How To Kill A Woman

There are many standard methods that I’m sure you know about,

Like stabbing through her sternum and then ripping her heart out.

She’ll see the whole thing coming, as you raise that godly blade,

And know that in this moment, you can watch her life source fade.

Of course, there’s always poison, if you slip it in her tea.

She’ll sip it of an evening, before suspiciously

Wrinkling her nose in that way you know you’ll miss,

Then coughing, gagging, spluttering, as life drains from her kiss.

Or else, you could try bludgeoning, if that’s a risk you’ll take.

The artistry of violence is such a beautiful mistake.

The splintered shards of bones and skull, all painted with your pain,

For she deserves the fear that is encrusted in her veins.

Another road you could go down is pushing her downstairs.

It will seem like an accident, a crime too sweet to dare!

And as she’s lying broken, bruised and bleeding on that floor,

You’ll smile as she breathes her last; it makes you love her more.

But if you really want your woman utterly destroyed,

There is no finer method than this one sadistic ploy,

For you cannot truly kill a woman if her heart’s within repair,

So leave her without warning. Now you’ve proved you just don’t care.

I Pray For Diarrhoea

I Pray For Diarrhoea:

a curious cocktail of bowel movements and no inspiration.

I pray for diarrhoea

Of my constipated mind.

My muse is stuck in traffic

And my fingers can’t unwind.

My story’s frozen solid

From Medusa’s poison gaze.

It needs a little fibre

To escape this mental maze.

The toilet roll is waiting,

It’s a new one from the crate.

But my words are stubborn tenants:

They’re refusing to vacate.

Old Morpheus has ditched me,

And my dreams are hard as rock.

My porcelain page is empty,

I want colour, chaos, shock!

My lips are stitched together,

And the bile just won’t flow,

I need a pair of scissors,

‘Cause I really got to go.

I hate this heady silence.

Is my future now in doubt?

So I pray for diarrhoea,

Let those words just splatter out.

Husband's Law

When Husband hands you a secret key,

But forbids you to reach its destiny,

Are you to obey, your will denied?

Or is Husband’s Law to be defied?

But what of curiosity’s price?

Should you shun this seeming vice?

Or should you embrace the truth unknown,

And claim this knowledge as your own?

If the apple hangs so clean in sight,

Is the test to deny your appetite?

What, pray tell, can come of this?

The test of the loyal lover’s kiss?

It was knowledge pure that tempted Eve

Not what they’d have you believe.

A man is given right to find

What mystifies his probing mind,

Yet women are punished for their prying,

Not celebrated for their flying.

So let the scales of justice weigh

The same despite where penalties lay.

For curiosity is not a sin!

But the desire to learn what dwells within.

Portrait

My mistress stands before me in dismay

I show her not what she had hoped to see.

She combs her hair; it frizzes, flies away,

This is not how her life was meant to be.

She backs away, is looking from a distance,

Her clothes are far too snug, her face too plain.

She twists in different angles in resistance

To the image I deliver once again.

She prays to find the one that looks beyond

That girl with unco-operating hair

For she’s a thousand stories, lifetimes long,

If only he would find the time to spare,

To see what I, a mirror, cannot show,

A girl who makes you laugh when you are low.

Got Milk?

I am a glass of milk.

I am full to the top.

And I just keep on pouring;

I don’t know when to stop.

My love is going off

For it’s been sitting here,

Unrefrigerated,

Undrunk for all these years.

My love’s starting to smell.

It’s past expiry date.

Untouched by human lips;

And now, it’s far too late.

I am a glass of milk.

I am full to the brim.

But I feel so damned empty

Because I don’t have him.

22.86 Centimetre Screws

22.86 Centimetre Screws

(An ode to Nine Inch Nails)

I’m feeling delicate tonight

In this sinfully cold twilight,

The line is stretching through the way

But it begins to blur.

My hostile heart is self-destructing,

As politicians are corrupting

A world where love is not enough,

Because you can’t have her.

God Money severs all my strings

Reptilian imaginings,

My pusher, whore, my need for more,

I’m on my hands and knees.

The perfect drug to ease my heart

I will not let you fall apart

A downward coil of flesh and bone,

Now do something for me.

You handfeed me a terrible lie,

I’m sucking stars down from the sky,

But still, there’s no proximity,

A perfume fills the air.

Come on down, the pigs are marching,

The needles in my veins are arching,

The void is looming Closer now,

Together in this, we’re.

My fingers ring of silver spent

Betrayal of my master, Trent.

I’m fragile, hurt and down in it,

Survivalism squad.

You sing your songs of heresy,

But still there’s no proximity.

Collecting heads with holes in them:

I’m Closer to my God.

A Current Affair

A Current Affair

You flicker like an afterthought

Behind my wayward eyes.

Your heat defeats my throbbing thrill,

But still you tantalise.

Encrusted enigmatic wisps

Across your crawling lashes.

You’ve scoured skin to shredded shards,

In passion-driven rashes.

Your thighs are singing siren songs,

And sleepless I will slumber.

You twist a tainted treble clef

To leave my breath encumbered.

Your beauty is the dying art

Of bloodstained disarray.

I slide into soliloquies,

And live my life sideways.

Your lightning lips arterial

Fellate my faithlessness.

I’m brusquely burning broken threads

To bring you to undress.

I know too well this won’t end well,

For you, or me, or she.

But what she doesn’t know can’t hurt,

So hate me, hurt me, bleed.

At our climax my guilt attacks,

But guilt cannot be kissed

So I will fill my mouth with mud

And play the masochist.

My voyeuristic venom veins

Are vying for the win.

This creature likes the taste of pain.

So let the feast begin.