Borrowed by insane – soon as what’s simply sensational strings the coping-mechanism of hope back together again
Say when, Caroline Richardson where have you been?
When deepest affection for scintillating conversation goes strikingly missing

Nothing but a broken-winged butterfly-girl
Try as she might to catch her favourite dreams while her wistful mind whistles in the winding-staired wind sometimes, then they take to creating digital technology

She holds it together with me… and we think that we know God’s words but, really, we don’t

Nowhere near comfortably numb enough, just let us meet this Filbert Street blue-eyed baby girl, please
If your life was a movie and you were the hero, then what might your next move be? Her ability to be was simply an ability that needed no second reckoning, don’t you simply think?

These drugs do indeed poke fun and tug til resolutely puppeteering the better pieces of me – if the ship goes down then
I’m simply sinking to shrink with it – gladly

And we permit ourselves to sit our sorry souls down-upon right-round
The table of spell-wisher’s dreams

Biggest minds in Britain we make our own plagiarised decisions, hardware and hard-wired to fire these monstrous missiles at will

And the ‘Chieftain’ labelled beer steers itself suggestively in-and-around-inner-between these thrill-seeker lips of mine/while I steer progressively clear of all of my deadlocked demons for awhile/yet I fail to harness, harass a bedraggled smile
You are my dreadlocked demon/with heroin horrendously staged to stay the distanced distance between/what it addictively sees in-and-around-inner-beneath her pulsating veins

Look at all of these gluttons for pedestrianised punishment, cradled none too creatively atop these red-ribboned women who wear tabloid newspapers for glasses, hot baking imbeciles who poke fun in Sunday’s Leytonshire sun

I cry with my mind while you slip further, further, further inside – suffering with this behemoth thing
All sails set to fail at play-pretend, some people will pardon themselves to disrupt and abruptly say
Can’t believe this has been happening and right before our addled eyes

I write to follow flight, to break the line right by the misshapen border of inked illiteracy, while you ladies settle to romantically share and savour yourselves with my divided brilliance, if you shall permit me to instil what is problematically bolstered right by the early-a.m. poison-pen awaiting immaculate incision

Popular pop songs seem silly to me
A policy of theoretical realms

Can they not simply see that I’ve been competing for a complete comparison
Soon as our comfortable competition create bare-knuckle, angel-winged demons of their typified aside homegrown own

Twenty-five when I saw my life for the very first time
And to make matters much worse than that
This troubled bubble of ours has been far too comfortable and for far too long a time – we are kaleidoscopically imprisoned to make-believe feel like we are winning again, remember when we wrote til we were weary, eagle-eyed individuals, sidled frightfully aside the other and eerily withdrawn person

Perfected interruptions interrupting to usurp the perfect truth amidst the lava pond-pool of gargantuan eruption, soon as a singular song feels ready and real

These juggernaut beer bottles of yours are bleeding and twisting themselves til dedicated and disheveled right by the bubbled brim of inescapable dreams, seems it’s come to the early a.m. say when

And, please, be vivacious and settle yourself to stand and hand me these candy snacks and rolled-up soggy Woodbine cigarettes
Bolstered by our singing brains
Lapses in condemned concentration, yet again

…have you been twisting beneath the in-between to meet my manic mind by the middle, addicted to what’s sentimental and sensational
About to send us unpardonably mental

We paused ourselves for fought thought again and reckoned upon the insipidity of the relaxed candle-wax waiting for what’s imaginatively lyrical, it constantly begging for these superbly interwoven instantaneous instances

Cradled by mismatched miracles midst constant drip-to-drop, drib-drab, won’t-stop demonstration

The handsome man travels by hand, chasing red Ruby’s and tasting gold soliloquised by deserted sands
And his hidden abilities, non-conformist agilities, unearth non-entities/And the pretty girl wears her pearl-diamanté design while causing traffic-jam, glare-staring, jaw-dropping wannabes to crawl right by her sumptuous demise

The chin-rubbers, mother-lovers
This is the best wine on hurting earth… didn’t you play those beatnik drums with spirit last night… carried by the mini-bar, perhaps?

He is Billy Idol on acid/tipped precision-pen tends to send them wherever anywhere may well be/believe in the best of me, the silver-lining pressed softly aside perilously fearless mishap/mapped right the way out/too big for this town, both of us should really

She is tongue-torn and worn and searching for these fictional white-lies which borrow themselves unkindly from lukewarm coffee one-of-kind – the cream of the crop smashes the top

To instrumentally, bombastically, fair contagiously weather these manic and haphazardly awry storms

Of deceptively, deliciously, delusionally disfigured ours – warmed to the broached touch of the softened surface, come back for more of the Marlboro Light, sabre-tooth same, please…
No failing at failing to escape this born-to-be affable inadequacy

These past wishful-thinking, keep ’em mean keep ’em keen, blissfully insane instances resume to presume to tease us into sensibly gentle submission again

Brit-pop/non-stop/our smitten adversaries are thirsty for more/and no-one recalls a number one pop song whatsoever at all/the lacklustre persuasion is an artistic sensation when offering itself atop cake-encrusted cocaine/and these merrier-than-thou existences which have been living and breathing, violently wild-fired rather silently and readied, steady-shipped pristinely within/stormed corrupt and opting upon neat whiskey/warming and forming inside of all of we/cool as Ice-Cube only minus the sun sometimes

And, then, they resolve to remain to remarkably contain themselves to mean to amount throughout all of snide-eyed, eagle-arisen everything

The third world of wrought-iron powers has been top-drawer utter-indulgence paralysing
And this appears to be, above all else, the deathly delve – and our living, reeling, lividly vivacious eyes have been pockmarked til unkindly inflamed-insane

Head-to-toe predisposed/polka-nosed/the millennial Joker pokes fun at these misshapen moments
Shape-shifting everything again, turning and burning themselves down-upon right-round
These beautifully miraculous and tantalised miracles

And the Black Knight snidely smiles and sizeably sees something suggestive of his merry own – even if he eats his meals midst ordinary people

Guided unashamedly by these blade-sparked, blood-thirsty Chelsea-smiles of lovelorn, -torn ours, vilified by the life-edge dereliction

Soon as his highwired allegiance became a miserly interpretation
Pledged to prime itself and to strengthen their pronged thrones of adequacy
Show me that silken white knife and twist to sink and realise

The godawful release of a stricken and bare-boned, Beck-stabbing life
Guarded and unpardonably serenaded by 1960’s style… an oasis of hope has blurred our picturesque skies while our hellbent allies continue to create and flagrantly summarise

When we decided to play our faithful cards right, to kneel and worship right by what is righteously riptorn, worn ‘n’ mischievously real

Steal all of me, please, and bargain that derogatory deal which you promised to rekindle way back when sensational delinquency made sullen sorts of sense again
Tell me, are my dramatic dreams really that unreachable?

I’m out of my head and these whiplash scratches have been bleeding crystalline in order to reach the twenty-four carat magic which they’ve been meaning to finally witness

A way forever-forth-forward prioritised and guided by the mind over matter

I see that your drug-addled family has been meaning to get itself to happening whilst we’ve been laughing to the core of our monstrously magnificent, belly-flapping beings

Peeling our human eyes wide, about to paralyse your drunken eyes

Forty-three verses and I’m thirsty for more
Only there appears to be no cursed buses nor intriguing exit-signs
Marking any which way forward toward our get-out clause… and, yet, as ever we will upset ourselves to pause for fought thought again – a gain in nothing whatsoever at all

Share and Enjoy !

0 0