THE ORDER OF THE BLACK DOG
My family. Here we all are, sitting around the circular dining room table- flecked with bits of gold. Ma sits under a hanging portrait of this Christmas just gone. Three weeks ago. We are all smiling in it including Poppy. Poppy sits playing with her Annabelle doll, on my husband’s lap. Sat opposite from Ma, closest to the electric fire hearth is Gran. I find myself sitting across from Gran. An iciness breathes mist over us. It separates me from them, cloaks me in a fog. I try to swallow. The air is so thick it chokes me, I’m forced to put my hands to my throat. Nobody notices me. Nobody notices me the way they used to. I tune in to the conversation-taking place.
‘Of course I’m not suggesting this is your fault. I should have known. Done more…’ Nan bursts into tears. A cry out for:
I need attention I’m suffering the most.
My skin bristles. Nan pulls her scarf tighter around her neck, and then throws out a familiar comment about it being draughty.
‘You know I could catch pneumonia with my Asthma.’ She coughs. Ma gets up to put on the electric fire.
‘I didn’t take her seriously. You know what Angie was like?’ Ma’s eyes are red as the rosary beads she is thumbing; she looks over to an unusually quiet Poppy.
‘Did she just do it to spite me?’ How could she just leave her own…?’
My husband throws a warning look at Ma,
‘Marie, for Poppies sake. Our Angie suffered more than she let on.’ Ma sits back down. ‘Let’s put on a cartoon, luv?’ Poppy shakes her head.
She doesn’t look at us. I look straight at her, willing her to leave this table. Leave this conversation. She lifts her head and looks me dead on in the eyes. I instinctively smile. Eddie and me always stood together when it came to Poppy. Her face is pale, her eyes sunken, her skin is drawn in so tight I can see cheek bones protrude. Beneath her eyes-, veiled shadows betray her youthful face. She clings onto Annabelle, still looking me dead on in the eyes.
‘When’s Mummy coming home?’
Silence. Her words enmesh with the silence. Her question disarms me. Marks me. The arrow leaves its bow splintering my heart. I open my mouth to scream out as many words as I can. Condensation steams the air distilling me into silence. I reach my hand across the table to grab hers. She doesn’t see me. I glare at my family sitting at the round table. They say nothing. Smothering themselves in sorrow, they witheringly curl inwards. I urge to shake them, uproot them from winters glaze.
-Answer her! Answer my daughter.
Instead, Gran succumbs to a puddle of wrinkled tears, mechanically Ma gets off her chair, attempts to console Gran and naturally it’s up to Eddie to mediate. My calm, rational Eddie. His eyes read as vacant –his beard is wild and unkempt. It’s impossible to read his face. He clears his throat,
‘We’re gonna see Mummy when we give her… say a proper goodbye.’
Gran flounders in her anglers net of remorse. Great splotchy splashes of grief escape. She wails,
‘She’s with the angels –looking down at you, darling!’
I roll my eyes. Of course I love her! Lately, she grates my skin more frequently with her, melodramatics.
– Confess how you truly feel. Relieved!
I’m so fixated on evoking a response from Gran; unnoticed, a light flickers with an intensity to match my own. Eddie carries Poppy over to the sofa, sits her down to watch a cartoon. He covers her with a blanket then kisses her forehead.
‘We’ll see mummy soon? To say goodbye?’
Eddie nods his head, his voice cracks.
‘When will mummy come back from saying goodbye? In spring? My teacher says it’s winter – everything goes to sleep like her?’ Poppy points to ‘Sleeping Beauty’ on the television.
Eddie focuses on the image. The Prince is just about to kiss Aurora on the lips. He turns his head away from the television before he can see Aurora wake up to her true loves kiss. He grinds down on his teeth. Poppy’s eyes remain transfixed on the television. Eddie gets up, crosses the dining room table; I’m compelled to follow him, I have to stop him. Tell him I’m still here. I haven’t gone anywhere. I’ve so much to tell him.
-There is no God! We were right all along. Religion is for people who can’t think for themselves. We were right to take the piss.
Eddie flinches, puts his hands in his jean pockets. I follow him down Ma’s hallway and into the bathroom. He closes the door on me. It doesn’t ever close fully. I slip through the crack of the door that is always ajar.
Head down. Still. He sits on the toilet seat. I kneel down before him; go to lay my head on his knee. He flinches again. Hits himself in the head. Bangs his fist on the wall screams out:
‘Why? We could’ve figured it out, you fucking stubborn mare’ I bring out the best and worst in Eddie. Till death do us part. What are the chances?
He still refuses to let me go. Stubborn.
My symptoms intensify in the days leading up to the funeral. Everything‘s heightened especially emotions that seemingly walk precariously on stilts. I can’t walk through walls or levitate. Nothing like any of the horrors Eddie and me used to watch together, on the sofa.
Unheard, I bellow continuously,
-Just let me go!
Every time I hear my name called reflections of nostalgia flash and beam over and around me. Prompted, I gravitate towards the source. Someone needs me. These past three weeks, I’ve been teleported from one conversation to another. I find myself in a room; familiar or not familiar, with people I know and people I don’t know.
Today I’m summoned to the usual bickering between Ma and Gran. The familiar sound of Gran’s kettle boils in the background.
‘I want that picture of her on her graduation day and flowers- blown up .With azaleas. And roses – she loved roses- pink.’
‘She hates that picture! And she loves- loved yellow roses…’ Ma’s wobbly voice mirrors her jelly struck legs propping her up in her work shoes. She staggers backwards. Like the black dog with a bone, Gran won’t give in,
‘No, she’s my eldest grand daughter and I know her – it is… was pink!’
Ma sits down, doesn’t speak. I go over to her to put my arms around her then she dissolves into tears. Gran bulldozes her way over to us. Intimidated, I move out of her way. Gran holds Ma and Ma lets Gran hug her. Ma calms down, mentions something about pink and yellow roses
Vexed, I shriek
– don’t back down Ma, I love yellow. Yellow roses. The kettle whistles for attention. My voice is lost to an object.
‘I’ll go make that cup of tea’ Nan retreats to her kitchen.
Another opportunity to get close to Ma again. I need to hug her, give her some of my energy. As if on cue, Mum’s tear-stained face crumples just like my heart. A poking hot iron burns a hole right through it. Gran re-enters the room I scarper.
‘Here you go, love. Lost three of my own …, as you know, mind, they never got to Angie’s age. Yellow’s more of a quirky colour like our Angie… was.’ They smile at each other. I move back, the distance seems to illuminate their smiles.
Tonight, I beg for there to be a heaven. This has to be hell. The familiar, incongruous, gravitational pull lures me out of my cavernous abyss. I blink my eyes several times to focus: orientate myself. Hung up around the wall are vintage Disney posters. My eyes settle on Poppies bed. Eddie bends over Poppy and kisses her goodnight,
‘Mummy loves you just as much as I do.’ He tucks her in.
He switches off the light before walking out. I stand and watch my worn out daughter in her bed. She sings herself to sleep just as she does every night. She sings our song: twinkle twinkle little star. With each inflection of her sweet singing voice, the words serve as a needle. Each word stipulates smelting hot ink into my flesh. My neck is ablaze. Before closing her eyes, she whispers,
‘I love you mummy.’
When I reply, scorching chains wrap and lasso me around my neck. My skin swells up in blisters. The familiar sound of her breathing evaporates the pain. I need to be close to her, I need to smell her, kiss her. Carelessly, I run over to her bed to touch her sleeping head. Startled I lunge backward as Poppy instantly wakes up screaming.
– I’m powerless
. Eddie barges into the room, throws on the light and takes Poppy into his arms. I watch her body stiffen; then relax. I watch him settle my daughter back to sleep. My hands ball into tight fists.
-She must know I’m here.
Before I can touch her face, she wakes up screaming like – like she has seen a- ghost.
-I’m that Ghost! I put my hands to my mouth in horror.
Envy bubbles inside me as I witness Eddie consoling Poppy again. I’m half hoping he won’t succeed.
What kind of a mother am I?
I’ve been telling everyone to let me go.
Where will I go?
I can’t drive, no one can see me. There are no other lost souls wondering about telling me to join the dead community!
I won’t give up on my daughter. She needs me. I have to be here.
The stroke of our clock announces its time; a primitive realisation slithers down my very core. Nausea spirals up into my throat. I run into our bathroom, heave over the toilet, nothing comes out. I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror; I see vicious V-shaped welts where the noose of the rope has cut into my neck. This is what Eddie came home to.
The cloying black dog of depression haunted me. Its delivered dose of pain was exquisite- nothing took it away. Not drinking, overdosing, drugging myself, talking-nothing. Eventually, I told it to sit down. I told Eddie repeatedly,
– I just want to disappear.
– How can I help you? His eyes pleaded for an answer. I would always lash out,
-Unless you help me disappear, you can’t!
I remained imprisoned in our bed and he would go back to work and look after Poppy and the house. He could walk away from me. I couldn’t. I resent him for that. I can see myself now, googling the various ways people commit suicide. One article struck my eye ‘Men are more successful at committing suicide’.
-They don’t mess about with poisoning themselves –they resort to more violent means.
That is the moment I reached out to the wrong Alpha.
The black dog and I began sleeping together. It became my obsession. Up-close, I could analyse it, experiment with it. As a couple, it didn’t take much to find that Alpha rage. One phone call from Ma,
-Just snap out of it. If you’re going to do it, get on with it.
-Fine, I will! I hung up on her before she could hang up on me.
My impulsiveness finds me trapped within this mirror. It’s cold. Everything I read is back to front. Everything I do is back to front. It doesn’t reflect my true intentions. When I reach out, in fact, the more I reach out the more pain I inflict. I back away from the mirror until I’m pressed up, with my back against the bathroom wall.
What have I done?
What right do I have trying to tell my family how to deal with their loss?
Eddie will never know that I was messing about; I didn’t know if I could actually go through with it. From a great height in a corner of the bathroom my body feels cut loose from itself. I can see it happen in front of my eyes. Like a rerun episode, I can’t pause. The noose around my neck, in the shower. Steam shrouds the mirror, with slippery feet, I accidently knock myself off that chair and in that moment I realise,
– I don’t want to die.
I can’t scream and tell anyone. I made the decision when I decided to sleep with my enemy. I’ve interrupted the natural course of life. A lost soul in life: a lost soul in death. There are no bright lights to come with this epiphany. I exit the bathroom, stumble down the staircase, out the front door, and walk aimlessly down the street. I sense a familiar pair of eyes examining me; I look up and see the black dog in its true form. It waits for me to catch up. We walk side by side. I don’t look back. I am the one preventing people from moving on. I have to let go.
It’s been a while since I’ve done a non poetry /stream of consciousness post.
There’s been a shit load going on in the Willows, and every time I think I need to put my thoughts in a post-,life crops up. haha! Life, damn you!
Since June 2016 ,I’ve felt all the positive vibes I usually throw out to the right people shrivel up into dead petals.
The fragrance of mustard gas toxins in my mind and body have knocked me out. I’ve tumbled into a fitful slumber – ignorant to the natural effects of the buzz of Life.
I’ve become ashamed.
Ashamed because I was finally in the best place I’ve ever been in my life.
And I decided to self sabotage.
Here is the weird logic.
Sometimes, when I feel like creeping back into my comfort zone, I retreat from all the people who treat me with respect , encourage me to carry on being creative and love me , give me chances to rise and make a difference in my own life and possibly in others. I become a scorpion in defence and attempt to sting myself to death.
It’s a primitive response – commanded by his most rational Amygdala.
No chance I’m going to let anyone else crush me. Haha! I will do it myself at my own hands or tail… even.
Suspicious mind sets in.
The thing is my self destructive tail shrank while I was living life allowing myself to be confident, taking compliments, getting ahead , climbing the arduous trek uphill, and finally relishing the view on top of my own mountain .
I had already started the process of adaptation, in response , to the good fortune I’d made in my life.
Let my guard down.
In fear of being who I have always wanted to be, I fleed with my stumped tail, roamed the desert and searched for a medley of creatures and elements to crush me.
I know this sounds abstract.
I recently went to an open mic night for people in recovery from various addictions, and one girl came up on stage and performed a piece about her strange and unusual relationships with toxic people.
It’s almost like a buzzword. I hear this phrase everywhere’
‘don’t let toxic people into your life‘
I do get it.
I understand that I don’t need to be on drugs, or overdosing or starving myself to hurt myself.
sometimes, when I feel self destructive, I seek out people who I think need saving or who can help me escape me or they seek me out. It’s not something I’m aware of until it’s too late.
These people are attracted to me like gravity. Vice versa.
These people become a drug.
There is an allure, a peculiar drive to chase after them. Hang onto every kind word spoken , every sweet gesture.
Then when they wake from a spell of disallusion- or they feel they have been stirred in the wrong direction,or an ingredient they needed to feel good about their current situation is added too lightly or heavy handedly; They turn on those they see as weak and prepared to put up with their bullshit.
I liken this behaviour to a rather lethal bad batch of substances or hootch .
I refuse to walk away, I guzzle up swigs of insults and snort up the all the flaws that make up my chemistry.
Eventually, they take all their own self loathing, regret, frustrations and issues and dump it on me.
There is strength and vulnerability in me. I’ve never wanted to build a wall around who I am.
I may do shitty things and its no excuse when I say,
I’m always upfront about it.
I always let the people in my life know what’s going on.
Where I am at.
I tend to do this with people I have just met too. I’ve hid myself for so long. If people can’t get me from the start, then I’d rather know sooner than waste precious time.
It’s not an excuse to do shitty things to other people.
I choose to tell people what I’ve done/doing. Good and bad.
I confess, I usually have a lot to lose -most of the time.
I’m blessed to have a small circle of family and friends who are ready to take my hand and help me out of the jungle.
Help me leave the ones who are in the thick of it ,simulated and hanging out with familiar, estranged animals. They are trying to survive.
It’s hard to take a knock. It’s facile to blame others for your setbacks. I’ve done that in my life over and over.
It’s only when I decided to make a conscious choice to make peace with my past, and take responsibility for what I do now, have I been able to bounce back quicker from life’s trials and moments of fuckery.
It’s obvious, right?
Blaming others for how you feel is hardly going to solve your problem ,is it?
I’m full of passion, empathy and I can be blunt,I do speak my mind and I can be a soft touch.
Disastrous in the wrong hands.
It becomes difficult to keep my mouth shut and not turn the remnants of my poisonous tail on those who hurt me.
Passion floods through my veins. Bubbles over.I retaliate especially after seeing someone else’s imperfect life. After listening to their feelings and ideas and dreams. Reaching out and saying, ‘ I’ll be there for you’ .
These people usually say: I didn’t ask for your help – ( it doesn’t stop them from taking it when it suits them)
It’s hard not to retaliate when family, friends or an acquaintance who I’ve trusted to divulge so much about myself, in things I trust they won’t use against me, because of our common acknowledgement that we listen, don’t judge and empathise.
I retaliate at hypocrisy and denial.
I retaliate when a person uses ammo to hurt me and then cries in a murky pond of self pity at what a scoundrel I am!
when I give it back to them- in their language. People dont like being spoken back to in fluent asshole. It’s usually my last resort.
It takes courage and stupity to allow another to hurl a barrage of abuse at you. This can be subtle- only you know it is abuse because of what it does to your mind and emotions.
To have someone not understand how or why or even care, that they are poking my underbelly;
To try and reason with a person who can only see how hurt they are – how what has been said to them is far worse than what they have said, is frustrating.
Bashing heads together-over and over. It becomes consuming and frustrating. I just want to record what we have already gone over, press play.
Stuck in a loop. Trying to move forward.
Wait, I need you.
Welcome to radio station FM mixed signal.
In my experience, I’ve met many people who are going through their own shit storm,and instead of looking to fix themselves they will throw sticks at another’s issues.
Some do try and fix themselves but are surrounded by other toxic people who hold them back. Their dreams and goals become more obscure and more difficult to make out.
The other ones caught up in the spiral of habitual self abuse can’t help but bring others down with them.
Why do I feed into these wonderful people who are full of heart and pointed edges? I can see they are clearly awash with troubles.
Why cant I leave them alone?
the nature of addiction is compulsive and obsessive.
It’s agonising to know the psychology of toxic people and know what they are doing, feel immoblised and, desperately hanging on to my sense of self. The voice that usually stand ups and says
I won’t take this. I know who I am.
is replaced by a mouth stitched up in apathy.
A shell of myself holding tightly onto hope.
Its not the person its their behaviour.
Hard to swallow until my passion and sense of justice regurgitates all their abuse, the cold words, the push and pull effect.
It’s hard not to expect people to be on your level- it is worth training your mind and heart to expect little from people.
Especially the people who let their guard down.
Am I the only one who can be around certain people and not feel self conscious?
Not doubt my intelligence, ability, my ideas and my very being?
I’m not left questioning If I am worthy.
there are the people in full bkoen toxic mode, who will take all the positive energy from you ,and then discard you. It’s because they are highly absorbed in their own life of misery. They know deep down they are better than their current situation. The anger is a reflection of the weaknesses same weaknesses they see in those they use.
don’t hate these people.
Most toxic people have good hearts, and when in a good place (if ever) have a lot of love and time to give to others.
By all means walk away from them, let them push you away.
Yes, sometimes we have to be pushed.
Sometimes, we have to put aside the good we can see in them, and realise that they can only help themselves.
I know all this because I have been toxic.
I’ve done all these things.
We can all be toxic. Always take time to refocus and reflect.
All experiences can help build on your character and teach you important lessons about yourself.
We are all works in progress.
Honest and upfront is what I do best. I’ve avoided blogging too much or connecting over the last few months because I’ve been hiding a lot of guilt and shame –
so I’ve been doing some thinking.
No stream of consciousness or poetry in this post…
Are you still with me? ha ha
I write for myself first and I always will. When I write for an audience I lose my way easily.
Apologies if this is old news to the more evolved spirits reading this. 😁
Daisy has an epiphany.
I’ve been contemplating on the saying ‘dig deep’
if you decide to use this quote to get you through an experience
Do you know why you need to dig deep?
My humble findings are what follows
Because whether we become aware and conscious, in this life (or not) about my proposed notion of the meaning of the ‘dig deep’ quote
(that’s a bit wordy. ha ha)
here it is:
from our very conception into this life
-Our first breathe – we start to dig our own grave.
We begin to design the lay out of where our final resting place or end will be.
It would epic and less stressful if from the moment we are born we knew what we are meant to be doing.
Many people never figure it out or, if they do its too late to ask them if they have for obvious reasons. 😞
Many people decide to choose a saviour be it in the form of an icon – a god, a person , goals – money, love, careers, addictions , etc…
We strive to find something to focus all of our seconds, minutes ,hours and years blatantly meandering about on this planet.
Be careful who you allow to support you – some people are so busy trying to save everyone else, ( we all do it at some point) we forget our first honour and duty is to save ourselves and know our own purpose.
It’s known in psycho babble terms as the dramatic triangle.
Most of use tend to flit between these roles depending on the situation we are in ,people we are around etc.
Many of us go on to have children who rely on us – depend on us to teach them how to navigate their own path – how to create their own resting place – and to be conscious that each action,
each decision they make has a hand in determining how they will die.
Teaching others to rely on themselves is blessing not a curse.
Only when we are faced with our own reflection and with no other help but our own resources that we have collected along our journey in life ; will we know how we will get to the other side or to our end in this characteristic form.
Some off us end up addicted, or come to our end at the hands of illnesses like cancer or dementia , car accidents etc.
Many of us are not aware that from the moment we are given independent life we are consistently (for better or worse) building our own coffins .
is it fair that we are not told this from our first breathe ?
I didn’t make up the rules in life or society.
We – I – can only govern myself and my actions.
Be wary who you try to help or who you accept help from.
Don’t get mad when people let you down
they are doing what they need to do – following their own purpose.
Some people never find out what their purpose is.
How comfortable and aware of your surrounding do you want to be when you take your last breathe in this life.
We create our own Elysium or heaven or utopia even –
sometimes it’s not what we want –
but we won’t know until we are swimming against the tide or even hanging ten and riding the wave.
I do know that I want to be as conscious and aware of my choices ,limits when the wave crashes .
My personal chosen Gods have always been tangible- in the form of fully crystallised human beings -flawed just like me.
I think I chose human idols to put all my faith in to
so that I can have a go at someone when “they” 😉 let me down. I want to face my own success and disappointments A-sap . Patience /Sabili is not a strength of mine.
I need to look at a reflection of myself to determine I exist.
it’s not easy to figure out life- there is probably more evidence for the saying that instead of trying to figure out life- it needs to be lived – consciously and with purpose.
We can live with purpose and not know if that purpose is right and we can live consciously and not know what out purpose is.
hopefully, with the aid of our experiences we can decide which of the tools or resources we need to use if/when we have a “I’ve possibly hit the bottom of my pit”.
How do I bypass this mythical minotaur I’ve read about?
We wonder how or,
if we can
are able to crawl out and up out of it to place where we can find some sense of comfort.
We wonder if we have the endurance, courage and motivation to get out of coal mine
Whether it’s worth finding a running brook of water to wash the soot from the I side out.
The alternative option is that our final resting place will be exactly where we decide to rest – in this case the bottom of a pit . State the obvious 😂
Only we can make our ending a place where we feel we have done everything in our power tosit amongst the angels or the gods of Olympus or whatever it is we believe in that will take us through from the beginning to the end, where we can feel at peace with ourselves.
Some of us – most of us never get to that point. Downerz 😁😁
I don’t know about reincarnation but I am aware.
Society tells us it’s a selfish idea
‘ look after yourself’.
Human beings are wired to reach out but how we do that and to know our boundaries and the boundaries of others is tricky and a part of the dance of life- the cha cha
one step forward backwards thing. I’m full of cliches in this post.
It’s scary to know we are ultimately alone – only we can change our selves – our emotions – our ideas – our path.
It’s hard not to resent others or life for making us so capable and resilient.
Damn you life! How dare you 😂
it’s easier to choose to not see the bigger plan – the idea that yes we govern ourselves and we must govern our selves and own our actions and our lives.
and at the same time understand that every move /choice/thought we make – has that butterfly effect –
we cause the ripples .
science has come up with a terminology -a language to help us understand our position in this world, our make up , what and how much we are capable of – how much responsibility we all have
How significant just one body made up if molecules is :to the rest of planet balancing out or toppling over –
We have nature to compare ourselves to – an example of what happens when we fuck up our ecosystems – when we put element a somewhere and take out element b from somewhere else.
It’s trial and error.
We repeat – the cycle continues.
The fear of being alone is a lot scarier than actually being alone
When I am alone left to decide -I choose to swim and come up for air.
I remember that I have walked the earth with legs , I’ve flown and seen the world from a bird’s eye perspective.
I’ve also stayed a rather unglamourous amphibian thinking I’m in a vast sea surrounded by a fellow hybrid form of alluring sirens
I choose to live another day. I don’t know if my choices are right or wrong – time is what it is.
People in my life , of my life
I love you but I don’t need any of you In the way I have allowed myself to believe I do.
Do i decide to fight the battle every day or fall back into walking state of slumber
So many people watch and talk about those who they under estimate. By all means watch,
Maybe you will learn how to deal with one or two of your own issues
A perfectly flawed Daisy Willows
I let us down?
Shadows betrayed with a mere glimpse of a frown.
No words can express the guilt dictatorship governing me
It’s not a cop out. I know right from wrong – I know this plea
Manipulations-sucked into the vortex
Epileptic fits, child crying for a place where dinosaurs indeed exist in the mix.
Buying time while losing our minds.
Insanity led me to insist this was the shortest cut to a state of perpetual eutrophic times
Heart attack — Jack missed his usual target in sundry extrapolation.
Too much — too much — afraid to not have enough-
once choice I have to have an abortion
…..or an abortion.
The value of life against a three digit number
is not worth the risk of another loosing sanity – Look at that temper!
Fuelled by selfish, ridiculous acts in percussive persuasion.
Sick of hurting the good ones in the pursuit for a place in time where we are not struck down by our own damnation.
Heightened emotions — rouged the face of her grace .
Head rendered poisoned by the one with the latex face
Queer sighs — teary eyed.
Worth all this anvil chorus shrieking out implacable aural instigation
The fear if a god had its grip on me – I would take the whip out on my vice with attempts of self flagellation.
my soul betrays all sense of balance –
5 years of drudgery for something that has less weight than a heart.
Lost in that maze of procrastination — buying time — throwing out another seasonal line.
Fear – it will run out-plans mystify my usual organised self — maturate until all evidence of ejaculation is collected by its DNA component to outsmart.
Happiness leads to an oasis dried up well —
See that camel over there?
she’s my final hope for a sip of redemption
Unusual for a vegan to murder an animal for a quench of innocence-how far I’ve fallen —
two points away from extinction
Madness runs forever in a contortion
Fucked if I know how to talk sense into a cross eyed mass of exhaustion.
Pillage me for I am running low.
All thought out plans left in the bloodied soulless bodies of Russia’s war in winter snow
Front line-I cower-there is no courage in the how I dished out my packable blow
Left in a quiver — screamed by the knock of confrontation at my door
I do. I do I do..
If not for myself but for the one who I look to
I observe it as one would in a zoo
Meaning to be dutiful
This reflection is the antithesis of beautiful.
How long can love last?
when the tokoloshe is cross examined for its denied attempt at buying its time
or trying to convince that biding echoes are indeed in the indefinite past.
Big day in the U.K.
Let’s sort out any confusion
I’m under no great illusion
that Corbyn is NOT the messiah to lead this island
to balmy weather.
Fair in the ideas he postulates.
Words that that resonate with humanities mantra of together.
Don’t expect a perfect world unless we all put in some labour
One man can speak for the many but the many must graft for the life they seek in ardour.
the many make changes – X marks your choice
It’s not over.This is but the start – it’s time to think outside of the box – continue to use your new found voice.
This is phase one of an arduous journey
We will lose if we don’t endure the marathon and have JC’s back when it all gets thorny.
Don’t lose faith
Keep your head looking to the above.
It’s not a one man job
It’s up to all of us to stand the test -stay the course
perhaps one day we will see a world blossom from our sacrifice to give it one love.
Today I vote labour.
If there was a chance GREEN would or could win this election, I would have voted for them
*photo credit Francesca Woodman*
the pen is indeed mightier than the sword- The weak will draw blood first.
Shame on who ?
for having an opinion,
Of the outrageous Manchester bombings.
Killing off innocent lives of younger generations.
Who truly wants to show who has global dominion?
Silent politician — the most deadliest opposition.
Spin a Democide on the innocents who make up the majority of our citizenship.
Corbyn speaks for young hearts with his Robin Hood mannerisms.
Noble enough to plant a feather in his cap.
The conservatives make a come back with hyper sensationalist plan-
What a way to react.
Theres a difference between responding to the people
and scaremongering those into a statement of hatred against immigrants
Western Tempers raised to look to the East for another insane bomber converted by the Quran.
A classic destabiliser move to keep the people less equal.
Social media doing her rounds — vicious terrorists — chuck the unorthodox bastards out.
Who funds the organised crime unit?
Who knocks another nail into societies faction,
sense of community to sustain a world clouded in doubt?
The injustice of this hypocrisy makes me want to fall to my knees.
Please, open your eyes-look ,
The bigger picture is not to look to a country living in a refugee crisis— riding it rough trying to traverse to safe shores on the tremulous seas.
No person in their right mind want’s to leave their own home.
What would you do to protect your family when you are staring at all your belongings obliterated into another political stitch?
Woven into the conditioned mind-fabricated lies — bursts of walmarts own clothes wash-Iron fist scented smokescreen.
A white wash to cover up the Theresa May in a niquab to bypass border control — look to true snitch.
Jumping from a sinking ship.
Is it not to enough to destabilise the economy?
Divide the minds of the people to instil a state of dichotomy.
Don’t buy into this cycle
Don’t let the Imperialists continue this barbaric rule.
Capitalise on the vulnerable they choose to keep less insightful.
Fundamentalist terror is home grown.
18-25 year olds orgasmic omnipotence can save the united kingdom.
not just this is England , with welsh sheep murmurs whispered across clouds seemingly made out of foam
Venerable private pensioners ,I respect your views
Wake up from this nightmare.
Giving up your unneeded winter fuel tax allowance isn’t helping to secure a strong future our children.
Let sinners repent . Let justice and humanity reign.
Have mercy on those who live in the world we are yet to share.
The stench of politics arrests my heart.
Don’t desensitise now
When death is imminent for your fresh start.
Elysium can exist in this world not just the next.
Look up by all means – It’s all generic text.
Look around and see the plight the innocents in this have to wage.
Stop this merciless hunt to cull young voices — remember the wisdom a child imparts with a mere smile.
They are truly the ones who are sage.
This is not a foreign terrotist ISIS attack
If it is-
It has been funded by the most conservative ,vicious Tory pack.