War guns

They say that it’s an art son
Making humans into war guns
Paper people, hearts blunt
Slide into your armours
That face deserves stardom
Your blood is to run in their gardens
Before planes shower pardons
What if the holy martyr
Turns out to be a bastard
What of the promised dark suns
This night lingers in all months
Go fix that paper mask
Paint it with soot and tar
Let flames engulf your mansions
Tonight we talk through arson
Die with brave scars sons
Reclaim what was ours once
Steady your guns, soldiers
Brewing wars they say, is an art son.

 

Men

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Oh I don’t hate men, please no

It’s just that sometimes I dream

Of stabbing them in their throats

And chopping it off their thighs

Accidentally spilling acid on them

And gouging out their eyes

And leaving the bodies to writhe and die

It’s nothing personal, just that I

Can’t help myself at times

When they’re simply asking for it

Those egotistical pieces of shit

But oh I don’t hate men, no

Not all men

Blue

 

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On 23rd of June in the summer of 1992

You asked me what my favourite colour was

I looked at the blood red sunset view

And I looked at your blood red BMW

I looked at my sundress and matching red shoes

I looked at your cheeks, they were red too

And I looked at the red oozing from your fresh wounds

I saw it drip from the tips of a broken wine bottle

Jagged shards holding dregs of blood and booze

The tie that you wore, too, had a blotchy red hue

And so did your face when it choked you

As I slid the broken glass into you

And like a missed train I saw your breath leave you

On 23rd of June in 1992

You asked me what my favourite colour was

And I told you it was blue

And I had lied to you

It was red that I craved, not an ugly blue

That reminds me of you or your icy eyes

Or the oceans or blueberries or the skies

Or of our little blue cottage in Peru

Or any other memory of you

I had buried long ago deep beneath

All the red rage you left in my blue little dreams

Had you asked me in the summer of 2000 instead

I’d have told you my favourite colour is red.

I Am

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I lace the edges of your being

With the gentlest touch of my blade

Wear your curves around my lips

Like a deep scarlet shade

Drape the flaws that you hide

Like a tiger in her stripes

And the scars that we share

I paint in colours of despair

The fraying bits of you

I mend with honey dew

The sweetest of the blood

I drain from your love

And the strongest of souls

I reap from your remorse

I am your past and your present

And soon your future too

Look me in the eye

I am what you deny

Am I not the only truth you see?

Your fondest lover, your worst enemy

How

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What do you tell
The heart that breaks
When faith begins to shake
And all Reason feels fake
Existence seems a gory game
Electric realisation of mistakes
And all your hair stand on end
Shivers run down your spine
And your hands begin to shake
And your body contorts
To meet the knees’ embrace
The forehead that would graze
A prayer mat all night and day
Has now found a new place
Between two worlds in space
Blinded and dazed
The tongue that would say
Only grace and supplicate
Now stammers every time it prays
The eyes that held a modest gaze
Now struggle to detangle this maze
What would it take
To restore a broken faith
To put belief back in the mind
What of the heart that fails to find
The silver lining behind
The Misery of all time
How does The Divine
Intervene in crime
When crime sits on thrones
And the innocent fall prey
To the justice set by fate
How do you save
A stumbling faith
When the innocent pay
The price for the sins
Committed by saints
In the name of a god
Who silently watches us decay
As tyrants pave way
For eternally bound slaves
How do you save
A dissipating race

Fixed

Shutting his eyes tight no longer blocked the image from Junaid’s head. The bloody face of 10 year old Grace kept lurking in his life day and night. 

She was always there in the mirror when he shaved in the morning. She’d be there in the driveway when he’d get into his car. She was there on his desk at work, and in the dark parking lot and on the kitchen table watching him make dinner. Always waiting on him. Ready with her bright smile, wearing the same pink floral dress with doilies in her hair and a dead rabbit in her arm. One would have thought of her to have come straight out of a postcard picture–if it weren’t for all the blood.

And it drove Junaid crazy. He had the death of his daughter on his hands and it had to be fixed. 

Ever since he had killed Grace, she’d been appearing to him. The court dismissed him as “not guilty” but deep down he knew it was all his fault. 

It was his fault that Angie wanted a divorce from him. It was his fault he failed as a husband and a father. It was his fault he took Grace for camping that day. It was his fault he got too busy starting the fire. It was his fault she went chasing after the rabbit. It was his fault that she tripped over the rocks. It was his fault that he couldn’t hold on to her hand. She had trusted him and he had failed her. It was his fault that the drop killed her.

He had failed her and it had to be fixed.

He shut his eyes tight again. His face was drained of any blood and his hands shook in terror. His breathing was laboured and his heart was ready to explode any minute. He felt the thick abrasive rope in his hands as Grace stood watching in the corner, streaks of scarlet caked into her beautiful hair and onto her beautiful skin. 

The door was locked and the neighbours were out. The knot was tight and the rope was strong. He slowly opened his swolen eyes and stepped onto the chair. His trembling hands slid the noose around his neck as Grace giggled. He had to fix it, so he shut his eyes tight again and with a forced kick to the chair, he let his body dangle from the noose.

The momentary peace was quickly swallowed by a crippling sense of regret. Panic started setting into Junaid’s body as he kicked and thrashed his legs and clawed at the noose around his neck. His vision became blurred and his head felt boggy as the noose slowly ceased any blood supply to his brain. As the rope dug into his windpipe, every inch of his lungs burned. He felt his heart give in. The flailing slowed as his limbs exhausted. And he saw his daughter playing in her school playground. And he saw Angie yelling at him. He saw his mother sleeping in her coffin. He saw a 5 year old Grace topple and giggle as he tickled her in bed. He saw the judge mouthing the words “not guilty”. And he saw Grace sitting on his kitchen table. Her face was angelic and there was no blood anywhere. She was smiling and alive. 

They were even now. He had fixed it.

His eyes had popped out and blood had engorged every vein in his face. His body had quit all struggling and his limbs had dropped. As he drew his last breath, a soft whisper echoed in the eerie quit of the room

“Daddy you’re home…”.

Art

Pen held steady
Over a blank soul
With blank thoughts
A dam to the ink
Nothing flows out
Neither ink nor emotion
Stillness surrounds existence
And stillness kills creation
And it kills all emotion
Blank thoughts
And blank hearts
Bearing stories
Of blank souls
And your blank eyes
Staring into mine
Lifeless like your body
Another blank heart
Still and cold
The pen carves into your soul
And out your ink flows
Blank no more
What have I done

Carry

Hear them, when they say
You are nothing but a disgrace
The weight you carry
Grows everyday
Along with your bod
Rotting away
Such a disgrace
To the society
For you carry a child
From a man
Who’d had a little fun that day
Should’ve known better
Than to dress that way
And walk alone at night
Alone in a pumped man’s way
Now you carry the weight
Of the sin
Which you committed that day
By asking for it
With your provocative ways
Such a disgrace

Silence

Have you ever sat in silence
In the dark of your room
With the blood of your brain
On your hands, Running stale
Caking in the ends of your nails
Have you ever sat in silence
And started at the same spot
The splash of red on the wall
Pity dripping from the stain
Like a blood orange sun, spitting rain
Have you ever sat in silence
And stroked the stiffening carpet
What once was green like pretty grass
Now sits in a pool of bleeding walls
Have you ever sat in silence
To think of a newer way
Of making your body pay
For every time it had denied
The efforts you made to end your life