Beep

Beep…Beep…Beep…Beep…Beep…Beep

Laying on a bed cradling your first born stab wound,

You’re left looking like a heart attack

after you’ve stepped past the exact

point of standing against the common ground

that is the earth held on the tip of a knife point,

so concerned with shoving a statement in your chest

like vacuous motivation is what you need

when you’re trying to Beep… past the radars

of those expecting things from you. Great things.

High expectations for long disappointments.

All it takes is the foot placed wrong

and you’re in Monitor City Beep… Beep…

Every single word and beat and feeling

Registered, processed, jerked with an arthritic

lie detector arm. You’ve got the wrong guy.

I’m a victim, believe me, I have no voice.

I’m sorry, is that my heart so truthfully scripted there?

It looks like a child’s fridge drawing, scribbles of nonsense

scored with decaying crayon …Beep…

It would just be nice to say things without interruption …Beep…

Definitely a forgery… Beep… Last time I fisted a …Beep…

See I can’t even complete the sentence.

The wires in my skin are trying to fix the pump within

and all its redeemed with is a Beep… Beep…

what I might say next is free from the chest,

for a thought provoked from the bottom

of the barrel headed minds that so frequently roll around here.

Beep… I never used to talk like this. I feel as though I’m in code

…Beep… Encoded by the …Beep… So making sense

while I lay here might be the …Beep… ends of all reasonable

discourse from a tired soul. News is on.

 

*Suspects questioned today in a lyrical hit and run enacted

last night on rappers Blatently Overated and Uncreative.

They were riddled with assumptions and deaf ears,

leaving them in quite a shock after their lyrics

had been stolen. They are both trying to recover their voices

and are glad to have put one of the assailants in hospital…*

 

You can only make a living from what has been done before.

Some people are more literal about this than others.

I could question the morals at hand here,

while I’m dying on the suspension bridge of …Beep…

They still have their voices and words revolving

around the corporate music media, instead of being locked in

to a tape recorder, a dying artist monologuing to a transcript

that will make it no ears or minds or …Beep…

Come inside me. Close your eyes. See what I pretend to see.

Here is the vast plain of creativity I have here,

locked under eyelids and blood vessels and bones broken

as a milk bottle left carelessly in the wind. It falls to smash

and out blossoms the word ‘WHITE’, which can be assumed

stands for canvas or convex or concave, a shape at the very least,

of something you can mould beyond all comprehension.

Or simply let disappear, here, in the back garden,

where Dad used to cut the grass and now the lawnmower sits

next to Mum’s fabric sunning chair, shredded by hails stones,

with grass grown all around it and the Spring weather

has bounced off again, so all it does is rain to rust its metal.

You roll around as a dog and wonder if you were a cat,

the moon would be the most enticing bowl of milk

but instead you are …Beep… relaxing, coming to terms

with the fact you will never mould yourself into something

that will excel as high as the moon …Beep… but it’s enough

to want to create the journey, to pull from yourself,

lying on the ground, the ideas of ladders or spaceships

beaming down and pulling you up from your daily dog/cat duties,

to reach something as unimportant but beautiful as space,

time takes nothing from you, just a day dream daze

for half a day and there you are, laying in thin air, despite the …Beep…

that stops your free thought …Beep… Dad forgives you for not mowing.

Mum has fresh lemonade, despite the cold … Beep…

Nurse puts a sponge in my chest cavity and soaks up some blood.

It tickles, too much. Hahaha stop it you cheeky …Beep…

I don’t feel like waking up just yet. I’ve got too many

restrictions waking up for …Beep… sake. Stop it, this is

…Beep… of the highest… Beep… Let me see my mother

…Beep… for another …Beep… I’ll tell you everything

…Beep… I was the one stabbed … Beep… Beep…

For my …Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep…

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s