Saturday, 7 November 2015

Violent Entertainment

If you run from a predator
They'll just chase you some more
House of the number six
Close those eyes to get some sleep or be dead meat
In the morning
They will treat you to a ventriloquist doll
To spoon-feed cornflakes
Under bed sheets stained with horror
From lousy bladders petrified of the plastic faces
Stoned like the devil pouring from lips mumbled nightmares, vivid

In hallucinations of intervals timed by the evaporation
Of your moisture
There is absolutely no escape from judgement
Of salty people
Nor relief from eyes that’ll freeze your spine with
Jungle juice
Not every story is meant for telling
Nor the entrance into billion dollar empires
Stocked with humans dancing inside hearts and heads
The fighting
For a seat when the music stops
Run to the vacancy
And sit yourself down or risk exclusion
Into the dirt

Sit slowly and sew your seeds
For revenge
There will always be another opportunity
To inflict on them what has been
Inflicted onto you
A lesson you will never forget that you lack not the friends
But the friendship
In them
Renders the preference for lone company
Joy is that, which is best spent
By yourself
There will be
No one around to judge you
Nor will the music mean something