I'm Counting Stars

I'm counting stars; I'm skimming stones across the moonlit waves of an ocean

And I'm drowning my dreams in the mystical ways of a potion

But I'm sinking in deeper and I know I'm grasping the dark

That's no longer dormant in the empty space of my aching heart

Are these my tears, or just the ocean spray?

That washes you, a thousand, a million miles away

Am I lost in time? 'cause I'm in need of your soothing solace

In this nowhere, never, place that crept upon us

I'm naming the constellations, as the waves crash to shore

I'm caught and borne on a riptide beyond a tidal bore

And I swim with the dolphin and I swim with the shark

As your love fills my longing lungs and turns back the dark

Are these your tears, or just the ocean spray?

Am I holding you, or are you still a thousand, a million miles away?

Have we found each other in time, or is reverie our only solace?

In this nowhere, never, place that crept upon us

I'm counting stars; we're skimming stones as the day breaks on the ocean

Maybe I'm just living a dream, borne on concentric waves of parhelic motion

But I know that I'm bathed in a love, as sweet as the fragrance of any wild flower

As we walk hand-in-hand, now and forever, to an impossible sunlit ivory tower

For You...

Bumbling bumblebees flirting with the sweetest, most fragrant flowers

Flowers of a hundred different hues, in the lushest of green pastures

Under a delicate carpet of a summer's morning dew

Are these some of the things you love, as much as I love you?

Diamond encrusted rainbows in a cobalt sky of the purest blue

Skylarks, the wind in the rushes and little lambs too!

I hope these are a few of the things that you love, as much as I love you...

...and do you need the sentimental songs of love, hope and all your desires?

And maybe a slow dance in the arms of the one of whom your heart he aspires

And when, my love, our time is all but done

We shall lay together beneath the perfect summer sun

The rainbows might shed their diamond tears

But I'll hold you in my arms, my darling, and allay your fears

We'll laugh and cry with our reminisces

Before sharing the last of our breathless kisses

Spot the Difference

It started where it ended, amongst the shopping bags in the kitchen. And it ended where it started; with me on the floor, if not convulsing, then certainly twitching.
She had come home that evening with the usual stuff that ladies buy; so I chose not to ask such questions as "what" or "why".
'Look what I've bought,' she said, flicking through a glossy book of duplicated images. 'You know the game, you've got to spot the difference.'
I nodded my head with obvious indifference.

And so there we stood, with her picture book of mirrored images; crowd scenes, arrangements of flowers and mixed fruit. There was assorted landscapes and animals; cute.
With her finger pointing from page to page, she continued.
'That one's missing and that one's turned from brown to beige,' she thumbed through every scene, again and again.
'What do you think of this book I've bought?' she asked in a disarming manner.
"Not a lot" was my hidden thought, as I suggested, 'we'd be better off with a twelve month planner.'
She gave me a look as cold as winter, that was more of a glare than a glance; as I muttered some incoherent defensive words, as if in a hypnotic trance.

'You've gotta try harder,' she candidly concluded, as she passed me the book; which I took.
I flicked through the glossy pages of duplicated images, without stopping, as I stood next to her shopping. But I could sense her growing tension and feel the tightening knot of my apprehension. Then I looked up and I knew I was fucked!
From a hook on the wall she had grabbed a meat tenderising mallet and the moisture immediately drained from the roof of my mouth, from my palate.
'I'm not fucking blind to your indifference!' she shouted in my face, 'now spot the fucking difference!'

So there I stood, not even muttering, just some "umms" and "arghs" and some fucking stuttering. With her eyes close to bulging and her face strawberry red, she hammered the mallet into the fore of my head.
And there I staggered, still holding her picture book of duplicated images; blood in full flow down my face, with the whole of the cosmos spinning in my space. Then I dropped the book, her picture book, and felt the full force of her withering look.
'They've altered the pictures from page to page,' I managed to say. 'What was brown has turned to beige.'

'Honey,' she said, with a placating attitude, 'what's different about me today?'
I felt no sense of gratitude.
With my blurred vision and my ears ringing, but mayhap a new beginning... 'Is it your hair?'
Crunch went that fucking mallet; my blood and teeth swirled round my palate. And there I was, on the floor, next to the glistening pins of her stilettos.
'New shoes?' I gargled.
'Are you fucking dippy?' she screamed down at me, 'can't you see I'm wearing new fucking lippy!'
Crunch went that bitch of a mallet, snap went my fucking palate.

'You've gotta pay more attention,' she said, 'and cut out the fucking indifference, when I wanna play spot the difference.'
Then between my legs went the heel of her stiletto and my blood curdling scream was a pitch higher than falsetto.
I crawled over her picture book of mirrored images, of mixed fruit and animals; cute. And what was once a bright orange carrot was now soaked to claret. Whoosh and crunch went that fucking mallet.
I lay there, in a pool of my own blood, there in our kitchen and if I wasn't convulsing then I was certainly twitching.

Xaphan

Exiled to Hades, 'tis now where I dwell

To fan the furious flames in this pit of Hell

Once an angel, now a demon of perdition

Serving an eternal sentence without remission

Now I'm the inferno and I raise Hell's fire

And I'll reignite embers to quell Heaven's choir

I'll incinerate paradise and the promised land

Throwing the avenging flames I've personally fanned

All I want is complete destruction

So I'll awaken dormant volcanoes with new eruptions

And I'll stand in Hell and smirk with mirth

As I watch them burn, both Heaven and Earth

For my final fate I'll not foretell

But all those above me will now meet my hell

For in the fruition of all my evil scheming

With my incendiary vengeance I can hear them screaming

Drenched in Your Tears

I'd been drenched in your tears

Drenched in your tears for fucking years

...pulled this way and that...

What was the fucking choice?

There was no choice, just your fucking voice!

Your voice, yeah... dragging me...

Pulling me, this way and that

I could see your bemused looks; all that frowning

Couldn't you see me fucking drowning?

Drenched in your tears

Not for weeks and months; no... for years and fucking years

...pulled this way and that...

What was the fucking choice?

Yeah, I had a choice; silence your fucking voice!

Your voice. yeah... can't drag me down now...

Can't pull me this way and that

You still look fucking bemused, despite your missing eyes

And now that I've eaten your tongue, you're not so fucking wise!

Drenched in your tears?

Fuck your tears, I'd been drowning for fucking years!

You prevaricated and it was your choice to dither

Now I've got to dig out and eat your fucking liver

Gonna pull you this way and that... gonna rip you open...

Sweet Jesus, you taste so fucking good!

Excuse me, while I slurp up your fucking blood

...I didn't have a choice...

I'm sure it was your fucking voice?

The Impenetrable Dark

I think I can hear, I can hear the deafening silence

And I can see the impenetrable dark, with my defiance

I can taste the sickening bile of my despicable fear

And I think I'm alone, but I'm not sure, nothing is clear

I'm deaf, there's only the white noise of the background static

I think I'm blind, but my thoughts are much too erratic

But I can't escape my fear, it's a hideous malformed miscreation

And I'm not alone, 'cause I can't elude this godforsaken abomination

Dead, I'm dead, I was subject to death; merely mortal...........

Everything I was has slipped; slipped into a sinkhole portal...

And there's nothing beyond this, just the impenetrable dark...

Deep in death, I'm deaf and blind; where is the patriarch?......

There is nobody here, absolutely nobody else here, nobody but me

And there'll be nobody else here, absolutely nobody else, that I can foresee

So I'll swim in the dark, before I drown in the deafening silence

And I'll make a pact with my fear and form a self-destructive alliance

I can only taste the sickening bile of my despicable fear

And I'm definitely alone, but I'm not sure, nothing is clear

I'm deaf, I can't hear a thing and I'm statuesque; I'm stuck in the static

And I'm blind to a god-damn thing, in the impenetrable dark of the dogmatic

13 O'Clock

12:58am, 12:59am, 13.00am

Flickering red figures find me, to mock

Find me to remind me that it's 13 o'clock

There's no refuge in reverie in my limitless limbo

With a presence outside gazing in through a window

I suck in the air; my sweat soaks the bed

As moonbeams irradiate all that I dread

All gathered as one, as is the will of their kin

With their empty eye sockets and sallowy skin

My heartbeat's a slow beat; I'm as cold as the grave

I'm caught by the riptide, borne away on a wave

And if I could, I would, but I can't close my eyes

Can't escape the horror of their uniform guise

Fiery red figures have been stopped by a chock

Stuck on the non-time of 13 o'clock

And all that there was, in the fathomless pits of me

Is draining away all the desolate wits of me

The toxin in my lungs is stagnantly stale

Those looking in are a mortuary veil

Morphing and blending like wind carried mist

Waiting for an exhale and the unclenching of a fist

Slow beat; no beat, I've emptied each lung

Purged my last breath, I'm dried out and wrung

It's as cold as the marble in a temporal nave

And as black as the pitch of an unfathomable cave

Smouldering red figures flicker and mock

In the gathering mist it's always 13 o'clock

No minute is passing in my limitless limbo

As my eyes turn to glass outside of the window

Nothing before, nothing after, 13 o'clock

Shadow Walker

There's no monster there when the darkness billows

As you rest your head upon drool soaked pillows

And it's not a portentous doom laden warning

It's just the gathering pitch of a shadow forming

Though you might awaken with no cause for calmness

Fearing the baleful who are not close to harmless

You can kill the doubt and rest assured

If you're brave enough to pull the cord

                                   It will feed on angst, as it feeds on panic

                                   Touting fear to the cerebral manic

                                   If it's not a monster, it's of your essence

                                   Shape shifting shadows to form a coalescence

                                   Eldritch alter ego is a chimera seeker

                                   Violating dreams to make you madly meeker

                                   In your murky depths it's a malevolent rival

                                   Leeching (thieving) for its own survival

Found in dreadful dreams, it's a nightmare stalker

Cloaked in cloying tar, it's a shadow walker

Though you feel the fear, what is the danger?

Of a pernicious parasite that's not a stranger

You can't see the monster when the darkness billows

Can't see if it's drool, or blood, that soaks the pillows

And if you dwell in dreams you'll soon recollect

When a shadow turned into a silhouette

P is for Purgatory

This was never the scenario...

Was never the obvious option...

And I was wrong; so wrong

The somatic has gone, but I live on...

And on, and on, and on, and on

I always thought that the end was the end

No ifs, no buts, no maybes

This wasn't plan A, B or C

Because this is plan P, and P is for Purgatory

And this is my diary, the diary of a dead man

Trapped and alone; alone with the P plan

The first day is the second day...

And the third day and the last day

And the last day is every day

There're no blue skies; no sun or stars bright

Only a midwinter grey of a permanent twilight

And the grey is grizzly, it's murky mizzly

With a glutinous, dense, fog; sometimes it's thinner

And when it's thinner I see the others who are here and there

Shadowy faceless shapes, wandering where?

And then it thickens again and I see naught

That's when I can taste the acidic mizzle

With a corrosive stench so foul I can hear it fizzle

And the drizzle fizzles on my tongue

But I cannot spit; I have to taste the taste

Have to smell the smell of the septic waste

I've been here since D day; death day

Which is today, yesterday and every day

Because every day is the first day and the last day

And today there's an ethereal choir of lost souls weeping

I can hear my weeping; feel my salty tears

And feel my hunger pangs that leave me with a permanent yearning

And the cold's so pervading that I feel a contradictory burning

H might be for Heaven or Hell, but P is for Purgatory

And I'm trapped and alone in this abstract absurdity

All the days of the past have passed

And this day today is the very last

But the last day is also the first day

And the first day is every day

And this is my diary, the diary of a dead man

It was never  A, B or C, it was always the P plan

Each step I take is a step too far

As I tread the mossy mulch of a viscous bog

But I can't stop, never stop, never stand still

Never feel the comfort of warmth, only a churning chill

And so I wander and I wander, in meandering circles?

Each cloying step is a slog

And atop of the bog is the fog

And the fog is what I inhale

And is my permanent death shroud veil

I can hear myself weeping; feel my salty tears

That I've never shed and have shed for years

This was never the scenario...

Never the obvious option...

But I was wrong; so wrong, as I wander nowhere

But nowhere is somewhere

And somewhere is everywhere

And everywhere is here

And there's no escaping from this bewildering absurdity

This is no way station, this place of Purgatory

This is the end or the start and the diary of a dead man

There was no A, B or C, for me it was always the P plan

This is the first day and the second day...

And the third day and the last day

And the last day is every day...

And every day is today

And today I'm in Purgatory; P is for Purgatory

Infrared

He records in the dark, with cameras; infrared

Whispering his name; the name of the dead

And he calls 'If you are there, show me a sign'

The response in the distance, a grandfather's chime

A sharp intake of breath from him and his buddies

Positive murmurings, some gen for his studies

Fixed to the spot, they await, the ghost hunting corps

Seconds pass by, then there's a creak from a door

There's gasping and joy and they're close to high-fives

For some it's close to the best night of their lives

'Did you get them' he asks 'the chime and the creak?'

Unseen a thumbs up in the murky mystique

They hunt their ignorance into the deepest bowels

Absurd night vision goggles on faces with scowls

As the air ripples with a devilish draught

Wafted from nowhere, conjured by witchcraft

But he's a professional who can talk to the dead

Recording and filming when others have fled

He's the ghost whisperer and he's on the hunt

Asking his questions, straightforward and blunt

'If you were the lord of the manor, make yourself known'

He quietly implores in a solicitous tone

And they stand there in silence; stock-still

Waiting for a sign, all knowing the drill

Only the pounding of heartbeats, nothing else stirs

So he whispers instructions 'We'll split into pairs'

Six into three wander from ground floor to attic

All soaked in the cold sweat of the psychosomatic

He's usually calm and collected, he thinks he's "the fella"

But now he's nervously descending the stairs to the cellar

The warmth of the air is repugnantly cloying

And backtracking is an option with which he is toying

He calls back to his buddy 'Switch on the light'

Click, click, click; still only night vision sight

Isolating the fear is a technique he employs

But now he's becalmed and losing his poise

He's the ghosts whisperer with a reputation to keep

So he carries on down on his ponderous feet

"An expert in his field", he thinks he's a maven

But now he is here; here in my haven

I was the butler, not the lord of the manor

Who I gratuitously killed with a sledgehammer

The fire that I set was impossible to douse

And in the conflagration we burned in his house

Now this "specialist boffin" can see me in his night vision goggles

He's soiled himself and his knees have got the wobbles

He came here to find and wasn't coerced

But in my paraffin embrace into flames he has burst

And I hold him close, so he'll have no chance to dash

Until his screams abate and he is naught but ash

So heed this warning; beware of where you tread

For only the dreadful dead inhabit the infrared