The Rules and the Poisoned Apple

One cold and windy morning, you will wake to find (if you havent already) that you grew up in a makebelieve world. And, just like in all games of makebelieve, things tend to change on you.The rules turn and run for the hills the second you turn your back, they dive for the cracks in the floorboards and slither beyond your grasp. You lie on the floor ripping and scratching and pounding frantically trying to wrap ypur hands around the things you know. You scrabble till your fingers bleed and split. Then, at the height of your efforts to hold onto those well recognised, but hardly well understood concepts, you will sit up and think to yourself, "I never WANTED them before they were gone. I never liked them anyway, so whats all the fuss? The giants have turned to dwarves, the ogres become gnomes. The poisoned apple turned out to be as tasty as i always knew it would...so what do I care?"

Well, dear, thats how she raised you.

The Cause

we pace these bottle fences,dancing along the lines. thin ice is just a party to us.

streetlights,bar fights,pavements and parking lots.

we are the ones who make sure the night is alive.a family,so young and fancy free. its all after hours,keeping the smoke on our clothes.we'll hold each others hands when the night is over.

we curse like sailors,curse the light of day.speakers and stronger drinks,this is it. is this it? we make the rules,we make the calls,we make the cuts.

dance dance dance till you sweat out your soul,the music makes you whole.

walk

click.clang, clang, whine.
warm, damp air in my face.
crunch, crunch, clump, clump.
mist in the air, in the empty road.
silent street, heart, beat.
corner, chatter, faster step.
dog on the warm bricks.
high walls to hide behind.
bright. cold. rustle. give. take.
red light, hurry.
alone again.
that dog hasnt moved.
low light loud thoughts.
empty, wet court;thug movie.
empty, misty street; horror movie.
orange street light, all alone adn begging for trouble.
clump, clump, crunch, crunch.
whine, clang, clang. click.

early evening.

pacing as the air turns cold,
slamming fist against frustration.
how can the light and the roses and the sky be so calm in the face of this?

pacing as it rises in my throat,
dying to scream, afraid to choke.
the shadows on the glass and the breeze through the window rage against my voice.

pacing with my hands in my hair,
arm across forehead, rubbing at the thoughts.
its still there, and everything is still the same, no matter how much i think ive changed.

pacing in the stale light,
poisoned pen across hungry paper.
cloth on skin and silver and bead and curls in the corner of my eye.
and ink turned grey and wire on wood, trapped in my chest and ready to burst.

out, damned spot.

so many pretty young things, all straight off to hell,
what a pity to watch when it all started so well.

there is a grander scheme at work that mine, but whats the fuss?whats the fuss?
improvisation, guessing not knowing, learning and growing is the way they get by.
and i've become one of those words that you repeat till the meaning is gone, over and over and over.

the truth will out and the lies will shout their tales from the rooftops.

Baby, it's a massacre, and you.ve got blood on your idle hands.

waiting on the corner

There'll be a moment when you're dancing with three of your closest friends on an almost empty dancefloor at a birthday party. You look at them with their eyes closed, smiling to themselves and to each other, and to you and moving with the music, mouthing the words. And the light is right, and the mood is high. And you think to yourself: this is IT, this is life. This is MY life...i'm 22 and i'm living it, and this is one of the moments i''ll never forget. Or you'll be sitting outside under a perfect late afternoon Febuary sky, with big fat white clouds dancing around over your head. And the air is warm, it even smells warm. And you watch the people as they walk by, lost in the importance of some internal monologue. And you feel like youre underwater, and if you move even just a fraction of an inch from where youre sitting, drinking in the world, you'll wreck it. And the shadows are stretching, and the light is gold. And it really doesnt seem like there could be such things as broken hearts or bones or promises. And you think to yourself;this is another one of those moments...this is why I dry my eyes and crack a smile.

volition

it occourred to me, that maybe

when i touched you, i was touching the concept of home and the life i had before i left.
when i held you, i was holding my highest hopes and dearest wishes.
and when i kissed you, i was kissing the mountain and the sea, and possibility.

it occourred to me.

stranger things have happened.

go, greased lightening.

young hearts can take much more, worship at the temple of the dirty dance floor.
the cold-mouthed kisses, the cold shoulder hit and misses didn't amount to much at all.
but then, it seems, neither did you, or me, or us.
what are you waiting for? dance like you've never danced before.

just write me a song, then i'll know that it's you, and we can get that feeling going, get the winds of change a' blowing.
and the world can close it's eyes to my heart's demise, one more time.
are you listening?
close your eyes, and open your hands...breathe in that fresh sentiment, cos it don't stay fresh for long.
it's the price of our lives, the wax in our wings. it's the climb that gets us high, but it's the fall that makes our blood sing.

when the people you loved, become the people you love to hate, you know something has got to give.
when all the pleasure is laced with pain, you know it's all gone terribly wrong.

i'm going to get my kicks, while i'm still young enough to get them.