Diamond in the Rough
in pale moonlight of deceit.
of smoke and mirrors
through diamond cut lenses.
Stars of dark sparkled skies
reflect facets of evil therein.
Desperate cry for help
dazzles jeweled bark thoughts.
Clarity of diamond shape
broken without worth
it's all that’s left – a diamond
in the rough cutting away.
Wanderlust of dreams
sequences intoxicated by
stone cold and crooked.
lit by fake gleam of clarity
prisms lighting the truth
then collapsing in paste.
My hands quake
with wavering strokes
of hostile spirits.
Her mission to destroy
flickers from a barren zone
an ambiguity within artifice
deceives and seduces -
a pebble strewn path.
hidden under cloak
a princess cut gem
My twisted reflection –
one last mad glimmer
under cobalt sky eyes
jewel encrusted pain.
There are diverse means available in solving a problem
Some are obvious, easy and sensitive
Some are impervious, tricky and repetitive
Tinkering with agitation, warmth pacific in determination
Time metamorphosize action into reaction
The Disney land of all unknown equations
There are many ways probable, in winning a persons heart
Some ways are genuine and accidental
Some are orchestrated and pretentious
Tinkering with agitation
Warmth pacific in temptation
Time metamorphosize feelings into obsession
The garden of Eden of all fragile emotions
Manipulative Cat Beware
Her name a chocolate, Mitzi Blue
Mice tormenting her favourite game
Cat-tree nest provides a good view
Cuddle stroking is her claim
Preparing to be caressed
Curling into a pose
Somebody is coming
Suddenly sticks up her nose
Twisting into a contorted ball
Meowing in a human way
Can’t miss her irresistible call
Trapped by her delicate sway
So all you cat lovers
Pay heed to what I say
Ignore manipulative cats
Or they will rule your way
Until the desirable hand is played.
The pianist manipulates the piano. The drummer manipulates the drum. The trumpeter manipulates the trumpet. The cellist manipulates the cello. The violinist manipulates the violin. The flutist manipulates the flute. The harpist manipulates the harp. The conductor manipulates the harpist and the flutist and the violinist and the cellist and the trumpeter and the drummer and the pianist. The audience manipulates the conductor. And the song manipulates the audience.
All those hands, waving and pressing and clapping, symbiotically, simultaneously manipulating each other, plainly and mainly manifesting manual magnificence and all her manifolds - maniacal magic mandating more and more and more mana until the desirable hand is played...
Twisted to perfection,
Contorted to your carbon copy quintessential,
Indoctrinated under your influence,
You recreated me.
I am now your contortionist.
And I will bend until I am beautiful.
I will distort until I am your definition of desire.
I will mangle every mutated part of me
To fit your darkening dreams.
My master of manipulation.
You convinced me to bind myself
So you could control my strings.
I had a Vodka Cranberry last night.
It told me I could dance.
When my flailing arms made me look like a joke,
I went and grabbed a Rum and Coke.
The rum said I'd get a special surprise,
if I quickly downed a Tequila Sunrise.
Tequila said I need someone to adore me,
So I found some courage in a Dark 'N' Stormy
The flaming shots promised to make me cool.
After several of them, I skinny dipped in the pool.
What at the time I thought was celebration,
now I can see clearly.
It was alcohol's manipulation.
dance, little monkies
new day, tired foot, back, wack on the treadmill
stale goals, the same-ol', just had my fucking fill,
should the thought of death really fill me with dread,
or is it easier said, no breath, savaged head, misled
getting wise to the shit, hard to compromise it
those that count, real deal, over-empathised shit
family and friends, gather round now, welcome
shill me the reality, sad sack shit don't sell some
transparent promises, obvious manipulations
got me reading subtext in all you say, son
so back off, reverse, quit your bollocks hot air
your empty words as real as fake Trump hair
Every subtle smile,
Every warm "hello,"
Every soft, tender touch,
You opened up another door,
Getting closer to my guarded heart.
You made lies sound so beautiful,
Pretty, toxic words, knotted in my heart,
My name was a butterfly on your lips,
Home was your safe embrace,
It never felt like a cage.
You whispered wonderful words,
Wove them in my mind,
I followed every light suggestion,
The world would be a better place,
It was fate, you said,
Fate is a cruel, deadly, monster.
I became something more,
An assassin under your control,
Your broken, mended weapon,
Lost and found,
Never looking for a way out.
It was a heavenly game,
A love out of books,
Until reality came,
And took out your hooks,
I saw the hell behind your illusion,
But the light arrived too late...
A parent leaning slowly over the shoulder of their toddler: “Sweetie, please, let’s just go home now… We will be back tomorrow. Mr. Teddy is waiting for us at home, he is lonely…”
“Look, how about this, we are coming back tomorrow morning first hour, and play some more, OK? Now the sun is setting, and you know what that means, right? We need to put Mr. Teddy to bed!”
A slow step forward, and then back.
“Look, there is no one left here. All the nice children are in bed and they are waiting for…”
“NO! NO! NO!”
“OK, how about this? We go home now and I’ll let you watch an episode of your favourite cartoons! Deal?”
A reluctant “A-huh” afterwards, they are slowly driving towards home. Baby steps.
Moral of the story: Who got what they wanted?