Strangle the chauffeur and shoot the maid Bludgeon the butler to death is what I said, Hunt me down as I go on a killing spree With blood-stained hands everyone must be free Of life and embrace the final scenario of death. Slice open my father and rape my mother too Kill all the family and that might mean you.
Jolly up the script for the audience to enjoy As they sip beer, with gutting a small screaming boy. Hide the true statistics as we watch on TV from afar, The slaughter in Ukraine, Sudan, Israel and Rafah. The close up shots broadcast live by IDF Soldiers As the Genocide hots up, they dance emboldened With impunity as the bodies and parts fly into the air.
In cages we set our tasks And our tasks set us in cages.
In truth we set our sights, And our sights set us in truth.
The rambling rolling flow of time Has nails that are driven, from time to time Through all my hands and feet For I have nought but my mind to defeat To let myself go free Into a world that has rejected me One that I despise For it is full of hatred and lies And lies are like Small spiky snails That crawl into your eyes Blinding you to the earthly skies Stultifying the chance to realise …
The white hot ants of degradation Stabs wounds a thousand words long For the blindness Is almost a kindness For where people do not know There is a happiness That will ignore the encroaching glow “First there is a mountain Then there is no mountain And then there is” Musician gives us the food We only need to do the good.
The demon that tells you That you’re no good With spiked fork digs into your head Drawing blood at every turn The little vermin that laughs in your ear Orange round with crooked legs Turns you into a jibbering wreck.
The demon that lives in your head Always there ready to destroy you pick yourself up and down you go again the demon that trips you up turns your whole world into a grey mess telling you how useless you are.
The demon that churns in your heart Gives you nightmares while you’re awake Undermines who you really are Makes you sick when you look at yourself Interferes with your plans and ideas Makes you feel nothing but coldness Stokes up the fires of indifference
The demon sets you targets of misery Telling you that you are only history Making sure you drink too much Always there to ensure laziness and such Getting the last word in first Deadly demon will do its worst If you don’t get rid and do it fast!
What solace can be given when a close person Is given the news – you’re going to die soon, Where do the words come from that should comfort Whatever is said it does not take away the deep hurt.
Warm words of comfort an arm around the shoulder Releases the tears from the heart, you start to shudder Then start to wonder about the whole death thing Whatever solace is offered the pain is still there.
As each day that passes the cool shades Move on stealthily, creeps in the dusk As the air sways, darkness cascades, The midnight hour approaches so watch.
Take the day and shake it clear of the mist That forms when your eyes are full of tears Looking for solace, you know there is none The time will come when the lights go out.
Condolences are waiting on peoples’ lips But the waiter of the final hour never hears A single word nor do they wish to either Accept my solace at this time it’s all I have.
Giving the words a breath of air Slaying the old ones without a care, Assuming always they were never there, A gut feeling is an empty despair The fringes of thinking become a lair But the bright clouds shit their bombs everywhere.
Leaving the blank screens, their video games Striking a similarity with the lame brains Smiling atrocities is the latest of names The sickly punctuated multi-coloured displays Show that wars aren’t about death or laser rays But the sky pisses napalm missiles every day.
Living the life of a mole in Baghdad Is nothing if not ever so sad The writing moguls feeding what is mad Living is living is making a killing Trying to pierce walls that are unyielding But the vomiting fires go on in every way.
My mind does that – you know thinks in fragments The memory plays with fragments, small moments Many days I have are fragmented by moods Drifting here and there and god knows where Why do I try to combine the bits I will never know Because they don’t fit together correctly, so I waste my time fixing this one thought with another.
Fuck it they won’t go here nor anywhere I can see, Reluctant to throw them away I store each fragment Until the weight of them cracks my reserve, I cry Then the fragments mysteriously all join up without me Doing a damn thing to them, leaving me wondering What the hell was all that about – I will never know.
How can a life exist in a fragmented world of pieces Of thoughts memories dreams and nightmares Why does the fragmentation happen anyway? To conjure confusion, sorrow, long forgotten Places where I once was but cannot now remember, For I have not been here before nor felt this way Maybe I need to submerge myself in music and poems.
Go deep into my spiritual character shun the heavy stuff Throw off the blood stained cloak dripping on the floor Where all the knives were shoved into my back Without me hardly knowing not feeling anything, The cloak I want to see fragmented dead lying On the floor gasping for air as I walk away again.
These verses keep on coming, what do you think? Deeper than the usual – as I look under a tall pile Of fragments – the knitting of the parts long gone Into a past that wasn’t really me anyway, who cares? The scars from the more jagged fragments a reminder Of the faces of those who broke all my fragments And throw them asunder and played tricks on me.
Pretending they held all the pieces in their hands And telling me they would hand them to me one day At the right time and place but it never happened. So I sit here looking at all the fragments knowing I can never mend them or put them back together, Fragments rule the day and will not move over.
Will I ever learn to cast down all these fragments Or will I have to learn the same lessons over again All the time wondering where each piece has come from; They want to be going somewhere much better than here I know it I can feel it – when they reach their goal They will form into perfect patterns of happiness Pleasing to the eye uplifting of the heart no less.
It is then that I will understand why my life’s in fragments Of what I really wanted and in the way I wanted them. No more the fragments of promise no more deflection But a large colourful picture of life as it should be Something to be admired, something to be lived In profound solid foundation, giving away nothing.
this poem’s title was inspired by Salvador Dali’s famous painting – Metamorphosis of Narcissus by Salvador Dali
To be in their own little world people of the narcissus trait Wallow in self pity and try to attract attention, straight From the lower depths where feelings cannot exist. The emptiness of such a person is filled with fantasies They go looking for their prey for their odd practices.
They look for the vulnerable and people of low self-esteem Overwhelm them, make promises and become Mr Charming they ensnare the innocent to become their latest victim. With smile on face and words of trickery they are rewarded With the money, sex and adulation they obsessively covet.
They say over and over to their victim “I love you” even though The only person they are capable of loving is themselves. They can not love- they do not love - they have no capacity For loving another human being – even their parents they despise They become angry and childlike when a parent meets their demise.
They can not grieve – for they do not know how to so they copy What other people do to give the appearance that they are upset. They do this to attract attention to themselves and away from the deceased showing again their complete lack of feelings, the trait of narcissus is a danger to the unwary who have feelings.
Out of earshot and away from the presence of their victims The possessor of the narcissus trait laughs about his girlfriends Behind their backs – he delights in denigrating them to pieces, He says they are pathetic, not of any real worth, in the end He jokes with his friends about how he treats women he beds,
Lying is like breathing to such people – he feels it is essential. When he tires of his victim he goes cold becomes more hurtful. Nothing in his locker would make him the most popular person So he invents a persona of charm and persuasive arguments, To capture another unwary innocent and then controls them.
Such a person is to be avoided at all costs and for sanity; Once they have their hooks in you it will be for eternity. They have no wish to let go of anyone they try to possess, No matter how many times a victim tells them to go away They will not – for they think the victim wants it this way.
Time and time again such a person of narcissist character will maintain contact no matter the victim says they never want to see them again or want to go back to them again. Any contact for the narcissist is gratification in and of itself, Because they feel self-important contact is all they want.
Pity then the victim convinced such a person can change, They can’t like the leopard’s spots, they won’t it is strange, But they don’t want to change, they are not doing wrong In their own eyes – there is nothing wrong, they are convinced Their bad behaviour is what their victim really wants of them.
Be wary of the holder of the narcissus, they lie about everything They will say anything to keep their victim hooked like an addict They will go along with the idea of getting treatment to keep hold Of their victim, they can convince anyone they mean to change But deep inside there is no real desire it is unnecessary to them.
Picture the victim who through being too kind waits for change, In reality, they have a very long wait because it will not happen, A victim is wasting their time, their life; their chance of happiness. Remember, no one can fix a person who does not feel they need fixing, You can’t metamorphose a narcissist, it is a hard and real fact of life.
Like the Dali painting of the metamorphosis of narcissus The portrayal of the egg held in hand and the head bowed down represents the closeness desired by the abused and the abuser, but the desire is toxic in the abuser and the abused finds out in the grossest way that can be possible between two people.
The hurt and pain mixed with a deep love of the narcissist Will remain with the victim all the time there is contact, The narcissist knows that and will exploit it to the full They know their victim can not help it so they will fool Their prey into thinking one day they will be different.
There is nothing to be gained whilst in a trauma bond Only a mixed-up mind, hurt in the heart and heaviness That the victim carries around in the forlorn hope of love, There is no love in the narcissist only deep self-love Impenetrable, unreasonable and full of obsessiveness.
In Huntingdonshire a Major non-event Has the people there suffering a lament Give John a bone Ask him to stay at home He will most likely be alone!
In his wildest dreams And fantastic schemes The PM is the wettest of heroes But voters’ myopia Is deeper than mere tomorrows He will be the last of wet blues.
In the Anglia Homeland There is a political strand That only reaches as far as Major No one drives a tank better Otherwise, why vote for a loser He will retire sooner than later.
For nowadays I have seen that I am a broken man In an over enthusiastic manner I do what I can To put together people I feel are in need of a repair, I take on the task of turning them away from despair.
A broken man steeped in the game of co-dependence, I am nothing without those friends I support and mend. Where would my usefulness be if their woes were absent I see my worth only in what other people really want.
I have a deep-seated need for approval from others I behave almost like their overpowering mother My self-worth depends on what others think about me Really how pathetic is that is something I can now see.
My habit of taking on more work to earn praise or lighten A loved one’s uncalled for or unasked for heavy burden I apologize or take on blame in order to keep the peace Where is my pride is it hiding nearby anybody, please?
Guilt or anxiety when doing something for myself wrecks my heart And doing things I don’t really want to do, simply doing my part to make others happy, and never finding out if it really works Idealizing partners or other loved ones, often makes them go beserk.
Why do I maintain relationships that leave me unfulfilled, not stirred Is it because of my overwhelming fear of rejection or abandonment It rules my life to the point where even I can see it is beyond absurd, Thus are the real worries and unfortunate thoughts of a co-dependent.
DISSENTERS VOICE 