Hallucinogenic sister

This is... Hallucinogenic sister

Hallucinogenic sister.

The Beatles got a ticket to ride the helter-skelter.

But it was you who sent me spiraling.

We sat on a mushroom together.

It's where you did all my rewiring.

I never 

knew I wasn't free.

Until you turned the key.

Look what you made me do.

Got me talking in cliche.

Created with a lyrical intensity

To survive in the spite of oceans of pressure.

Gears cranked by great cogs in the bleak whatever.

You were right: diamonds are more than density.

Look what you made me do.

Got me believing 

Got me believing talking people could be dead.

Got me believing they could be alien abducted.

Got me believing I could be wanted.

Got me believing not all madness is insane.

Got me believing not everything comes with pain.

Where have you gone?

I went to watch the wood-chip walls fall.

You were right: there was no physics behind it all.

The knocking was in my head, all along.

Look what you made me do.

Got me talking cosmic mundanity.

Where have you gone?

I went to see Venus on the half-shell.

You were right: it was not the painting, but a novel.

The devil is always in the detail.

Look what you made me do.

Got  me questioning my reality.

You screwed me apart, you screwed me back together.

Transfused neon gas for my bloodstream so I'd be modern-noir.

Showed my heaven is hell: 

Showed a curtain call to an actor in a theatre of war.

Showed in this hotel there is always a caretaker.

Where have you gone?

The fading light is the same.

But the oncoming night is not quite the same.

My typewriter still licks out one letter at a time

But the ink from the ribbon is not quite the same.

Gravity strings hold our places, still somewhat entwined

Just the stars are not quite so aligned.

And that's OK, it's alright, it's fine that you got me sad.

Greville and the Tombstones' tribute to William "Topaz" McGonagall

 

This is...
Greville and the Tombstones' tribute to William "Topaz" McGonagall

Dolly Parton spent one day writing both "I Will Always Love You" and "Jolene"

I spent whole day only writing this:

People living in 1809.

A world without the novel Frankenstein.

Dead before the movie.

Bones, home to moss and creeper vines.

They won't see the good in me.

They won't know how many times I'm bad.

They won't count how many lives I've had.

August 24th, 79 anno domini.

Was the last day, for the residents of Pompeii.

Cast across centuries, their agony.

Caught in crude plaster like a sculptor’s yard.

Like them, you left me charred.

Like them, my pain is visible, but not the tears I’ve cried.

Like them, I didn’t think a Sunday would be the day I died.

9/11....

I didn't know it until I looked at the receipt, but I've been living in a mass extinction event for a while

 

This is... I didn't know it until I looked at the receipt, but I've been living in a mass extinction event for a while

Steal myself against a 

mass extinction event.

Saucer eyes, 

Rung out cold war mornings.

Space rockets pierce the city-scape.

Glinting silver panels shaped into a future.

I wait for a Queen's thawing opinion.

I don't need forgiveness, just release.

Before I get used to this.

The past often repeats on me.

Oh no, I've used up another of my lifes.

I'm dealing with it pretty well, actually.

Reminding myself time is a pristine stream

Running over names like sun blanched seagrasses in the shallow bed.

Carving and wearing out second chances.

Like my meandering filthy tongue in my bird brained head.

I toss a rock in.

In attempt to some permanence.

Shimmering silver splashes up, like spooked bleak fish.

Then swim by as if it's nothing worth happening.

That's how I learnt it's not rocks; it's driftwoods carry on the current.

I found a folded receipt

of a moment spent.

Lying on the bed,

Rung out nightmare sweat.

The moment hit like a rock; receipt floated like driftwood.

Listening to the texture of constant falling acid rain.

I wait for a dream Queen fever to break.

I don't need mercy, just release.

Before I really get used to this.

Satanic panic attack.

I'm at ground zero percent.

Emotion spilling all over the place.

Slithering guts.

Rung out rags of blood.

Dropping grief like stones but the water is too shallow.

Creating reefs instead of sinking deep below.

I wait for a Queen's ship to sail.

I don't need saved, just release

Before I get much too used to this.

I don't need absolution.

I own everything I am.

I was created as perfect as only possible by man.

The reason I broke is because I'm brittle.

It's my poor language, not on you to understand.

It doesn't mean I'm not broken.

It doesn't mean I can't make you understand.

"I'm sorry. Sorry for whatever happened"

Doesn't cover the sadness of realisation.

It feels like a mass extinction.

It feels so lonely to be living in it.