I took a walk to see.
All the queens down market street turning just for a fix .
The ******* of the day doesn't matter when you only live for the score.

Greetings from the gutter.
Go wash yourself clean as I embrace it's decay.
Least I know my place art is never a safe bet sweetheart does  his touch still make you cringe?

Meet me at the bar and we will get lost together.
Goodnight to the fakes I have little more to give.
Goodnight to you all it's ran it's course shall we just let it die?

To the designer junkies who's prison resembles a palace I prefer the chaos of my own reality keep your distance for your ******* need not apply.

The cutter scars I  prefer to some airbrushed queen your flaws are your perfection were all ****** up so embrace the truths and ignore there lies.

Goodnight my friends my buzz has began to fade .
Life is a bruise beautiful in it's story .
Never hide the flaws for art is the biggest train wreck of them all.

Cheers

Even when I am drunk
And I do not know what I am doing
Even when I cannot see clearly
Even when I cannot walk straight
When I am drowning in obscurity
And my façade falls on the ground
And shatters like a glass picture frame
Even when my blood turns thinner than water
Swimming in alcohol, wading in the diluted pool
Even when I stumble
Tripping over myself
I am a hand grenade
If you touch me the wrong way
I will lose it all
I will give myself up to you
Surrender like a body on a cross
Succumb to this eager craving
That only alcohol makes me acknowledge
Shoving it in my face
Reminding me that I still love you
Even when I am drunk
And I do not know what I am doing
Even when I cannot see clearly
Even when I cannot walk straight
I will always be able to run to you

As I sat reading
one of the bards tales
the laughter within me
could not be quelled
he wrote with authority
he wrote with some wit
his words seemed to match
with the joint I just lit

As I continued
to peruse the tale
A voice from the kitchen
slightly derailed
my narrowing focus
had suddenly gone south
it seemed that I now
had cotton in my mouth

I reached for the glass
beside on the stand
intending to quench
the thirst I now had
but not taking an eye
off the page before
I clumsily knocked
the drink to the floor

I looked around
if any had seen
where was the cat
when I really need
a lackey , a scapegoat
on which to lay blame
The voice from the kitchen
called out my name

"What was that noise?"
inquired the voice
looking around
I had but one choice
Take off my socks
and sopp up the mess
down the hallway
came her footsteps

Quickly I scrubbed
and scrubbed some more
the cranberry juice
had stained the floor
suddenly there
before me appeared
the fuzzy red slippers
which I so feared

"You've stained the carpet!"
spat my angry wife
I quivered and shrank
hopefully out of sight
"I've told you before
"your not allowed."
"to sit and read stories
with liquid around."

With my head bowed
I went for the door
containing the machine
I'd used before
patiently she watched
as I cleaned the spot
removing the stain
which I had wrought

Prose is writing that goes right across the page. It rolls on, sentence after sentence, usually about things mundane.
But Verse is where you yourself
Decide the length of
Line.

Or stanza indeed. Some call lines “verses”. They can be very long.
Or short.
Iambic metre may be used
And other metres too.
You can write anapaests if you wish.

Yet Poetry is neither prose nor verse
As such.
It is about skyscraper forests looming large,
Trees spiking though mysterious mists.
Poetry is sunshine, filling your heart
With radiant joy.
Black nights of deep depression
Give way to a golden dawn.
The lonely
Find Love.
That’s Poetry.

Paul Butters

Do you ever stand
and look into the wind
questioning the motives
behind your latest sin
was it just the pressure
that's been building up
or were you just becoming
who you really are