Everything, for me, always lacks a saviour. I am a carved out
figure from the mirror, that’s all. Eyes closed, watching
the real thing fall apart,
its body crying in the kitchen by the cooker. And what
do I do? I ask an ugly god- head if he’s looking as well.
shook me sooner, bruised my shoulders and put these words inside my head-
there is no god.
Just the fear of what you deserve,
you nasty little thing.
I know less now,
am still yet to realise that each
year going by is a tank of isolation
How many more stillborn prayers will the heavens take?
How long can I stand this face? Can I last always wanting
what I can never have? Strangle me.
The sea is getting violent quickly, and I’m torn between the island and the boat, Father
one just a man, the other a slob
stretched near the sun. Which is which? A friend of
mine answers neither.
Christ’s a prostitute is spray-painted gold on the
side of the church. That’s fine, how much do I
have to pay? No deliverer works for nothing; they
want every bone and every soul you’re unwilling to
give. Ok. I’ll offer them up when communion comes,
when the collared boy explains God’s with me. Yes, I say, but only until
I fall into the blaze. He may be ready to live with
us but he isn’t ready to burn with us.
We love the bible, children sing with shaking knees,
we love it so.
That beautiful book.
Propaganda for the greenest souls.
And even when I finally take my power back,
I am left unfree.
The Man still pushes me around in a
womb, like a pram, like an undelivered ghost. Years on from this I have lived and died-
all of the people who ever loved me come to my grave and grieve,
But before the death,
in my time of disbelief, my legs begin
unfettering from fear, no longer small.
See, in every place I have been I’ve waited and
loved and slept. I have lived so humanly that it killed me,
I have been so human that it killed me,
I am so human he will kill me.