Dirty pretty things.

Beware the Freaklie bird my son,
the beak that bites, the breath that stinks,

Our Dark Mother now returns
while the fires of Beltane burn.

one night I slept
on a
tombstone
carved out with
your name.

Another addiction to fight, the detox would have me broken down to the scared child inside, re-broken to heal straight and many, many sleepless and fidgety nights.

You rotted in the gulag
where Death stalked
the corridors.

Jean was speechless, She held him closely and cried even harder. "It doesn’t mean your not a man, it wasn’t your fault Scott." she told him

"disabled”
they call me
wherever I go

Oh no, not now, anytime but now. Everything snaps into sharp focus I feel Saul snarl and snap at Ca

Beware the Gambler; his cards fall like razor blades onto the faces of those who love him. His dice are bullets that slay his children;

grasping each other
hungrily

like mirror images
or
Siamese twins

With wings these ragged sluts
cover their foetid cuts,
and their obnoxious guts
are only skin and bone.