She was beautiful as an horizon is stunning but far away, so she was like a tequila sunrise; glorious but full of ice.

He was an oasis in the palm of her hand What tears she tasted testing for truth Were just desserts wet & wild Acid dates from bitter rain

Heard it said You’re not a poet unless you have a cause A knot that makes one hot & fury burns & feelings surge Until it’s told

These old bones leech. Aged mother’s milk. Curdled by years of tears. One can hear the creak of the croak impending.

No free air. But dear that poison mist. Breathtaking gasps of war. Silence broken only by, Thud of the dead. No voice to scream. No body to care.

These old bones leech. Aged mother’s milk. Curdled by years of tears. One can hear the creak, of the croak impending.

Prison is a paper lady, her story inky parchment. Permanently marked with life’s dun. Sepia walking,  haunting. Ghosts calling her soul.

Crimson fingers Trying to stop words flowing To cease the blackening blood of my glass tongue lashing him to shreds Cut him down

Murdered my canary Woke to remember I don’t have a bird Now worry about my killer dreams intensifying How high does death fly

Keeping mum for dad who is mute from fear If girlfriend find out that he is my mum then big noise I’ll give you the drum