Communication 176

 The Useful Ones 

 

all these thoughts I have as spares

rattling in my hollow head

fortunes spent having carried the brave

whilst the useful ones are left for dead 

my thoughts are now an empty corpse

staggering forth into the dust 

towards a dimly lit brave new world 

where treason is rent, and freedom is sold

London, I lost you years ago

having fallen beyond antiquity 

it’s not the place it use to be

half the world now live here for free

you claim ‘enrichment’ is good for me

whilst you rape me of my identity

fallen empires burnt by the sun

always exhaust the useful ones 

Communication 175

 My Personality Tumour

 take the pain and complication

Florzin will inhibit retaliation

reduced libido and sense of humour

tearing away my personality tumour,

it’s making me better … right?

or is it just masking my defects?

I can’t tell one way or the other

through these terrible fucking side effects

clinically disfigured, a dumbed down delight

just one more pill to get me through the night

just another causality of pharmaceutical shite

“he’s broken down and disconnected

the results are far greater than we ever expected” 

Communication 174

 Isolation Has Become My Friend 

 

the years I travelled beyond the boarders 

brief connections severed through time

some of us died down the line

now forgotten from “god knows when”

vacant buildings to be condemned 

posing and posturing, mating rituals 

years before the pseudo-spirituals 

the love for you I can’t define,

when the sun would contort upon the skyline 

as we cruised around block after block,

this was a year before the towers dropped,

I had no home or a place of my own

a frequent flyer who tried to climb higher

only to get burnt alive, descending

into a nosedive, never to recover, 

there’s still a world out there I’m yet to discover, 

I just don’t have the energy 

the fight was drained within me 

slowly, time and time again,

isolation has become my best friend

 

Communication 173

The Veiled Head Of The Widow

 

the veiled head of the widow

with a time-bomb strapped to her chest

“you know your god couldn’t care less”

if you detonate your suicide vest,

and who will hold your hand

as you tumble straight down to hell

the lesser man who pocketed

the illusion of peace you sell,

as I walk these rotten streets

constantly echoing others beliefs

it appears my voice has lost all meaning

us Englishmen are all “right leaning”,

since when does having pride in my flag

risk me getting stabbed?

how does the truth I’m told never evolve?

is it because the media is state controlled?

who alienates the pain of those who died in vain?

thousands of bodies torn apart among the trenches

never mentioned once on parliament benches,

unless it’s for political gain,

remind me why I pay my taxes?

when the crooked system

always collapses in on itself,

isn’t it funny how the rich

never share their wealth,

the veiled head of the widow

will use her stealth

to murder all the wrong people

Communication 172

 silence is waiting

 

silence isn’t waiting for

the truth to come alive

silence is waiting for the lie,

only then will it be broken

used to divide a nation

like a sleeper cell woken

to plunge the knife

into the peoples heart

having being pulled apart

by corrupt institutions

enforcing dictators delusions