Canvas

What makes a relationship? A western one that is
The leap from a daydream to an indulgence to a loss
If only we all asked ourselves these questions harder, earlier, more honestly
Then perhaps man child bravado and coquettish facetiousness would not hold sway over our generation, stoically holding our intellect paralysed at the altar of satisfaction bound
Ripe for sacrifice
Now I'm gaining perspective and keeping pain
Should I gain coldness, cool clear detachment and analyse lust for love's sake?
If that was me and you weren't you then this moment could never be...
You spoke of perfection, you praised me to the heavens and it humbled me
Crushed me beyond repair, made me smile with a sadness these people might never imagine of me like I couldn't imagine or have believe what you feel I can provide
Were my biggest function in life to be as the canvas for your thoughts what joys of freedom I might experience; gaining colour, texture, shape, changing fundamentally losing factory stiffness dropping my blank cool flatness and becoming living art
-exhaling-
magic in new inspired forms, the children of the interplay between your ideas and intution, what more could one imagine?
What else would one live for? you spoke to me of indulgence, well indulge me
Tell me every thought or fear, share your heart's desire upon my surface, speak of god or government or family, of ugliness and beauty, I don't care,
My faith as your instrument lives to feel your words splash upon me and spread, soaking to my centre, running in the grain, mixing becoming, setting until the moment your work is finished and when it comes my faith is you will recognise the time to lay down tools and walk, leaving indulged in satisfaction, not before you leave your name in me

Scrap 2

Toxic
Etched insignia entrapped by concrete
traffic circling a bastionof thought
Green baize surface neutral with bridges and doors marked around
Disconnect in access
Violence in inequality
Plaster case wrist folded in judgement on fools not to be suffered
Many heads many feet making heavy work
Marching through the stasis days
Exploring Limbo with Hell around the corner
These flesh frames contain twenty five experiences
Twenty five souls, Twenty Five TEACHERS
Knowledge seeping, flowing, pooling on the baize and filling to the ceiling
Just one of 25, of X Billion, a student without substance, closer to unknown pleasures in the interzone a dead body and soul still.

Scrap 1

Tiring honesty
Another face, another mouthpiece for this new cowardice
The bravery projected without,
Lives in gasps in the face of inquisitions and only one
Loyalty demands, invokes, real vulnerability
And this moment it feels that it might last;
No cloaks, No Locks, No Masks
Only your love exposed to the ugly human face of me,
Unflinching