Saturday, October 22, 2011

Anarchy



Anarchy isn’t dead,
Its alive inside my head.


Enrapture



A bead of blood,
A bead of sweat,
Caught in her palm.

A need of blood,
A need of sweat,
Caught her in its arms.

Tracing those lines,
A sharp nose,
A sharp knife.

An unearthly shine,
The wrong dose
A wrong life.

For she’d work herself up,
And work herself down,

And she’d walk the pub,
And walk the town.

She’d slither sometimes,
Sometimes she’d skip.
Sometimes her heartbeat
took a dip.

But when her legs
found those legs,
And when her eyes
Saw those eyes,

Four times hers
And four times hers,
Echoing with
Four times the surprise.

A bead of blood,
A bead of sweat,
Would be found here.

A need of blood,
A need of sweat,
Would be found in fear.

(This one is about spiders- now read it again.)