lucidfer dreaming 

I sometimes dream of a distant land,

where you seem to be holding my weathered hand,

i’m laughing in a way that I haven’t for years,

in the way where you’d bring me to euphoric tears,

the skin round your eyes is creased yet so new,

with that same old laurel glint I know that it’s you,

and I’m like your hardy it’s only us two,

as I feel like I’m getting close to you, it happens on cue,

you let go of my hand and start to fade,

once again I’ve fallen victim to your flawless charade,

in reality or dream world you’re always the same,

the way that I fall each time puts me to shame,

cos you never stay quite long enough,

but just enough that I shatter with your rebuff,

each dream it’s like you’re nearly there,

and every time it’s like you’re back with me I swear,

but you’ve always been the same about my wholemeal eyes,

you’ve used them as a bed for your wicked lies,

but you’d never let them go and find someone new,

you’d rather they create hazel in a  whirlwind  with you,

i’m lucky that dreams make your tea green evanesce,

and the longer I don’t see you the less I regress,

the state that you greet me within my slumber is just right,

but I wish, unlike the real you, you’d stay beyond the night,

I know that is something beyond my power,

but I pray that you’ll listen to me in the midnight hour,

let go of my hand, let all our past go,

and walk next to me in my dreams at least,

as my friend, not my foe.

timeless reprisal

‘darling you’re timeless’

london town, breeze in the air,

you’ve got that same old aura,

that never seems to wear.

i meet your viridescent eyes,

i flinch.

you think it’s still there.

 

and just like that you’re back,

that old familiar glint,

your hands on my thighs,

where you left your print.

but i push you away,

and cut your reprise,

‘whats timeless little boy,

are your games,

and your lies’

 

sin master 

4.58
my mind starts to collate.

the correlation of burning hate

and why fucking you was great.

I mean,

as it goes for flings

you had me on strings

i’d be screaming in your face

yet end up back at your place.

I liked playing games with you

you were as twisted as me

actually boy I was better

I just never let you see.

I was your little toy thing

‘she’s at my beck and call’

but did you watch my shadow?

sometimes puppets fall..

 

stop acting prude and i won’t be so crude

don’t talk to you of love?

yeah, you’ve had an earful,

well thats you and I both,

so don’t get all tearful

 

it’s not like I’m asking you,

to be there in the morning,

just knock on my door,

when the night is dawning

 

it’s not that I’m looking,

for you to jet me off to Rome,

i’m happy enough to wrap my legs around you,

for hours at home

 

i don’t mean to be brash,

but after much reflection,

i’ve come to wonder why,

affection rhymes with erection?

 

broken rhapsody

the piano,

that sat by your bay window,

was the most beautiful part,

of your simple, yet warming room.

it wasn’t the newest,

or the best i’ve ever seen-

but the sounds that poured out,

from the tender press of the strings,

could bring me to my knees,

and the endless tunes,

just made me never want to leave.

I would run to that room,

press my fingers on each key,

I never once stopped gushing about it,

to the point where everyone grew curious

to see.

I took a few faces to the room,

with a reluctance to share this beauty,

with which I felt I had intimacy.

but I needn’t ever have worried,

for each turned and said,

they’d heard better keys,

in the school canteen.

I didn’t care though,

I saw such beauty in your piano,

which sang gracefully to my ears.

so I played and I played,

through sunshine to moonlight,

with such devotion and consistency.

It was only as winter passed,

and the dew dripped,

down your flaking window panes,

and hit the pianos body,

that everything began to change.

the wood began to rot,

on the left side of its torso,

but I swore it was still beautiful,

for it was the sweet melodies,

that were so special to me.

and when the keys began to stick,

I shook my head at you defiantly,

when you suggested we throw it out.

I never stopped playing,

and even when I noticed,

that the melodies weren’t the same,

and the pitch was all wrong,

I still couldn’t justify,

letting go.

I played,

through the questioning of others,

I played,

through opportunities of new models,

I played,

when you tried to release my hand,

I played,

when I found out I wasn’t sole composer.

but my hands, let go, froze,

the day I saw her close her eyes,

her hands pressing each key delicately,

yet so surely, so confidently,

for I knew that despite,

every moon,

every sun,

I never caressed those keys,

with such intensity.

it’s only then,

when I let you take it,

that I saw the dents,

the chips,

the scratches,

and as I pressed my finger down,

one last, final time,

I heard a sound that told me,

finally, definitively, decisively,

that I had never properly played this piano.

He had been playing me.