nothing new.

Yet you must dream. If not, your soul will cease
To bring you up. And put you down. And geese
Won’t come to bestow on you your thorny crown.
And she might not glide across the dancefloor,
To give you what you want. And so much more.
To incarnate your hopes, your fears and dreams
In another body bursting at the seams
With blood, life, and so much vitality
It almost drives you to insanity.

Kerrrrr-ack. Tinkling, tumbling down, your world dies.
She said No. Get lost. Or maybe she let you down
gently.

Time to run.
Go.
Now.

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