1. |
Autopsy of a Dream
01:04
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This kind of madness
Cannot be resuscitated
Once asphyxiated
By blood-soaked rainbow tender
An eviscerated reverie
Cleaved from bone to bone
Laid out on the cadaver slab
In the cold, dead phosphorescence
Chew your fat
Before you swallow it
Or it will choke you on the way back up
Televised toxicity
For obese minds
It all goes down the same way
Hit the button
Stop the lights
And take me to the place from whence I came
To face a new solution
The latter-day believers
Bless their cotton socks
Dreaming of a dream
Where life
Goes on
Regardless
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2. |
Dollhouse
01:43
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How pretty life is in the dollhouse
When arcing rainbows collide
You reign in your cupcake kingdom
Where only synthetics survive
Disappear into the greenhouse now
To brush up the roses once more
Reality jags through the cracks in the paint
But denial is made to endure
You sink into self-indulgence
In pools too shallow to swim
There is no fear of drowning
If you can break through the skin
Afraid to succumb to your standards
So impose them on everyone else
A view through a mirror whose image
You don't even trust yourself
Worth is only a purchase
You don't have the credit to make
So you covet, cheat and pilfer all
You dreamed was yours to take
Find cover in the conservatory
From the shattering, scattering panes
Breaking down through the layers of what
Was never real anyway
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3. |
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Whatever happened to Christopher Robin?
Alumnus of the Animal Farm
Straining to spring his make-believe friends
Gaoled in the dungeons
Of his mind palace
Kamikaze Christopher
Sucking on cinders
Clutching tight-fist detonators
To his mental armageddon
Life is what happens
In the jacks at intermission
There is no hereafter
No correction at the end of the test
No, Christopher…
There is nothing…
Here…
For you…
Anymore
Run, rabbit, run
From outbound flames
Annihilating all before them
Yet you can’t dodge
Your boomerang bullets
On their way back around to you
Christopher, here stalls your story
On the bridge below the town
Where you learned to hide
what you can’t kill
A foetus
Cradled in the riverbed
Inert
Not still-birthed
But sleeping
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4. |
Red Rover
01:17
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This is a force you cannot contain
To drain
my cranial capacitor
Busy-work
For idle minds
Or an open book snapped shut
Before
They get more
Than a tantalising glance
Into a mindframe they cannot even grasp.
How can you burn out
The lights of the outcast
Too strong to be the weaker sex?
Whom the boys accept
While the girls play possum
You could be pretty if you just wore pink
Not red and black
Not black and blue
With your eyes busted out of your skull
I can rest easy knowing
My hindrances are virtues
My baggage is a gift
In an empire state
Of lost denial
Here we play
Intergenerational Chinese whispers
With the battle scars of our brethren
Sparks of a faded revolution
Which long since folded its banners
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5. |
Static
01:59
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Decommissioned fascination
Resigned to imagination
Allow it to wander
For a little while
But it must go
No further than this.
In too deep
To turn back to the shallows
And drown myself in your eyes
Immerse myself in the fantasy
Of you in his place
I shall pay the forfeit
Of my hesitation-
A watered-down substitute
Oblivious to the worth
Of the long walk home.
But twisted guilt propels me
Further
Than I am willing to take it
All the while
You skirt around the issue
Skittish
And I demand of concrete walls
Why
You can go
No further than this.
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6. |
Gatecrashing
01:16
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I am a scavenger
A ransacker
Foraging spent cigarettes
And burnt-out arguments
Abandoned by those
On the page's blank margin
How hungrily they bay for the blood
Of another spilt sunset!
I remain the one-trick poet
Conjuring mirrors
And jilted full-stops.
My paper wings are drawn
To tangerine flames
Keeping teenagers warm
On nights they dream
They've run away from home
The cautionary tale
Of a life worth living
Is a long-lost warning
Meshed in barbed-wire
I trespass on existence
Over the fence
An expanse ruled
By perspective
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Natasha Helen Crudden Dublin, Ireland
Punk-influenced poet and guitarist, photographer, author of poetry collection Barbed-Wire Cage and novel Empire Evolution and certified space-cadet. I am obsessed with blending raw punk with crafted poetry and am an avid fan of the current slam poetry scene in Ireland. ... more
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