We are humans.
We are everything in this small earth
and nothing in an endless universe of unkown.

Whispers shatter the tethered stillness  
voices of no word web upon an illness,
nothing is seen but all ends in sighing
his own thoughts trod upon slowly dying.

A cloth of misgivings is wrapped around thought
consuming memories, emotions now overwrought.
lost in the focus an image of ones former self
books in an library of a mind all blank on the shelf.

Catching embers of what it was to be once them
his voice is a shard one now, is he still himself,
there is a cradle that rocks in thoughts birthplace
It must motion once more to redeem this place.

To long was it dormant, creaking in need to respond  
once it would sway, all other voice would be embalmed,
Sanity now blossomed as thoughts now properly weaved
Ill thoughts put to rest, hope reborn and again believed.

You go to sleep
A loud cry causes your eyes to open
Stumbling into the hallway, your vision seems changed
Everything is so clear and shiny
Like your eyes have been upgraded tenfold
The house is illuminated by some strange glow
A pulsating purple ebbs throughout
This **** hallway seems to be going to eternity
Your feet begin to feel wet
Puddles of water are forming everywhere, coming from above
The faces on the ceiling just keep weeping and weeping
Their mouths contorted by painful sobs
The end of the hallway seems to be close
Is the ground moving or is it just you?
The walls seem to be inching closer
Why is everything tilting?
You’re almost there, you can do it
Why are they still crying?
You begin to see an outline of a figure
The little girl is waiting
Why is her dress torn?
A ribbon slowly falls from her hand
You reach down to pick it up
The skin begins to fall of her face
It gathers in clumps near her feet
The skull begins to mouth out the words
You move in closer to listen
Why is she whispering?
Your body shifts closer to the little girl
The purple begins to get even more intense
Your ear rests against her teeth
She quietly repeats herself
“Please cry for me”
Two trails of water slowly roll down your cheeks
You awaken

She is there and waiting
His touch she is anticipating
His words always move her
His words always sooth her

His poems fill her with desire
He kisses her neck, it tingles like fire
His hands caress her with tenderness
She wants this moment to be endless

Tells her poems of Bryon, Dylan Thomas and Poe
Words like music that fill her soul
He makes love to her like no other man could
He makes her want him more than she should

She never thought she could be captivated by poetry
Never thought it would open up her passion so free
Never thought she would give in to this man
His words excite her more than anything else can

Now he has to go away and she lets him go
It is so hard when her body craves him so
His passion could never ever be mistook
For now she knows she has to close the book

Little winged one of murky wings
do flutter in origami folds. To glide
in endless times engulf that needing
of seeing where in twilight all is a
shadow and all is seen within the night.

Quiver unseen but felt unto the breeze,
a shudder unfolds on their shadow in
ease, you taste upon droplets of fear.
Little origami wings do grace into
the flightless moments their but unseen.

Your shadow convulses in its presence,
Knowing subconsciously what it needs.
But you are but connected separates that
Could not be further apart. Like a puddle
swimming, nearly drowning in your depth.

It unfolds into form, for unseen like an
extension not noticed by self, a shadow
not as should seen. tiredness as into shadows
Of lost moments its delves ever deep. unravelling
it seeds into the darkness a continuation breaths

It departs for a shadow replenishes and its parts
Now origami folds in need of shadow will dance
upon every motion to unfold and feed, the cycle
is ever in motion, for twilight is its birth and life
its nourished in obscurity forever to feed.

Could I see in their eyes, as I clean up this momentary
lusting, for their inner demons to released this way.
I had visions of them shouting "4,

That was going to need a ladder and I hate heights.
Well up I went in slow motion, I saw the spaces between the
claret splashes in frozen moments of nothing. Now just a coat
cold and unwarming. From up here it looked like an
abstract painting I called it "echoes of relentless madness,

It was another call out this place off a million lights  
only a fraction were braking into havocs grasp. But when
their final instant came, till it was a single moment or an
eternity in seconds, the end result was the same.

I wore a fresh suit, each being deflowered within
moments. Others lives were centimetres from mine.
They were with me through out these moments, then I
threw them in the bin like a one night stand. I left them
behind , no reason to remember names.

This  one was different, the other one was just like a
water balloon of finest red had been tossed around the
room, this one...  Charred shadows of where like a wick
They had become a light in the darkness and consumed.

Not as much blood, just dry lumps of god knows what.
I breathed quickly, a hand print on the table slightly
scorched, but the hand print still visible reaching out.

This was more a scrap and polish like cleaning spilt
cheese now carbonized on the bottom of the grill.
A hot mind is not a good thing specially when a vent
of release givesthis pressure a release. I look at it and
think to myself? I called this one "charred thoughts ascending,

I once again leave them behind, this is beyond the
ordinary job. Knocking off for lunch i see the next
piece off where my work will take me. I see them
walking and in quietened haste I lunge and inflict a
flesh wound so some may think, but an artery I have nicked .

So gently I  grazed, wouldn't want then to bleed too quick
or to slowly for that matter. I abscond in my van, knowning
the call will not be long versed just another clean up
so many in this city of lights where I calmly change
each one. As to be repetitive there is no art form in that.

To be a cleaner and to see art where others only see death
or tears. I see a deeper visions the latest in the collection
I called them "Life running dry, this was an easy clean
up, but ill have to give it a rest i earned enough from the
clean ups to sit back and watch the world move by.

Till next my artistry is mused I will think of others that
have twerked my needing a suit hangs up, each with
the name of that creation. I can admire them anytime,
and just think of the anticipation that was needed for this
depiction of my thoughts and how they bled out.