“The Big Question”

Hey folks, been a while! I’ve started writing this like an hour ago.


“The Big Question”

Leaning low, all weak and wary,
Gleaming, glowing bleak and scary,

My own limbs I lug and carry
With a struggle temporary.

I’ve prettied up, I’ve donned my clothes,
I’ve trimmed up all my frigid toes.

They stare in awe, the whole world knows –
I am frankly indisposed.

I’ve limped through this town far and wide
And all I see is black and white;

And everything I smell smells like
Roses and formaldehyde.

Far and wide, this I must stress,
For they surely seemed impressed

As I limped and crawled distressed,
Just to find your new address.

I long for your prolonged affection,
To spite your husband, I must mention

And though I’d stay for a dissection,
To ruin your evening’s digestion,

I kneel humbly ‘fore your mansion
With a most arduous question:

My sweet and fleshy Anne-Marie,
Will you bury me?

“Velvet – Donnie’s Statement”

This is the followup of a recent creation. A second chapter, if you will; you can find it HERE for your convenience.

Let me know what you think!

“Velvet – Donnie’s Statement”

It was sixty past eleven when
The thunder shook my sleep away,
Begging again and again
For me to find reasons to stay;

So I took my ragged duster
From the rack it solely reigned
And I drove faster and faster
On the streaming narrow lanes;

And there she bled, my paramour,
Hunched forth in her velvet car,
With velvet stains of Eleanor
In front of her favourite bar.

In her deathly grip I found
Words that echoed through my head
And upon the velvet ground,
I pried her fingers and I read:

“Dear Donnie, my dearest dog,
I might have hidden what was true,
I know you loved my latest song,
But it was not meant for you.

I’ve become somebody now,
I don’t need your sympathy,
I don’t need the velvet gown
That you’ve commissioned for me.

I’ve no time for pretty words,
Please don’t write me anymore.
You knew this was gonna’ hurt.”
Signed “Yours, Velvet Eleanor”.

…And there I stood besides her car
In the waning fading lights,
With velvet stains of Eleanor
Draining down the sewage pipes.

I wanted to burn that letter,
So a match I slid and struck,
But the velvet got it wetter –
I was sorely out of luck.

I never liked that witless song,
Yet it always made me smile,
Made the world just seem less wrong;
It got old after a while…

I don’t need no Eleanor
To jive and swing inside my heart.
I don’t need no velvet whore
To stain the concrete with my art.

I bought the bar where she performed
And every night I hear the song
That she sang to me before
I became her “dearest dog”.

With each echoing encore,
I dream in every shade of red.
Sometimes I miss my Eleanor,
But, frankly… I’m glad she’s dead.



Ancient notes hum once again –
Echoes through the deep,
Deathknell to forgotten friends,
Ode to my defeat.

I cannot remember when
I last shut my eye
Without dreaming of the end
I witness tonight.

They breathe around my gasping throat,
Mocking misery,
Whispering the pain I wrote –
The chains that bind me.

They drag my cadaver afloat
With a joyous clink;
Sweeter than the hearts I broke
Is the poison that I drink.

Tragedies don’t feel the same
Since my smile’s been sold,
For he, who is one with the flame
…Has never felt so cold.

Thought I’d fallen deep enough
Into the scarlet sea,
But there she spoke, she called my bluff –
The chains that bind me.

Vengeful are the ancient notes –
Echoes of my fear,
Whispering the pain I wrote
Back into my ear.

Rusted are my dying arts
In the scarlet sea;
Though vile and grimy, they are
The chains that bind me.

The drowning notes now wail among
The waning briny kelp,
Yet, this time, it’s no love song –
…It’s a cry for help.

“Nothing Speaks”

An incoherent mess that somehow made enough sense to me to decide to post it.


“Nothing Speaks”

Speak to me, my nothingess –
What have we become?
Nothing stands, for nothing is
Like when we’d begun.

Scream into my ear, I pray,
Take me unaware.
To everything I fear I say,
Eat my heart laid bare.

I beg for only but a whisper,
To disturb the sand,
The silent suffering of winter –
The nothing that I am.

Just a breath, my nothingness,
A voice to call my own…
Nothing speaks, for nothing is;
And I stand alone.


I wanted to write something a bit different in terms of setting. I had a story for this tucked somewhere inside my head but I could only draw out this static imagery.

Let me know what you think!


I smell the freshly-sated rain
Gasp on the cold concrete floor,
Which in puddles does retain
Velvet stains of Eleanor.

Feint street-lights reveal the play
With a warmth no longer felt;
Actors have no words to say
Of the dreams that have been dreamt.

Wide eyes tell of seconds past
With an expression bizarre;
I smell the seeping seething rust
Inside of the velvet car.

Tremors of a fragile breeze
Whisper softly in my ear;
Shaking are my feeble knees
At the silence that I hear.

There I stand beside her car,
Under feint street-lights eclipsed,
Velvet painted on my heart,
Velvet on my trembling lips.

The rain again begins to pour,
Dripping down the vapid sight
With velvet stains of Eleanor
Smothering the fading lights.

Good night, Velvet Eleanor…
…Good night.

“Quill and Seal”

This piece makes references to some of the most valuable sources of inspiration I have been fortunate to rely upon in the past year or so. Not my proudest work, but something that has been trying to claw itself out of my head for a few days, maybe weeks.


“Quill and Seal”

In the comfort of my hearth
Seven circles I have found,
One for each of my black hearts
Shackled under heavy crowns.

Circles of my own volition
I have carved upon my canvas –
Monuments of my ambition
Born of the most lucid stardust.

I have traveled countless minds,
Many dreamscapes I have wandered;
I awoke only to find
They’ve been calling me a monster

I wanted to tear down the sky
And bring the laughter to an end;
But before my bloodshot eye
Was a shadow of a friend.

I wanted to become my fear,
To subdue and to offend;
But thundering inside my ear
Were the whispers of a friend;

And my rivers graced no more
The venom that my hearts could foster –
Sometimes I crave the raging war,
Sometimes I wish I was a monster…

A warrior of quill and seal
And all of my circles smitten –
I am but everything I feel
And I feel all I’ve ever written.



This piece simply describes that curious feeling of having a reason to wake up in the morning. Lately, my reason has developed a name; and a face; and an overall human shape.

Do enjoy and let me know what you think!


Naked in the morning light,
He stares blandly through the bricks
Choking innocence with sight
Snuffed under the marching ticks.

Naked in the morning light
With which silence has been wed,
He sits paralysed with fright
At the far edge of his bed.

Every day begins the same;
He has grown to hate to turn
Pages in books without name,
Pages he wishes to burn.

Naked in the morning light,
He sits just as evermore
On the altar of the night,
Behind large wide-open doors,

Wishing he could sit no more,
Cursing to the gleaming skies,
Naked as the world’s last whore,
Wishing he could close his eyes…

‘Nother dawn bares its long claws,
Piercing every brick and tile
And with seemingly no cause,
He awakens… with a smile.

Naked in the morning light –
This day cannot be the same –
On the pages of his mind,
Sribbled, he has found a name!

To the altar of the night
He turns his vindictive glower
And naked in the morning light,
He stands to meet each blessed hour.