Satan is in your hallway

I don’t particularly like to be possessed but if Satan comes knocking on my door again, there’s no way I’m trying to save someone other than me. Heed.

The white patterned double glazed door is staying firmly shut. Locked down. Be wary of my advice, throw away the key if you have to. If your pet stands in the way of the door, your big strong best friend for life, yeah he’s not getting out of the way of the door no matter how much you try to coerce and push and pull and tumble over him. Do not try to save him, do not have a conscience. His life won’t matter because if Satan has already spotted you whilst he is coming out of his daze and reshaping his spirit-ooze-air-molecular-self from your previous possession a split second ago, there’s no way back.

Too late. Didn’t I tell you not to save him. You try to shut the door but the force on the other side is too much, you are only you. And he is very He. Your best friend sits, whining, unable to move from the gap from where you tried to fudge him. Meanwhile, Satan is in your hallway corkscrewing into your temple like a black bugle needle spirit, like BFG’s trumpet, but this is real and not so scrumdiddlyumptious. Your back is tight against the wall. You want to scream, but the scream only happens inside your head. You forget what’s happening for a second, thought it was all a bad mare. But then the searing pain starts.

Satan tears into your skin which he pulls from your bone as if the elasticity was there all along. More specifically, he stretches the skin from between your collarbone and shoulder and you see two feet of your own flesh disintegrate and melt into rolling balls of wax before your eyes. Satan can’t take control of your mind, for the moment, and deliberately so. He wants to taint you because he knows that is your worst sin, your worst shame, the thing for which you feel most guilty, that which riles you against yourself in daily life. He saturates his desire for sick and perverted crimes using your body at will so you feel soiled and horrible and scared and depravedly insane.

You can’t control your limbs, they don’t listen to the voice inside your head, no matter how loud you shout for them to STOP! He has taken over your synaptic nerve system, blocked the electrical impulses. You’re a witness to the horror, a bystander from within your own body, and a perpetrator in the material world. Not again. Yes, here you go again. I warned you about the door. I’m not afraid to tell you I told you so. In horror, you try to numb the excruciating pain, but your mind needs to rest intermittently, and that’s when you become conscious to his feelings. But it’s too much to take, so you switch back to the self-hypnosis you learned when you were nine years old forgetting all the maths that you’d been taught. Wishing you were stronger. Satan overcomes your epileptic convulsions, he’s been around from the dawn of time, he knows how to do this.


better off alone

Emotions concocted from nothing, plague daily favours and amongst it all he manages to plough and power his way through the field, getting bored of the sidelines my lips can’t much longer keep from being sealed, why shall I hunt him down I’m meant to be past that stage of the game, you know where I’m at so I leave the GPS to your claim, loving or hating, what’s the difference all of it’s the same, I’m not fearing your not returning because which ever way it’s arranged, I would think that God already had the game-plan pre-ordained.

Shock tactics from a blacksmith of blurred convict words, are you paying attention because I’m not deferring the slurred for the curred. High drama? Please – make it wait for later for once can’t you see, I want this, you should let this, be all about me, even the Prince had the right kinda idea in the Princess and the Pea, Godforsaking all the others for the truest belief, drowning kittens, wasting tears over callous heinous fiends, playing bulldog and high catch with hopscotch frogs and mirrored queens, take your truancy and shove it where the sun doesn’t sheen.

Must have been a militant mutant in a previous life, these X-men strive to keep cutting me, halving my heart with private lives, pretending like they’re all wanting for that heaven piece of strife, but if you read the pre-amble in the prenuptial he’s already plotting murder murder murder to see a mocking bird run free, on the outside at the outset everything’s schweet, and then all of a sudden Pinocchio tries to knock me over not once, but multiplied by three.

Three. God knows me. Can you even believe the boy prescribed iman. Told me to wear hijab and then backstabbed me in the midst of Ramadhan. Unforgiven. Raa. This has turned into something I didn’t mean for it to be, he delivers me latte on ice double you tea eff what the where the how the ick what does it even mean, my serenading hero promised me serene lambada dreams and retirement on a capital hedge fund retreating on yachts and jetskis, but it would seem he morphed back into a toad with narcolepsy only to cause embarrassing scenes on the road, concerted efforts to reduce any kind of meets avoiding potentially emotionally weak accidental greets in the street, and the entire thing tastes like bitter sweet deceit.

chained slavery

Across cross-cultured and plagued plains of failing railing religions, I try to abstain from the pain of this game, the hellfire flame heats the desiring need for fame but I realise popularity is inanely lame and life stands to kill, I remain the same as I try to gain momentum. Still.

Catastrophe! My waxen wings melt in the thick of the sun, I fall like Icarus and my bones break but apparently it’s my handy knack and conveniently, just in time, I land on my feet. I can’t run though, or see, collating the spraying bullets from the smoking barrels of a banshee.

And I am stunned, by the awe full silence of the nun on the opposite side of the gun, maybe I should have become one, steepled in century-old tradition as I try to come to terms with my impossible mission, my mortal contradiction, my innate self-conviction as they melt into elements of pure benediction and in that moment, an angel came to save me as Satan tried to disgrace me dislocating my soul from the fading ribbon of God’s submission.

He watches over and foresees your struggling as human consciousness is bubbling into more than a mass of mumbled grumblings, remaining oblivious, rejecting the subservient, sweeping up crumblings of your chocolate biscuit whilst sipping a sup on a hot cup of tea. Slavery is everywhere if you look hard enough, and deludedly, you think you’re free.

I see the crumbling world stumble in subliminal signals, humans succumbing to innovate love for greed, can’t you see, the wanton glee of high society as we, freely fall into a sea of useless notoriety, making sense of cents and pennies when they can’t even dig for a wishing well.  Hell.  You wish them well anyway, but what does it mean? They haven’t even got a well dug deep enough to wet wet wet up a cup of your daily dose of coffee beans.

she just couldn’t take any more

she lives for you,
every inhaled moment
epitomises her blind heart,
she lends herself to submission
as the first, hoping to be the last.

he plays mischief,
cuffs devil incarnate
to a matrimony of scorn.
he sinks into clouds despite
the rosy, complexion of the thorn.

she cracks her whip,
sky tumbles down into
a seeming sombre horizon,
she weeps in remembrance
for scents of uncivilised poison.

he kills blinkered,
lingering fixed eyes glare
beyond broken limitations,
he gages powerful strength
hollowing an expression vacant.

she gasps withstanding
blows and cuts to cheekbones
overtaking deceptive dreams
she stands up, tall, and, wired
as thunder rips through weak thread-bare seams.

Hearts of Men

It grew from the concrete
So did dead moss
And what?

Fluttering stoic lashes,
Organic, cellular, gate crashes
Faking smiles; for bewildered masses.

Depict ‘being’;
Conceiving, believing, deceiving
Cemented visions; stealing and thieving.

Dilated poppy-cock,
Pin-pricked pupils, shocked
Child of destiny; scruples unlocked.

Needing an indication,
A fixation, communal operation,
Prayer by allegation; false deliberation.

Faxing Him, unfazed,
Tapped through morse code, fully dazed.
Calculated lethargy; bipolar domes raised.

Will You nurture the world for Me while I’m away?