The Mechanics Of Being Human, Poetry & Prose By Paul Warren
Basics
Let's keep it simple,
the elation of over acceleration
is a constant buzz
don't over boil it,
don't threat on what could've been,
the obscene is beautiful
depending on the way you look at it,
the devils toys magnify lust
for all the wrong reasons,
complication
is the unravelling of the obvious
a post dream trip
navigate it,
beyond the system,
watch as
the basics unravel
The Hunting Lodge
seven deer heads hanging from the wall,
a carcass makes the hunter feel real
compelled to elevate himself
to uncompromising positioning
slaughtering beings
with no full-frontal cortex
you can't expect a fight back,
the gun tells the tale of the man,
he's a weak fuck,
he ain't living off the land,
his desire for blood holds
no baring to survival,
he hunts a defenceless rival
Nothing New
I fire bullets into you
these injuries don’t
signify the pain
we’ve been through,
we can drag the bones
we’ve become on the stage
until we’re numb,
ignoring the fact
we ain’t part of the scene
we’re just a has been
holding on to a dream,
you died years ago,
you can’t let go,
I think it’s best you do
you’re nothing new,
the mirror ain’t
so kind to you,
you’ve got no bite left
or credibility
you ain’t no legend
or living infamy,
you don’t bow down
to some sexless deity
or hoodwink your followers
Outer Space
a modification is taking place,
the outer space appears shrunken,
my catalyst is disfunction
a lingering desire to eject
what do you expect?
there’s only so long
you can hold the reins
before you let go again,
the life you’re presented with
can fit neatly on a microchip
there’s no substance
your life is shit,
scarred with the spoils of debt,
you’re born alone
you die alone,
your life ain’t worth it,
packaged and produced,
you try and make it fit,
living in the aftermath of a fart,
you’re being laughed at
by the members of the club
that you ain’t in,
you’re the dumb fuck
trying to make a living
trying to mould a sibling
trying to find meaning
