thejofairy

A flaming crown of thorns To add to rejection of the highest order. Used to being runner up, No more prizes for feeble attempts. Staring at icy soul windows Appears to worsen barometric conditions. So take my all, and wear it as a sash Around your tiny waist that he holds Tightly, like the trophy you are. Jaded fan bases cannot compete. Radiating from small, delicate pores a beauty that is bittersweet. Winning material, leaving battered suitors bruised, scarred, beaten, in your wake. And I am limited to picking up The petals trailing behind you Forming the doormat I am.

Black blossoms unfold into glorified Fragile possessions A moment is all you can expect from perfection. A fading bloom, brown fraying Edges unravelling and tumbling Artfully, gently down to the ground. A genetically determined tragedy, Predisposition to self deprecation Appreciation of all that is composed In the mind, a secret haven. Tiptoe with me into my world, Leave your lithium behind, As we journey into cynicism.

Rock bottom. Hit                                     so hard So Faster      a       free     falling rush. Captures [you] In the            silence......        of a           Peaceful moment of self reflection. Time stops. It will stop for you. Flow with it. Cling to it and don't let go. Unless it tells you to. An all consuming eruption of e       motion. The bottom is appealing, unfortunately you must bounce                                               back or be buried. Six feet under in misunderstood misery. Six feet over in an unfamiliar world. Fasten your seatbealt and don't look back.

They always told me that heaven was a beautiful place. Idyllic paradise, they called it. Life your life through Jesus Christ and reap the rewards in the afterlife. It was a challenging 50 years, but I managed to abstain from most sin. Alcohol never passed my lips, with the exception of communion, and I didn't even associate with people who took illicit substances. Lust? Not me. A good dose of Matthew, Mark, Luke or John and a photo of my wife and kids would quell those urges. Favourite genre of music? Gospel rock. Favourite colour? White, choice colour of chastity. Even when I did sin, it was only little things. Like the time I slept through

A remedy for normal life. What doth speak to me? Surely tis a fair maiden Slicing her arm from grief. Faggy poet sleeves And faggier words too, Form cliches that desensitise Dehumanise the truth. Speak to me in whispers, Torture me in sighs, You tell me you can sense my pain, With your hand upon my thigh. Don't pretend to understand, or exorcise my moods. Give me satire and self-loathing The perfect interlude.

Anything to get me through another day. Sunset can't come fast enough. Hanging on by the edge of my bitten fingernails. Scrounging for normality amongst a bucket of teenage angst. Anything to dull the thoughts lurking. Pulsing through disinfected veins, A breeding ground of blasphemous urges. Inhaling solutions through friendly drugs. Anything to rid me of myself. Locations not featured in step by step manuals. Anything to strip back excess colour, Anything to keep me breathing, Anything to coalesce with the enemy.

 Shes an opus for a grey cloud, Spiral tears, down the cheek, The inner pain, eyes speak aloud, Oil black, the lips they seek, A work of art in somber hue. Hollow girl, that girl of blue. Shes an opus for a somber hue, Like the cold golgothan lands, Hollow girl, that girl of blue, Hollow girl, with broken hands, And now a newly mourning heart. That girls a work of flawless art. And now a newly mourning heart, Has dawned a day of serinity, That girls a work of flawless art, Transcending infinite possibility, As we try to learn about love. That girl an opus from above. As we try to learn about love, A unity of opposites, a on

Convert to believe in the shame machine, The diagnostic that is a societal perfection, Images, times, captured as pure synthetics, Our idols and gods, all dripping in plastic. Thus to desire, upon things fake we aspire, A false beauty, breeds with the same love, Society judges with a malicious impunity, Ignorance of true beauty locked in our duality. We suffer, for non-issues called image, popularity, beauty. Individuals determine aspects of perfection, a system called emotion that can't suffer direction, from a society that created the diseases of anorexia and bulimia, that treats these humans as bad as the leper, the wings and the w