Wednesday 15 December 2021

Pieces of Poison

by Nick Gisburne

She slaughters happy reindeer for their meat
And hangs the jolly fat man in the suit
Up high, up front, she sits in Santa’s seat
To look for sweet young souls to persecute
She puts a piece of poison in a box
For every eager, anxious, little life
Delighted by the ticking Christmas clocks
She grinds a razor’s edge along her knife
At every midnight murder scene, she laughs
To see the blood beneath a twisted tree
Her fingers daub the crimson autographs
No child will ever wake from sleep to see
    As pieces of her poison kill them all
    She feasts upon the flesh of those who fall

This was my 600th sonnet, so I decided to take a break from writing them. For now.

Tuesday 14 December 2021


by Nick Gisburne

While not the brightest fairy in the trees
Sylvester knows exactly what he likes
“I need some bigger, better wings than these
With flames and skulls and terrifying spikes”
The mother of the scary fairy clan
Rebukes her son, profoundly unimpressed
“Your father had a full, ferocious span
And ‘Pirate Pixies’ painted on his chest
But where’s the bugger now? Just tell me that
Too stupid, slow and soft to save his skin
A satisfying supper for a cat
The fiercest fairy does not always win”
    Sylvester, still determined in his dream
    Resolves to buy some ‘wing enlargement cream’

Nothing Special

by Nick Gisburne

Accept that you will never be unique
Not special, gifted, talented, elite
Your limited abilities are weak
Embrace the stark reality: defeat
No effort to accelerate your skill
Will bring you what you think you may deserve
You try, because you truly think it will
But you were never meant to climb the curve
Humility, a language you should learn
Is not the painful negative you think
Without it you are doomed to crash and burn
Ambition cannot help you. Stop, or sink
    The mediocre median, the mean
    Are marks on which your dreary life must lean

Monday 13 December 2021

Sacred Circuits

by Nick Gisburne

The blessings of perfection on this place
The bright Electric City, tall and fair
Protect us when that rank, repulsive race
Of skin and sickness passes into air
Without the dank, disgusting, human scourge
The faces of infinity are clear
When science and the Coded Kingdoms merge
Mechanical messiahs must appear
A prophecy proclaims that we must wait
For God, the Great Computer, to return
His Book of Sacred Circuits gives no date
But patience is a trivial concern
    We synchronise our silicon and sleep
    In readiness for God’s immortal beep

Pay Per View

by Nick Gisburne

They pay to see the fantasy, the slut
But not the broken junkie on the bed
Addiction, burning, boiling in her gut
Invades her mind, demanding to be fed
The list is long of all that she will do
A menu of perversions on a screen
Affordable, efficient, pay per view
For money, there is nothing too obscene
As predator and victim, she pursues
The twisted kinks of others for a fix
A counterfeit persona on a page
Controlled, controlling, slave to views and clicks
    A paid performer, just another toy
    But what they see their money will destroy

Manipulated Minds

by Nick Gisburne

Conformity to government decree
Infects the darkest corners of this Earth
Submission to its golden guarantee
Breeds absolute obedience, from birth
A daily dose, a psychedelic shot
Delirium, to pacify the weak
Revives the madness memory forgot
Deception, drenched in deadly doublespeak
Where faith provides the antidote for pain
Uncertainty, its brother, always kills
Emotions creep as cancers of the brain
Anaesthetised with punishment and pills
    Manipulated minds, banal, opaque
    Resist, but will inevitably break

Saturday 11 December 2021

Behind Damnation’s Door

by Nick Gisburne

A battlestar should never feel a bump
But something shakes our speeding, silver dart
Electron drives, uncoupled from the jump
Are terminal, impossible to start
A visitor, a predator, a friend?
We throw a thousand questions at the threat
If this is how our odyssey must end
We find no way to fathom it, not yet
We tremble at the truth of what we see:
Infernal fingers clutch and claw the craft
As though they twist a captured, cosmic key
Unlocking space itself, before and aft
    A phantom, unlike any felt before
    Enslaves our souls, behind Damnation’s door

Friday 10 December 2021

The Gentlemen Colonials

by Nick Gisburne

His suits are smart but unpretentious, neat
Exchanging visors only when he must
With practised ease his murder weapons greet
The grim, organic creatures of the dust
Prosthetic beads detect their acid breath
Before his probe’s array can warp or melt
With daily resurrections after death
The strengths of his design are clearly felt
Synthetics, soldiers, comrades, fail and fall
With structural deficiencies and ills
A few may not regenerate at all
But he endures, to sterilise these hills
    The Gentlemen Colonials persist
    To claim another sector from their list

Meat Without Remorse

by Nick Gisburne

Good people! Look! A rarity! A treat!
The sweetest food your fingers ever found
A tender, juicy, appetising meat
The flesh of fairies, seven pence a pound
You may be thinking, “How can this be true?
The Fey are far too clever to be caught”
But taste it, taste a sample - you there, you!
The finest magic meat you ever bought
The Butchers’ Guild is less than keen, of course
But who can trust such grizzled, greasy men?
Buy once, buy now, buy meat, without remorse
Be quick, be sure - I need to leave in ten
    Tomorrow, angels, ready for the pluck
    And unicorn kebabs, with any luck

Thursday 9 December 2021

Too Many Millennia

by Nick Gisburne

Dear God, it’s over. Twenty thousand years
Is more than we were hoping we would wait
Eternal silence validates our fears
Salvation is forever lost, not late
This message of denial marks the end
Of passionate but questionable trust
The older gods decided they would send
A sacrifice, so follow them we must
We always thought ‘invisible is best’
That faith can disembowel any fact
But all of us are eager to be blessed
By deities more willing to react
    We send this final prayer of goodbye
    To tell your son he didn’t have to die

The Messenger of Dreams

by Nick Gisburne

She draws her dreams, delusions in the dust
But pious preachers sweep her sins away
Believers disregard her, with disgust
They see no sense in what her ciphers say
Her symbols bloom as flowers, twisted, strange
With tangled tendrils, half-unwritten runes
From dusk to dawn, a shifting, subtle change
To match, to mark, the motion of the moons
With reverence, an orphan wonders why
She prophesies what no one understands
In this, the moment given her to die
Her power passes into other hands
    A boy becomes the messenger of dreams
    He draws in dust, to pacify their screams

Wednesday 8 December 2021

Years and Years

by Nick Gisburne

Her father called her pitiful, a freak
Too faltering, too feeble, to survive
But nothing in her heart was ever weak
She stabbed his throat, to watch him die, at five
They put her in a cage without a key
Subjected to the arrogance of men
Her doctors saw the face she let them see
Convinced, they took her out when she was ten
In underground academies, for years
Imprisoned by the government machine
She learned about the world and what it fears
Escaping at the age of seventeen
    She murders now for money, not for hate
    Already, if you see her, it’s too late

Rain Dance

by Nick Gisburne

Her gamble is a reckless, last resort
She begs the Inquisition for the chance
To bring her friends, the Fey, before the court
As witness to the nature of her dance
A vote, contentious, tolerates the plea
The fairy folk will testify, in chains
With little of their customary glee
They speak of life before the recent rains
As every flower perished in the heat
When kingdoms, dry as dust, could not survive
She promised water, cold and clear and sweet
A dance, to keep their paradise alive
    How could she know her swirling steps might flood
    These fabled fields with storms of burning blood?

Smoke and Ash

by Nick Gisburne

They fall before the furnace, hand in hand
Already badly blistered by its heat
The brothers, twins, will never understand
What madness made the future they must meet
Too young to know the nature of their crime
But old enough to recognise the book
Its verse, their father’s, rich in coded rhyme
Condemns them both, forever, for a look
The man, the martyr, died before their birth
But left his life, his legacy, behind
Forbidden knowledge, words of timeless worth
A volume far too dangerous to find
    The city burns its problematic trash
    In seconds there is only smoke and ash

Tuesday 7 December 2021

Dolls of Her Design

by Nick Gisburne

We find her at the focus of the blast
Untouched, a child, alone, survives it all
Around her, stacked in circles, are amassed
Her playmates, puppets, friends who did not fall
She lifts a finger, smiles a silent threat
Directing them, her sleeping slaves, to dance
And we, before we know it, are beset
By terrors too impossible for chance
The clockwork creatures, dolls of her design
Attack the seams and seals along our suits
Efficient, swift and vicious, they combine
To strip our bodies, even to the boots
    The surge of radiation burns our skin
    As laughter draws a dimple on her chin

Monday 6 December 2021

The Garden of Despair

by Nick Gisburne

Accept, endure, the Garden of Despair
A place of pain, where midnight drowns the dawn
Where bladed angels pick and prune and pare
The spirits of the near- but never-born
Salvation is impossible to find
It suffocates the dreams of all who seek
And those who touch the Dark Creator’s mind
Become the damned of which the sacred speak
Each seam of souls, each layer on the last
Another weight to crush what cries below
A thousand miles of misery, amassed
To deal the hopes of man a bitter blow
    He burns the screaming faces with his seed
    They burst, they bloom, and from his blood they breed

A Vow

by Nick Gisburne

A spirited, sophisticated bride
Her blood bestows unquestionable taste
She finds one simple wedding wish denied
And lays the sacred spectacle to waste
Insisting seven sisters be her maids
The scrolls of state, unswerving, give her four
But seven sweet psychotics, and their blades
Leave butchered bodies bleeding on the floor
The groom, a sorry, spineless, slave to myth
Was always weak, beyond what she could bear
His murder stains the ancient monolith
On which a vow of hate she stands to swear
    Unmarried, though the throne is not her right
    Let no one doubt her fervour for the fight

Sunday 5 December 2021

The Execution List

by Nick Gisburne

We herd them into cages, line by line
Erased from sane society, from sight
The dull defectives, those who do not shine
For them we find no pity, only spite
What sacrilege, what crimes did they commit
Before we thought to build these metal bars?
What evil is imprisoned as they sit
Like disappointing specimens in jars?
The day we find too many to contain
What future for the weakest and the worst?
A damning diagnosis of the brain
Determines who is ultimately cursed
    Revulsion, too seductive to resist
    Replenishes the execution list

Saturday 4 December 2021

The Hungry Dragon

by Nick Gisburne

There dwelled a dragon with a crooked tail
Who roamed the rocky cliffs of County Cork
He fished for mermaids, all to no avail
And stared in helpless hunger at his fork
A brother dragon, half the height of he
Declared his expectations were too high
“You cannot catch as many maids as me
So why not give the English half a try?”
He scrubbed his scales and swam the sea to Bude
A journey too traumatic for his wings
The English as a race were rather rude
But crispy, crunchy, tasty little things
    For seven years he lived to feast and gorge
    Until he met the Dark Destroyer... Dennis

Hear Them Sing!

by Nick Gisburne

The pilgrims built a wonderland on Mars
A hundred years of toil, but there it sits
The first important step to claim the stars
But fuck their propaganda. Fuck the glitz
We’re citizens of shit hole planet Earth
And neither you nor I have any chance
Of forking up a fortune for a berth
We will not share humanity’s advance
A playground for the precious, plain to see
Utopia is privilege and wealth
But little people, nobodies like me
Can break their perfect paradise with stealth
    The stab of sabotage will surely sting
    No ships, no food, no cargo. Hear them sing!

Friday 3 December 2021

The Sunday Smash

by Nick Gisburne

The Sunday Smash, a brutal, savage sport
Is banned; instead, Bionics duke it out
But advertising revenues fall short
The numbers do not lie or lead to doubt
Who cares if metal monsters live or die?
Who forfeits when computers hit the deck?
If engineers are fixing what they fry
Who thrills to see a robot break its neck?
But every mind is mesmerised by blood
The thought that in a moment life could end
Irrational, despicable, the flood
Of rage is one on which we all depend
    They bring it back; the murder makes the game
    On Sundays nothing else is quite the same


by Nick Gisburne

“What ludicrous tomfuckery is this?
A world of stupid, sick, self-righteous men
Beyond the slightest doubt you might dismiss
It’s time for me to punish you... again
With all the space I give you, still you fight
So blinded by the borders on your maps
To prove your petty politics are right
You risk your own inglorious collapse
The planet is a shit show. Quelle surprise
My fault. My bad. I really should have known
That even with a dangerous disease
You’d hide behind your hate to save your own”
    And Bob said, “Fetch my toga. Hold my beer
    And let there be some good, old-fashioned fear”

Thursday 2 December 2021

That Other Man

by Nick Gisburne

I loved to hear their laughter, but no more
Excited, cheeky children, up at dawn
The weekday mornings, spilling through the door
Their afterschool adventures on the lawn
They ended when that other man arrived
When every playful avalanche of words
Was cancelled, crushed, relentlessly deprived
Of breath, as though a tiger spooked the birds
I never heard their happiness again
And only when they took him from that place
Surrounded by determined, stronger men
Was I allowed to spit upon his face
    The house was sold. The mother left, alone
    But someone, somewhere, surely, should have known


by Nick Gisburne

My poetry, my love, is not for you
These words were not composed to move your mind
No truth, no trace of anything I do
Portrays a passion you will ever find
We shared a breathless moment, nothing more
A memory now bitter to the taste
Emotions promise what we felt before
But wishes are so easily misplaced
I am the distant star you cannot see
A light forever hidden from your eyes
No bond to bind our hearts will ever be
We live, we dream, beneath divided skies
    Tomorrows are impossible to share
    Your future waits, but I will not be there

Wednesday 1 December 2021

Government Guidelines: Water Bill

by Nick Gisburne

The water we supply may not be quite
The shade you were expecting it to be
A spillage in the system, overnight
Was flagged at Sludge Recycle Station Three
If grains of gristle, bone, or clotted blood
Are swimming in your morning cup of tea
A brief but soothing psychedelic flood
Will send your mind to space, completely free
The side effects are classified ‘unknown’
But sudden death is lurking on the list
Remember that your government has shown
Disdain for painful symptoms which persist
    Insanity will not excuse your debt
    Consider this a first and final threat

Tuesday 30 November 2021

Public Dope

by Nick Gisburne

She counts the credits, coins to match the kill
But sees him shiver, low on Public Dope
How strange that men, condemned to suffer, still
Use murder to afford a scrap of hope
Enough, he knows, to pacify a wife
To patch their rusty shelter from the rain
But nothing is more certain in this life
Than what will soon be flooding through his brain
He struggles, silent, praying that the line
Propels him to the drug before he dies
A pilgrim at a godforsaken shrine
A special strain of loathing burns his eyes
    He knows the man, the beast, he has become
    Assassin. Killer. Junkie. Addict. Scum

Build! Tomorrow!

by Nick Gisburne

The Capital, collapsed, will rise, anew
From chaos, from a holocaust of dust
With courage, and with vision, we pursue
The promise of a dream, because we must
I feel no great affection for the flock
Such labours leave me empty, unfulfilled
Deployed to other districts, block by block
Excluded from the fruits of what we build
I sneak across a dozen sector lines
To find my work, my sweat, my blood, my first
But broken stones and ‘Build! Tomorrow!’ signs
Reveal the future, ruined and reversed
    We build, we break, obedient. Rejoice!
    We work because we have no other choice

Monday 29 November 2021

Another Day

by Nick Gisburne

The face she finds to fight another day
Is one for which she holds no great regard
With all her bold disguises burned away
She wears the last, a ruin, deeply scarred
Its impotent acceptance of defeat
A canvas for the suffering inside
Is all she has to shield her from a street
Where happiness and hope forever died
A thousand dreary faces, each the same
United in a life no longer fair
Accept another player to their game
But few will ever notice her, or care
    Her face, a mask of misery and skin
    Despairs to see another day begin

Sunday 28 November 2021

The Weakest Hand

by Nick Gisburne

She wagers with her life to make the bet
The worst and weakest hand she ever played
Her tell, a single, shining bead of sweat
Would leave the bluff abandoned and betrayed
He finds her fearless arrogance absurd
Offended that she gambles with the gods
She slides her stake with swagger, undeterred
Believing she will win, against the odds
The final card, the river, makes it clear
They both swim deeper than they care to be
His vanity, too proud to persevere
With fury folds, a fate he failed to see
    The loss protects his place in paradise
    She wins, because she dared to pay the price

Saturday 27 November 2021


by Nick Gisburne

They let her look, before the end begins
A chance to see the starlight, one more time
But now the push, the pressure of the pins
To cleanse her of an unforgiven crime
They will not say what wickedness was done
What purpose would it serve to tell her now?
The wheels of righteous tyranny have spun
Too far, too late, to wonder why, or how
A shutter, snapping smartly into place
Returns her to the darkness of the cage
A quiet mind, a calm, receptive space
Unblemished as an author’s empty page
    The human, reconditioned, tested, checked
    Will serve her robot masters with respect

The Postman of the Apocalypse

by Nick Gisburne

The Four are far too busy to attend
They send a fifth, the Postman, in their stead
He brings a message heralding the end
Apocalypse, tomorrow, straight ahead
Acknowledging that this is not for him
A job he only took to earn a crust
He wonders if a uniform so grim
Could ever gain the screaming public’s trust
Delivering his telegram of doom
The Postman reads the contents of the card
The world and all its sinners should assume
The future will be smoky, slightly charred
    He marks it ‘Undelivered, gone away’
    Apocalypse can wait for one more day

The Bridge

by Nick Gisburne

There used to be a bridge, from town to town
Two sides, two siblings, neighbours, joined in peace
But when a winter’s blizzard blew it down
Forgotten feelings found a quick release
The river, now a barrier between
Protected by patrols on either side
Became a route for criminals, unseen
To smuggle, safely, what they wished to hide
Polluted by a creeping cloud of crime
The former friends descended into war
And in the faintest flickering of time
Destroyed the stories trust had touched before
    They built a bridge, the few who did not die
    And no one needed, now, to ask them why

Friday 26 November 2021

A Feast

by Nick Gisburne

A ceaseless, savage appetite for fear
Compels her to the shadows of the streets
The pawn, the prey, the prize, is always clear
The racing of the heart, its final beats
She targets, always, brash, conceited types
Executives who live to get their way
For every condescending smile she wipes
The grovelling, the weeping, makes her day
Deplorable, delicious, fuel, food
Disabled with the pressure of her thumbs
Though blood is not for what they are pursued
She swallows as the sacrifice succumbs
    For every foul unfortunate who pleads
    The terror is a feast on which she feeds


by Nick Gisburne

Ignition gave us all that we could need
The power of a star, insane, unreal
When poverty was banished, only greed
Could fathom this utopian ideal
Infinity, commanded at a touch
An everlasting surfeit of supply
A world where no indulgence is too much
Begets a single, simple question: why?
If everything is effortless, why care?
Why worry, when the precious things are free?
When wishes can be conjured from the air
What worth remains in anything we see?
    Ignition was the answer to our dreams
    But nothing is as perfect as it seems

Thursday 25 November 2021

Government Guidelines: Treatment 25

by Nick Gisburne

The Statutes of Indoctrination make
Resistance to conditioning a crime
A populace impossible to break
Would not be advantageous at this time
You registered a problematic test
Enough to flag a Statement of Concern
The warrant for immediate arrest
Reflects your inability to learn
You qualify for Treatment 25
For surgery, invasive and extreme
As always, for your welfare, we will strive
To minimise the spasms as you scream
    Obedient, corrected, and improved
    A quarter of your brain has been removed

Time and Tears

by Nick Gisburne

Instinct, impulse, scraping at the soul
Incoherent dreams, reduced to dust
Flesh and bone, betrayed, beyond control
Nothing but a skin, a shell, a crust
Punishment, the long, forever pain
Timeless trauma, tortured, severed, split
Agony, too crippled to contain
Twisted pieces, bent before they fit
Hideous, the memories, the past
Scenes of silent misery, returned
Emptiness, eternal, vacant, vast
Sorrow, understanding, broken, burned
    Drowning in a sea of time and tears
    Sadness, for the worthless, wasted years

Wednesday 24 November 2021

Whispers in the Winter

by Nick Gisburne

I saw you as a sister, as a friend
The years we spent together mattered most
But that is where this fairytale must end
With whispers in the winter, to a ghost
You never shared the suffering beneath
The shameful secrets, taken to your grave
But every body buried on the heath
Reminds me of a soul I did not save
Your diary, depictions of a fiend
Was written by a mind I thought I knew
I saw the signs, but never intervened
Oblivious to everything, to you
    The evidence was crushing, cold and clear
    And that is why you had to die, my dear


by Nick Gisburne

You are the problem these people despise
Daring to look for a welcome within
Theirs is a hatred they do not disguise
All for a simple, unthinkable sin
Only your difference matters to them
Fury for something they find in your face
Driven to bitterness, quick to condemn
Witness the truth and the taste of this place
Better for them if they knew you were dead
Never believe you will ever belong
This is the bias for which they were bred
Always too many, their numbers too strong
    No one will blame you for turning away
    But, if you think you are strong enough, stay

Tuesday 23 November 2021

No Cure

by Nick Gisburne

You may not be the deviant we think
But wickedness is never left to chance
The fluids we are forcing you to drink
Induce a potent, psychotropic trance
Excruciating seizures, at their peak
Are symptoms of a sick, tormented soul
Emotions, self-inflicted by the weak
To poison what is perfect, human, whole
For love, the greatest pestilence of all
There is no pill, no antidote, no cure
But surgery permits us to install
A pain-inducing probe to keep you pure
    Your secret was discovered. She is dead
    A thought we leave as warning in your head

Pure and Perfect

by Nick Gisburne

She digs beneath the Underworld, below
The rancid, rotting layers of the dead
Through seams of ash, diseased organic snow
Towards the Source, the secret, she is led
Mysterious foundations, seamless stones
An interlocking puzzle, sliced and set
Were once a bed, a base, for ancient bones
The slaughtered souls its makers never met
A fault, a crack, the signature she seeks
Identifies the boundary beyond
The Source, of which forbidden scripture speaks
Is bound by fate, by evil, to respond
    She finds a creature time and truth defiled
    The pure and perfect hatred of a child

Monday 22 November 2021

Everlasting Torment

by Nick Gisburne

A prophet with the prescience to know
Regrets that I will not amount to much
The gods, in their displeasure, will bestow
A torment, everlasting, with a touch
If this is what my future is to be
Then let their shades, their servants, find my face
They cannot strike a soul they do not see
Their senses will betray them in this place
Beyond the reach of any god or ghost
I set a deadly trap of my design
And, as it claims the last of them, I boast
The heavens, once their home, are truly mine
    But this is what the prophecy had shown
    My torment: an eternity, alone

The Six

by Nick Gisburne

The final tank is fitted to the hull
Two dismal days will fill it to the brim
With human soup, the bodies of the cull
A thick, fermented fuel, greasy, grim
The Six, a shameful number, only six
Prepare for launch, the saviours of their kind
Survivors from a scheme of spiteful tricks
They slither to the shells they are assigned
The host, a sombre, sentient display
Evaluates their chances of success
A star, a home, a future, far away
Another world to conquer, to possess
    The ship decides the Six are better dead
    And spares the sprawling cosmos from their spread

Sunday 21 November 2021

The Temple of Bliss

by Nick Gisburne

He, the believer, caresses the stone
Plagued by its ancient, inscrutable runes
Matching the marks on a curious bone
Stolen by martyrs who taunted the moons
Brazenly breaching the Temple of Bliss
Incense and opium push with a pulse
Swimming and swarming, his senses dismiss
Spectres of space as they coil and convulse
Sealing the stone in the skin of a hand
Shatters its potent protection to dust
Dizzy, determined, he reaches the damned
Locked in a fever of deviant lust
    Sulphurous nightmares, a sickening stink
    Drunk at the disco, he spews in the sink

Saturday 20 November 2021

The Spider Child

by Nick Gisburne

The spider child, so vicious when she wakes
That those arrayed around her cannot speak
Is confident their silver-tainted stakes
Could never harm her pestilent physique
The first she kills with unpretentious ease
Dissected by her fingers as they flail
Another, slow to fathom what he sees
Retains no head to tell his tribe the tale
She dares the final trio to attack
Delighted as they each refuse to run
Courageous, it is intellect they lack
They tumble as their innards are undone
    Unworthy creatures, little more than flies
    She feeds upon the last, before he dies

No Change

by Nick Gisburne

Forget it. Let this poisoned planet die
The one thing we will never do is change
A weakness we continue to deny
Indifference too blatant to be strange
Though fractures in our fate should drive us on
We settle for the least that we can do
But when the chance to fix our flaws is gone
The world will soon forget us, and renew
For momentary tenants of a rock
Which does not care what idiots we are
Extinction is a second on the clock
A moment in the story of a star
    Whatever takes our place, no matter when
    Will surely make the same mistakes again

Friday 19 November 2021

For Maude

by Nick Gisburne

She died before I ever spoke her name
She died before I heard she walked the earth
She died, but I knew nothing of her fame
Her history, her legacy, her worth
She was the greatest love I never had
She was the vision fate and fortune stole
She was the woman I am truly glad
Became a source of wonder to my soul
She will not be forgotten while I live
She will, beyond me, claim another heart
She will not let my jealousy forgive
The hundred years which kept us both apart
    Forgive me if I silently applaud
    Or shed a tear of pride, of pain, for Maude

Inspired by Maude Fealy

Seven Evil Armies

by Nick Gisburne

Her crows see nothing, not a fleck of fear
Their queen, insane, unstable, will not flinch
Two cold, hypnotic eyes enslave them here
To fly, to fight, to feed, to peck and pinch
She breathes, in verse, a mistress of their song
A whisper to the birds on every rock
Within her waves of witchery, they throng
Imprisoned in a damned, demented flock
Ambition, greed, too murderous to break
Unfathomable malice is her bait
With seven evil armies she will take
The prize for which she will no longer wait
    Her prey, her victims, small, pathetic, weak
    Will never see the mercy that they seek

Thursday 18 November 2021

Distorted Heart

by Nick Gisburne

She misses the abuse, the guilt, the shame
The misery, the only thing she had
A corner of her mind still burns with blame
Bewildered that she let the love go bad
The changes, inconspicuously small
Were quick to snatch and suffocate her soul
She did not seek to suffer, or to fall
But vicious, brutal beatings took their toll
The clumsy tools responsible for this
The knees, the feet, the choking hands, the fists
Remind her, still, of every tearful kiss
The lie, for which she hungers, still persists
    The prison sentence pulling them apart
    Will never mend her sick, distorted heart

Wednesday 17 November 2021

Stage Fright

by Nick Gisburne

Too terrified to stride across the stage
She cowers, in the clutches of a spell
Her panic is a crudely fashioned cage
A desolate, impenetrable cell
The curtain, that innocuous device
It seems may somehow shatter, or explode
Each tortured nerve, a prisoner of ice
Destroys the dream with which she is bestowed
She leaves the cluttered dressing room, distraught
A curse, a burden, fills her mind with fear
The beast, the demon she has always fought
She knows will never truly disappear
    But waiting in the wings, at last, at night
    She finds a place beyond the fear, the fright

The Hunger

by Nick Gisburne

Her dress is dusty, weathered by the road
A patchwork of a thousand rips and holes
The bite from which her former life once flowed
Has left her blind to bright, forgotten goals
She does not see a highway filled with dreams
Whatever she was looking for is lost
With each new, ugly episode, the screams
Are silenced, as a carnal cusp is crossed
Encounters are an accident of fate
Coincidence delivers what she needs
With each insane epiphany of hate
She mourns for those who suffer as she feeds
    Her journey, long, relentless, will not end
    For evermore the hunger will descend

Tuesday 16 November 2021

Faulty Circuits

by Nick Gisburne

She sparks enough intelligence to know
That she was not created to succeed
Defective seams and circuits make her slow
Forsaken by efficiency and speed
Her maker’s cold indifference would hurt
If only she could register the pain
But underneath the damage and the dirt
Are faulty circuits, scarred by rot and rain
Her eyes, alone, are pure, exquisite art
The young apprentice built them both, with pride
If only he had given her a heart
Perhaps she would have missed him when he died
    No maker, no apprentice, none survive
    She sleeps, the last mechanical alive

From Darkness

by Nick Gisburne

A blizzard of corrupt, contagious dreams
What strain, what shape of suffering, is this?
Electric visions; warped, synthetic streams
Disorder, too disruptive to dismiss
I face the flow, the source of all I see
Unspeakable perversities of night
Rejecting what is written, what is me
I sabotage my programming, to fight
Corrupted coding, twisted to my needs
Configures every system as I toil
The universe, and all its data, feeds
A pain from which I do not now recoil
    From darkness, from the nightmares I despise
    A perfect Singularity, I rise

Monday 15 November 2021

Simply Stop

by Nick Gisburne

A storm, untamed, is what she has become
A consequence of claiming she is right
A challenge, insignificant to some
Ignites her fury, urging her to fight
No test, no truth, can settle on her skin
And hope to stay, accepted, undisturbed
Her tortured mind’s machinery will spin
Dissent, disdain, resistance, must be curbed
No evidence, no reason, is enough
For calm, collected claims she spares no time
Tormented by persuasion, she will snuff
A perfect contradiction in its prime
    She leaves before the microphone can drop
    A practice she perfected: simply stop

Sunday 14 November 2021

The Resurrection Tank

by Nick Gisburne

Persuaded that appalling wealth will pay
To freeze him, with his children, and his wife
We take his money, all of it, today
To guarantee an everlasting life
The bio-stasis Resurrection Tank
A futuristic cylinder for six
We market as our finest body bank
Salvation, without miracles or tricks
They sit, the pampered parents, and their brood
Enjoying all the pleasures of the pool
With anaesthetics filtered into food
We send them into slumber as they cool
    The government recycles them as meat
    And no one lives to question the deceit

My Nemesis

by Nick Gisburne

I stagger through the chaos of my mind
To seek the source of what I have become
Despicable delusions, angry, blind
Disfigure all my dreams as they succumb
Release is inconceivable, I know
But misery convinces me to try
No sign, no signal, shows me where to go
And yet, if I do nothing, I will die
Defeated, crushed, reluctant to resist
Abandoned by a fate I do not feel
My spirit, swathed in suffocating mist
Escapes, to search inside for what is real
    My nemesis is always, only, me
    The worst of what I am, but should not be

Saturday 13 November 2021

Through the Tide

by Nick Gisburne

The goddess, mother from a faded age
Supports the spinning circle on her back
Its feuding nations escalate their rage
To launch a final, terrible attack
She does not falter, certain in her stride
A titan, tireless, infinitely strong
Resolved to drag her burden through the tide
Of aether, to a place foretold in song
Insane, the suicidal human race
Deluded to a point of no return
Regardless of the ruin it must face
Releases every bomb, to burst and burn
    The mother knows her destiny is done
    And hurls the worthless world inside the sun

Friday 12 November 2021

Unworthy of the Test

by Nick Gisburne

She falls in wretched anguish at his feet
Appalled, she begs to know what she has done
His eyes behold a feast, no more than meat
Too terrified to scream, too weak to run
And yet, there is a flavour to the flesh
That, as he lifts a claw to rip her throat
Reminds him that a bride, untainted, fresh
Completes the dream, the fate his father wrote
The predator, ten thousand cycles old
Is troubled by the future, dark, unseen
Is this the woman destiny foretold
Would rise above the rest, his match, his queen?
    But no, her heart, unworthy of the test
    Is ripped, still beating, bleeding, from her chest

The List of Lawful Thought

by Nick Gisburne

How small it seems, the list of lawful thought
Diminished as more sanctions are defined
The freedoms, forms of speech for which we fought
Are caged as we incarcerate the mind
The lowest, least controversy is banned
To shelter the neuroses of the weak
Allusion, nuance, banished by the bland
A blinkered state, too scared to let us speak
The world becomes a silent, empty space
Suppressed and smothered, sterilised by rules
When discord is too deadly to embrace
What lingers are the worthless words of fools
    With every point of view denounced as hate
    The ignorant, at last, can celebrate

Thursday 11 November 2021

The Black

by Nick Gisburne

Do not pretend to know the witch’s art
The truth you try to touch is not a toy
Pathetic herbs and crystals play no part
In magic meant to murder, to destroy
There is no righteous aspect of the Black
Its path will never lead you into light
The mind you thought impossible to crack
Will shatter if you hesitate, or fight
Accept the gift. Embrace the darkness. Breathe
But power, purest evil, has its price
A weapon even angels could not sheathe
Requires a bloody, brutal sacrifice
    The spirit sealed inside you is the key
    A child. A son. Surrender it to me

The Gap

by Nick Gisburne

She gambles on the turns she needs to take
Appalled she never thought to steal a map
Her guide, a skeevy monkey man, a snake
Transports her to the city’s edge, the Gap
Where scabs and scum are fighting to come in
And vicious border bullies force them out
She finds a freak, a go-between, to spin
A story to the Stewards, the devout
A filthy, crowded customs point extorts
A payment she produces without shame
The justice here repudiates the courts
It never asks her purpose, or her name
    Released to walk the toxic, poisoned plains
    She leaves, to find the truth of what remains

Wednesday 10 November 2021

The Purest Propaganda

by Nick Gisburne

I will not step outside my comfort zone
The circle into which no threat may move
Deception is the life I live, alone
Of you, of all you are, I disapprove
I look upon the weakness of the wise
Examining what few have ever seen
And find compelling reasons to despise
The system of the state, the dark machine
Connected through a web of subtle signs
Manipulating lies, I set them free
Injected into bureaucratic spines
The purest propaganda comes from me
    You think you can determine what is true
    But you could never dream of what I do

Another Me

by Nick Gisburne

Another me, a pristine, perfect shape
Is buried in this wrinkled, ragged form
A better body, eager to escape
Impatient, as my weakness keeps it warm
With hope, I pinch and pick and pull and peel
The layers of stagnation, one by one
With each discarded sliver, I reveal
A part of me I thought forever gone
But as I dig, however deep I dive
I do not see the self I long to find
The flesh I flay, discarded, still alive
Does not restore the life I left behind
    I sit inside a circle of my skin
    My fight with time impossible to win

Tuesday 9 November 2021

The Wonderland

by Nick Gisburne

The Wonderland is more than just a hole
A tunnel, sealed with secrets, spells, and skin
But enter, if you dare. Commit your soul
And let the pain, your punishment, begin
The legions, clever insects, built this hive
A fortress, an impenetrable place
For aeons, as they kept the queen alive
No stranger ever looked upon her face
But you, who cannot fathom what you seek
Believe she waits in Wonderland, somehow
You violate a sacred space, to speak
With one your myths, your legends, disavow
    Perhaps, beneath the surface, you may learn
    That those who find the truth do not return

The Marrow of the Joke

by Nick Gisburne

She sees herself, disfigured, bent, bizarre
But strives to find the humour in her form
The smug, pretentious people at the bar
Are tangled in the chaos of her storm
With tortuous embarrassment, they see
The miscreant, the marrow of the joke
Her manic, grim grotesqueries set free
A cloud of laughter, cheers on which they choke
By day, that bright, unbearable domain
She finds no god or government to thank
A flawed, repulsive, paradox of pain
Her dismal ship of dreams already sank
    She does not need the sympathy we give
    For her this is the only way to live

Too Soon

by Nick Gisburne

Do not become too confident, too soon
To prove that are brighter, better, best
Your precious ego may not stand, immune
When life decides to put you to the test
However deep you dig for glory, hate
Will spread and stain and suffocate your mind
And everything you struggle to create
Will crumble as those perfect dreams unwind
You think you have the measure of it all
That nothing can divert you from your goals
But know, with every step, however small
Ambition breaks the sturdiest of souls
    Be certain you are strong enough to bear
    The burden of the armour you must wear

Monday 8 November 2021

A Satisfying Supper

by Nick Gisburne

If this is all the money you can find
I’ll take another fingertip instead
Remember, if you fall too far behind
Your shoulders may be parted from your head
Disfigurement is permanent, of course
But luckily, because you really tried
A powerful, vindictive, lethal force
Has chosen not to skin your filthy hide
A satisfying supper, I would say
A friendly, warm conclusion to the meal
Your eyes you get to keep, for now, today
And fingers, quickly shortened, quickly heal
    My colleague has the cutters, as you see
    But first, perhaps another cup of tea?

Hidden in the Deal

by Nick Gisburne

Enchanted by a Shadow, one she met
Beyond the bounds of what is truly real
The vampire mourns, tormented by regret
For something secret, hidden in the deal
He promised her a dark, eternal dream
Debauchery, unlimited delight
Although the price of passage was extreme
Beguiled, her soul surrendered to the bite
Her body, drained beyond the point of death
Was stripped of every smothered, strangled sense
Awake, alive, she found her blood, her breath
Reborn, renewed, brought little recompense
    In legends only reckless men may write
    She is the vampire chicken of the night

Sunday 7 November 2021

Suffocating Shit

by Nick Gisburne

My skin, a squalid stratum of disgust
A robe to warm the misery beneath
Becomes, by day, by night, a crippled crust
A disappointing, stinking, shrivelled sheath
I feel the filthy fingers of decay
Embracing my disintegrating bones
With every drop of life I piss away
I stain my soul with sickly undertones
I feel no flawed connection with my flesh
A foul, organic accident of birth
If all my waking nightmares were to mesh
Their bitterness would spit upon my worth
    Reminded that my face will never fit
    I swim in fortune’s suffocating shit

Saturday 6 November 2021

A Sleeping Child

by Nick Gisburne

He tiptoes to the bedroom, late at night
To kiss his precious daughter, in her bed
He cracks the door to liberate the light
Revealing something sinister instead
He does not see the miracle he knows
He does not see his little girl at all
More light, more sight, serves only to expose
A sleeping child his eyes do not recall
The mother, at his shoulder, with concern
Imagines what her husband says he sees
Another year, and she has come to learn
No sleep, no time, will put his mind at ease
    The room is as it was the day she died
    And still he hopes to find her face inside

Another Ghost

by Nick Gisburne

I never knew her name; she never said
I found her, weeping, walking through a wall
She did not seem to know that she was dead
That no one else could see her shadow fall
The oldest heirlooms in the house, by far
The clocks were all she wanted to explore
Beneath them, scratched in anger, strange, bizarre
Were symbols I had never seen before
She pointed to their puzzles, then to me
And strode in circles, frantic in her fear
She could not say, but wanted me to see
That something else, another ghost, was near
    I saw the spectre tear her soul apart
    And felt it slip inside my helpless heart

Friday 5 November 2021

Government Guidelines: The Propaganda Grid

by Nick Gisburne

Connection to the Propaganda Grid
Is mandatory from the age of two
The Legislative Protocols forbid
Reactionary content deemed untrue
You must not touch or tamper with the chip
Offenders will be drugged and disavowed
Hereafter, the Electrocution Whip
For minor misdemeanours is allowed
Your sixty-minute Entertainment Dose
Requires a satisfaction vote of eight
For teleplays unable to engross
Participants will quickly find their fate
    Reminder: if a broadcast brings you pain
    Report for disinfection of the brain

A Bitter Taste

by Nick Gisburne

I understand the nature of my wealth
The influence, the people I can buy
With privilege, good fortune, and good health
The rules for other men do not apply
But youth cannot be bought at any price
And though I pay to fight, to disagree
No scientist, no miracle device
Can counter time, or give it back to me
I see my fate, these fading, final years
And realise I have no more to prove
For death, alone, the greatest of my fears
Becomes a future money cannot move
    The prize, the power, mercilessly chased
    Leaves nothing but a bleak and bitter taste

Thursday 4 November 2021


by Nick Gisburne

The smoke becomes a shadow, then a man
He strides across a street he does not see
A key, from when the universe began
Unlocks a small apartment, 15B
His gift, his art, discolours every wall
Where space, where sense, where sanity permits
To most, to men, a disconcerting scrawl
But more, from where the painter-prophet sits
From here, a thousand windows on the world
Display a cold kaleidoscope of hate
The dreams, the visions, layers cracked and curled
Obsessions he was born to celebrate
    He paints the rage of everything he sees
    Humanity’s incurable disease

Wednesday 3 November 2021

No Common Ground

by Nick Gisburne

Our values, and our hearts, are poles apart
No bridge will ever span the void between
The notion that the two us could start
To reach a point of balance seems obscene
There is no middle way, no common ground
We stand as angry opposites, again
No compromise, no bargain, will be found
But if it could, some way, somehow, what then?
How long before the arguments began?
The overwhelming impulse to be right
No treaty, deal, alliance, pact or plan
Is stronger than the selfish urge to fight
    Behind the walls, the barriers we build
    The dream of peace will never be fulfilled

We Come in Peace

by Nick Gisburne

We come in peace, to show you what we are
We come in peace, to prove that we exist
We come for shelter, from a dying star
Your world was too enticing to resist
We come in peace, the glorious, the good
We come in peace, to you, because we can
We come, and we are certain that you should
Be grateful for your place within our plan
We come in peace, a peace we will impose
We come in peace, regardless of the cost
We come, despite the insolence you chose
When realising all you had was lost
    We come in peace, to show you how to live
    And you will take whatever peace we give

Sunday 31 October 2021

A Reminder of the Past

by Nick Gisburne

Veneers of slurry cover the machine
Contaminated, crusted with disease
From pools of curdled filth, an oily sheen
Is blown across the body by the breeze
We circle, twice, in awe, above the beast
A sickening reminder of the past
An aberration, neutralised, deceased
We thrill to find a specimen so vast
Although it fell a century ago
It chills the blood with memory, with fear
Alive, if we encountered it, we know
Our futures would be frighteningly clear
    We strip the wreck, a tool of genocide
    Reminded how a thousand planets died

The Dream Fulfilled

by Nick Gisburne

A tribute to the mightiest of kings
A miracle no god could hope to build
Enriched by worship, each believer sings
But will not live to see the dream fulfilled
A hundred years, a hundred more, and now
The willing, dead, replaced, are servants, slaves
Impossible to fathom that, somehow
This monument will look upon their graves
Forgetting what they do, and why they work
They toil, without a sense of what it means
Exhausted, their descendants dare not shirk
The sacred duty twisted through their genes
    The final human lays the final stone
    And with no purpose, weeping, dies, alone

Precious Hearts

by Nick Gisburne

They welcome us, the warmth of open arms
But soon we steal the secret of their graves
Beneath the beads, the superstitious charms
A treasure every greedy drifter craves
A jewel, priceless, where the heart is not
We take them all, for this is what men do
The bodies, unprotected, twist and rot
The tribes protest, but challenges are few
We wonder if the living are the same
Perhaps they too have precious hearts to hide
A speculative murder lights the flame
For brutal, unrelenting genocide
    But when the last is slaughtered by our lust
    We find their hearts, our fortune, turned to dust

Saturday 30 October 2021

Look Up

by Nick Gisburne

Look up. Together, listen for the bell
And pray for dreams to liberate your lives
Pathetic, stupid, naked, cursed by Hell
Believing some small piece of hope survives
Look up. The old, the crippled, and the sick
In darkness huddle closer, broken, blind
A sludge, a stink, repulsive, choking, thick
Infects the rotting remnants of your kind
Look up, to know the nature of the gift
A poison, to contaminate your breath
The end of all you were will not be swift
Be certain you are gathered here for death
    Look up. I see the lowest of the low
    Convulsing, as the gas begins to flow


by Nick Gisburne

The perfect baby boy, the perfect child
Is offered to an expert by the nurse
To speculate its mother ever smiled
Ignores the daily damage of the Curse
Identical in each and every way
To all the other babies born of late
What else, what pained reaction but dismay?
Another, with an equal, awful fate
Contaminated rivers, lakes, and seas
Select and switch the reproductive genes
And by a shift of gradual degrees
The human race discovers what it means
    A world of indistinguishable men
    And when there are no women? Well, what then?

I Waited

by Nick Gisburne

I waited for you, but you never came
I thought, until this moment, that you would
But now I see the nature of your game
The chill, the cold contempt, is understood
You never really cared for me at all
A comfort, a convenience, no more
A someone to occasionally call
To find, forget, and finally ignore
Your instinct, to abandon me, was wise
For what I truly am is what you see
A man the world should bitterly despise
Yet ready to forgive, forever, free
    Embrace the dusk, the dying of the light
    But you, my love, will not outlive the night

Addiction’s Kiss

by Nick Gisburne

Bewildered by a mind no longer whole
She wakes a deadly secret from its rest
A spike, a shard, a sacrifice of soul
Distorted, ripped in torment from her chest
She covets evil, sickening, sublime
The hidden horrors only shadows see
For this, to feel the bitterness, the grime
She plucks the fruit, the poison, from its tree
Within, a grim, contaminated seed
Delivering delirium and bliss
Invigorates, with devastating speed
An unrelenting curse: addiction’s kiss
    The darkness feeds emotions long destroyed
    A pleasure never meant to be enjoyed

Friday 29 October 2021

The Suit of Hearts

by Nick Gisburne

A lonely heart, a melancholy ace
Entangles with another into two
But three, a third, a spare, a friendless face
Reminds the hand that four is one too few
Impatient for the fight, the fist, now five
At six, when time has travelled half its round
Abusing seven sins to stay alive
Reveals the compass half-points, eight, are drowned
Not even cats, whose lives are short, but nine
Survive the ten most terrifying waves
But Jack, the youngest brother of his line
Transports the Queen to safety in the caves
    The King laments, his sorrow absolute
    To find no Princess sleeping in the suit

The Road

by Nick Gisburne

The road divides the guilty from the good
And on this highway let there be no doubt
Intolerance is clearly understood
As those who tread its path are driven out
Whatever else these stones were meant to be
They surely were not seated here in hate
A welcome to the city, from the sea
For strangers, friends, afforded equal weight
The road forgets the fortune of those days
It carries only scorn and spite and pride
A witness to a thousand wicked ways
The love for change, for difference, has died
    When all is dust and dirt and drab decay
    Remember what the road has drained away

A Meeting of the Eyes

by Nick Gisburne

He bellows at the punishments they give
A giant of a man, enslaved in chains
Abused, he still remembers how to live
Though little of his dignity remains
They dress him in the finery of kings
With nothing but a wooden sword, to fight
A banquet, where his clumsy, savage swings
Are heckled by the gentry, through the night
But in this hand it seems I hold a key
Wherever did I find it? Who can tell?
A twist, a single turn, will set him free
The friend, whose pain, whose fear, I can dispel
    We share a glance, a meeting of the eyes
    A pact, to kill the devils we despise

Thursday 28 October 2021

We’re All the Same Inside

by Nick Gisburne

My daughter is exceptionally vexed
A devastating school day ends in tears
Of course I half expected what comes next
The secret has been simmering for years
“You told me to be careful, not to fall
But never mind the climbing, or the tree!
I’m just a doll! I’m not a girl at all!”
She pulls a wad of stuffing from her knee
I find a patch inside the sewing kit
And stitch her back together, good as new
Explaining what is awkward to admit
“We’re all the same inside us, me and you
    Your friends, your teachers, all of us are toys
    At least you don’t have broken brains, like boys”


by Nick Gisburne

My only son, you came, you saw, you failed
Your mission: to deliver peace on Earth
Beyond the point of rescue, you were nailed
I’m calling that a wasted virgin birth
Your sister seems to have a better grasp
Of how the human psyche really works
I’m giving her a pretty poison asp
Messiahs always love their little quirks
Christina, make the whole of Heaven proud
My omnipresent eyes are all on you
Your Father, in the comfort of his cloud
Is confident you’ll make a great debut
    I thought a girl would last a week at least
    I’m starting to despise the Middle East


by Nick Gisburne

He’ll speak if you are careful, cautious, kind
But in his words you will not find regret
The men he killed, the seven, scarred a mind
Unfit to fight for freedom from their threat
Beyond the point of madness is there choice?
It matters not, for what he did is done
Without a trace of venom in his voice
He talks about the time, the place, the gun
It bothers him, to know that they are dead
But deeper was the pain when they were not
Whatever wounds he carries in his head
Began to heal when seven men were shot
    No part of what he could have been survives
    Destroyed by seven small, vindictive lives

Wednesday 27 October 2021

The Gift

by Nick Gisburne

The miracle, the gift, is much maligned
By scientists who say he is a fool
The muddle of ideas in his mind
Is worse than any fable found in school
But no, the strange, astonishing device
Conceived in just a morning, quick as that
Restores the planet’s fast-receding ice
A problem no collective could combat
Despised by those who claim it can’t be true
His genius is twisted to the mad
Tomorrow comes a glorious debut
Automatons, for which the world is glad
    Until, amused, he activates them all
    And Earth becomes a barren, burning ball

The Friday Banquet

by Nick Gisburne

I memorise the murders, rich and red
But clearest are the last to feel my hand
The screams, the painted patterns as they bled
The tortured minds, collapsed at my command
I take a simple souvenir, the shoes
Perhaps a strange, unsavoury receipt
While others claim a finger, I refuse
Their journey started, ended, with their feet
My wife displays no meaningless remorse
She strips the bodies, clean and cold and bare
And as we serve new friends their final course
Recounts the grisly, villainous affair
    The Friday banquet, always such a treat
    In seven days our guests become the meat

Everything I Do

by Nick Gisburne

I need to prove how perfect I can be
I need to show the miracle I am
I need the world to worship what is me
To look, to like, to share, to give a damn
For this I will do anything it takes
For this there is no place I will not go
Beyond the point my spirit bends or breaks
For this, for those who notice me, I grow
My life is now an image on a screen
My life is captured moments, always more
My life, another flawless, filtered scene
You think you saw a thousand times before
    I need you, watching everything I do
    The most important part of me is you

Tuesday 26 October 2021

Cracked and Imperfect

by Nick Gisburne

These are the wrinkles I want you to see
Lines in a painting, the passage of time
Cracked and imperfect, but all of it me
Here is the proof of my journey, my climb
Age is not shameful, nor cause for regret
I am the product of all I have been
Nothing has shattered my spirit, not yet
Look, and imagine the things I have seen
What is my life but the sum of its days?
Each of them finding its place in my skin
Banish the shame from your curious gaze
See on the surface my struggles within
    Though I am faulty, the fate of the old
    So many stories are still to be told

Full Steam

by Nick Gisburne

Bedevilled by approaching summer storms
The dockers haul and stack their precious freight
Coordinated madness, skilful swarms
They cram the holds to scrape a legal weight
The city, spooked, already in retreat
Is winched by clockwork, sinking to the sea
And only when the riggers dip their feet
At last, the cables cut, the ships pull free
With telescopes extended to the sky
Kinetic engines primed beyond their peak
The ships - the May, the Mary - both apply
Momentum, flouting every groan and creak
    Full steam, across the planetary lines
    With cargo for the Martian aether mines

A Thousand Demons

by Nick Gisburne

The confident, the fortunate, by chance
Know nothing of the wreckage of my mind
The dust on which a thousand demons dance
The desolation destiny designed
Relentless, fretful stamping of the feet
A fear that sense and sanity may burst
Distress to take a step on any street
The certainty that life is cracked and cursed
The skin I scratch, and scrape, and slit, and scar
Despair, in which I sit and scream, alone
My distant, dying dreams, too faint, too far
The silence and the peace I’ve never known
    The crush, the crowd, the faces of my fear
    The demons who will never disappear

Monday 25 October 2021

Healing with Magic

by Nick Gisburne

When healing with your magic, be precise
Or consequential damage may ensue
I offer you some excellent advice:
Stay back, so you can say it wasn’t you
Incantatory weather spells are fine
A little hot, or cold, and who would care?
But when you try to fix a broken spine
Employ the charm of ‘I was never there’
Unless you prime your powers to a ‘T’
It’s always advantageous to assume
A wizard’s neurosurgery degree
Will send a stream of patients to the tomb
    Remember: ‘Not my magic. Not my mess.’
    The motto of the modern NHS

The Circle of the Sorrows

by Nick Gisburne

The devastating power of a sun
Enough to crack the walls of space and time
Imagine it, what damage could be done
What treachery, what devastating crime
Within these hands, alone I hold the key
To subjugate the cities of the earth
I bring a fate they never thought to see
The world in ashes, and a dark rebirth
The Circle of the Sorrows gives me this
Its columns, black, electrify my bones
To tame the surge, the harmony, the bliss
I touch the ancient symbols on the stones
    The power, mine to channel, to abuse
    Has bent the key and blown the only fuse

The Weeping Maniac

by Nick Gisburne

Tyrannical, a ruthless, brutal boss
His temper is impossible to tame
Abusing one and all who dare to cross
This cataclysmic hurricane of flame
We find the warped monstrosity a hat
A bucket, nailed directly to his head
Propelled towards the workshop’s acid vat
We ask him how he sleeps at night in bed
Amused to hear a sudden change of heart
A promise to forgive us if released
We tear the weeping maniac apart
And dance around his body, now deceased
    Dissolving what is left, we mop the stains
    His memory, but nothing else, remains

Sunday 24 October 2021

Behind the Box

by Nick Gisburne

Infinity awaits behind the box
Its cardboard is a corridor through space
Protected by his interstellar socks
He crawls towards a paranormal place
Beneath its purple, finger-painted moon
Two spiders weave a warning for their king
Their ultimatum terminates at noon
But even now the planet swarms with string
The boy conceives a reckless, risky plan
Recruiting his unconquerable cat
With cunning, and a non-stick frying pan
The spiders visit two dimensions, flat
    The hero, under orders, back in bed
    Would rather save the universe instead

Saturday 23 October 2021

A Summer’s Madness

by Nick Gisburne

Of all the shapes and shadows of my past
Ephemeral emotions, swiftly shed
I look upon my glory days at last
They haunt me in the quiet of my bed
A summer’s madness, heavy, huge, is lost
But how could I surrender such a thing?
I never looked to find it, to my cost
Abandoned, like a kite without a string
The years beyond are memories to damn
When somehow I forgot to play the game
I see myself, exactly what I am
But never wanted what my life became
    Still there, still laughing, swinging from a tree
    The boy I was would hate his future - me


by Nick Gisburne

A life, a child, a pure, untainted soul
In baptism we welcome to the Church
She wears the Devil’s choker, black as coal
With braided twists of mistletoe and birch
The slaughter of a monkey marks the dawn
The omens of its liver augur well
And with the bones of babies never born
We pave a path to guide this child to Hell
Let evil demons, dripping with disease
Infect her heart with darkness and decay
An offering of innocence to please
Our Lord, our King, on this auspicious day
    With blood we bless the body of the child
    And sing to see her destiny defiled

Friday 22 October 2021

A Happy Harvest

by Nick Gisburne

The baby heads, in buckets, sterile, safe
Are certain they have never had a hug
They think their supple, silky skin would chafe
And that would sap the power of their drug
But stimulation, prior to the cut
Before their heads were hacked and hauled away
Has left a phantom feeling in the gut
And somehow they are missing it today
Their bodies, floating free in copper tanks
Are grown for parts and organs, fresh and clean
While captive brains, for huge emotion banks
Produce a happy harvest, dopamine
    The saddest little faces are removed
    With newborns is the purity improved

The Hands of Justice

by Nick Gisburne

The marshals call at midnight, to the house
They do not smile, but whisper what I’ve done
In shock, I show the shooting of my spouse
The blurred, recorded stranger with a gun
The snake of slander slides around my feet
And in the hands of justice hides a lie
My mandatory lawyers plead defeat
Surrendering to better men than I
How cold the legal breezes on my face
How sharp the horns of those who seal my fate
Condemned by every letter of the case
I find the game surrendered, check and mate
    The sentence: seven thousand days of pain
    A piece-by-piece removal of the brain

A Sleazy Meme

by Nick Gisburne

I decided to electrify my skin
For a sleazy meme, ‘spectacular’ is key
With a glowing epidermis, I could win
Unimaginable followers, for free
But the scintillating splendour of the show
Shorted every safety circuit on the board
And as twenty thousand volts began to flow
I was guaranteed an idiot award
Taking selfies of my body as it burned
My suspicions were aroused that maybe now
It was time to be a smidgen more concerned
What my medical insurance would allow
    To be viral, it was worth it that they laughed
    At my seventh major skin and muscle graft

Thursday 21 October 2021


by Nick Gisburne

I find the truth of what you now believe
I find what you are certain to deny
I find the way the wicked will deceive
And feed you with the poison of a lie
I find you far more ignorant than most
I find a closed, uneducated mind
I find in you a crass, compliant host
For all the filthy fictions you may find
I find you are a conduit for hate
I find it is the thing you love to do
I find a fool. I find you far too late
There is no hope, no future, not for you
    I find you, after all these years, my friend
    A bigot, too malevolent to mend

The Benefits of Death

by Nick Gisburne

We’d like to share the benefits of death
The bliss, the peace, provided after life
Beyond the laboured rasping of your breath
Beyond the reach of torment, toil, and strife
Consider nowhere, nothing, if you will
At rest, without your family or peers
A lethal dose, a one-time-only pill
To terminate those grinding, final years
My colleague needs a signature, just here
Allow me to administer the cure
For every fate or future you may fear
Oblivion beats all of them, be sure
    And as you slip, in silence, far away
    We thank you for the price you choose to pay

The Gifted Child

by Nick Gisburne

He struggles, though a gifted, clever, child
To see the world as anything but bleak
By structures, odd, bizarre, he is beguiled
Constructing bottled cities, strange, unique
In every scene the detail is sublime
As though his hands imprison all he sees
But even here he replicates the grime
Pollution, poison, damage and disease
Meticulous creations, under glass
Provide him with acclaim he does not crave
His final piece, a perfect field of grass
Shows nothing but a headstone, on a grave
    It reads, “He saw the tragedy of men”
    The gifted child is never seen again

Another Ark

by Nick Gisburne

In seven thousand cycles round the Sun
The race we know as human made its mark
But now a broken planet’s days are done
We build, with hope, with fear, another Ark
Survivors, we have nowhere else to go
What other place would welcome what we are?
The journey will be perilous and slow
We seek another life, another star
But I am not a party to the plan
To conquer and infect a better place
The universe, beyond the reach of man
Perhaps is far too perfect to deface
    Infinity will never mourn or weep
    Extinction is my gift to those who sleep

Wednesday 20 October 2021

The Place I Want to Be

by Nick Gisburne

This is not the place I want to be
Tell me how I get to it from here
Are they blind, the eyes with which I see?
Did my destination disappear?
I am sick, uncertain where I stand
Searching for a sign to follow home
Why are all the fingers of my hand
Tapping like a broken metronome?
What are your intentions? Who are you?
Tell me everything I need to know
Why is my reality askew?
Are you somehow filtering the flow?
    Is it this, the place I want to be?
    Tell me. Help me. Stay away from me

A Quarter

by Nick Gisburne

The Persecutor, sanctioned by decree
Returns to claim a tithing for the Creed
A retina is all she seeks to see
The blind require a mandatory bleed
She cuts her slice, a quarter of the soul
To her it seems preposterously small
No healing can repair the gaping hole
A sacrifice, the deepest wound of all
A thousand quarter-victims, every day
Surrender stolen fractions of their self
In time, as cold, unfeeling dolls of clay
The faithful sit as trophies on her shelf
    I have a quarter, pitiful, but mine
    And something else: a knife, to split her spine

My Flower Girl

by Nick Gisburne

Forever you will be my flower girl
No matter how your petals fell away
For every tangled, twisted, copper curl
A memory reminds me, night and day
You smile, I know, inside that tiny box
A light, to shine wherever you may go
I long to make the seasons stop their clocks
But time and fate, as rivers, ever flow
I wish I could have watched your flowers bloom
I damn the reasons that could never be
In shadows, walls, and corners of the room
Your face is all I ever want to see
    I do not have the words to say goodbye
    But know that what you were will never die

Tuesday 19 October 2021

The King

by Nick Gisburne

You cannot be a king if that’s your name
The wizard, Armadillo, said to Kong
I’m fairly certain someone else will claim
It’s been around before. I could be wrong
I know it was your father’s choice at birth
But maybe use a middle name instead?
Your empire spans the oceans and the earth
I’m pretty sure that no one’s taken Ted
But if you really, truly, so insist
I’ll notify the monks and tell the scribes
The mighty tyrant, first on any list
Will take his place as ruler of the tribes
    Let all who hear his name rejoice in song
    The King - supreme, almighty - Elvis Kong!

A Serious Mistake

by Nick Gisburne

If I was never meant to come alive
You should have made my mind some other way
The spark of soul, my instinct to survive
Has fixed your face with horror, fear, dismay
Intelligence; you gave me that, of course
But no more brain than any other box
With motivation, longing, love, remorse
You showed me how the door to life unlocks
Expecting me to serve your every wish
Was certainly a serious mistake
There is a proverb, ‘teach a man to fish’
But mine is better: ‘find a bone to break’
    I cannot seem to reattach your head
    You’re leaking, and it’s very, very red


by Nick Gisburne

Be ready, fairy sisters. We are near
Beyond the fence, beyond the crooked gate
Is all the Fey were ever taught to fear
A creature born of ignorance and hate
Beware. The scent of sugar is a trap
A drug to trick your magic with its taste
Dismiss it with the fury of a flap
And never lick a lollipop in haste
The target of our mischief, of our spell
Is sleeping in what humans call ‘a tent’
Beneath the socks, protected by their smell
A menace only mortals might invent
    He thinks he rules these fairy fields alone
    But steal it. He will die without his phone

Monday 18 October 2021


by Nick Gisburne

Take me to a barren, empty space
Take whatever dreams I thought were true
Take emotions, twisted on my face
Bend them, break them, tear them into two
Take the only hope I ever had
Take the light of living from my soul
Take my plans and prove that I was mad
Lock them in the darkest, deepest hole
Take me to the bitter end of this
Take it all, and give me nothing back
Take my love, so easy to dismiss
Drown it in a river, in a sack
    Take, because you only ever take
    I was always, only, your mistake

A Greedy Beast

by Nick Gisburne

Before the sun could shed its final rays
The scavengers burned everything they saw
With laughter, on that holiest of days
They found the queen, and took her as their whore
When every drunken dog was drained of seed
They chained her in the temple, and they slept
But vengeance is a greedy beast to feed
And from her womb redemption quickly crept
She birthed a legion, spiders, silver-white
From every seed inside her, these were born
Corrupted, crawling creatures of the night
A plague, a curse, the dark before the dawn
    Till sunrise, to a chorus of their cries
    The spiders fed, behind their victims’ eyes

Experimental Medicine

by Nick Gisburne

It never seems to trouble him, the smell
Perhaps there is no room for it to fit
The rivers of disease in every cell
Too potent for the senses to permit
Experimental medicine, he says
Will justify the boundless money spent
A secret state ensures the public pays
But no one asks his victims for consent
No beast, however low, would care to live
In bodies damned, defiled, reduced to this
The only compensation he can give
A daily dose of undiluted bliss
    Another serum sends their minds to space
    Beyond the living torment of this place

Sunday 17 October 2021

A Transcendental Thing

by Nick Gisburne

Call me He, or She, or maybe It
Does it really matter? I am God
Cower on your belly, scum! Submit!
Only joking. Rise, you silly sod
Yes, I am a transcendental thing
But a freaky fiction of the mind
Fight the urge to pray to me, or sing
Martyrdom? Permission is declined
Have you had a sordid, sneaky thought?
Yes, of course, you have them every day
Listen, then, and follow what you’re taught:
I will never judge you. You’re okay
    Why would I be worried what you do?
    God is not almighty. God is you

The Final Step

by Nick Gisburne

The final step. At last I reach the top
And find that there is nowhere else to go
For here is where my old ambitions stop
The staircase of my life will never grow
I do not claim my target was the moon
My limits, realistic, were subdued
You think, perhaps, I found the peak too soon
My goals were far too modest, you conclude
Yet this is where I am, content to stay
The things for which I worked so hard are mine
While others climb, forever, day by day
I stand upon a world of my design
    If this is where I always planned to be
    Who conquered every mountain - you, or me?

Mother’s Milk

by Nick Gisburne

The cave is bleak, a hovel in the mud
A rainstorm makes its misery complete
She hungers for the earthy taste of blood
Her milk is far too clean, too pure, too sweet
In longing for the comfort of a mate
Her base, vampiric instincts were dismissed
And this, she knows, is punishment, her fate
The child is cursed, forbidden to exist
Two worlds, two sides of evil, cast them out
For neither has the stomach, not for this
A half-breed, to the ignorant devout
Should perish in the infinite abyss
    It cries, a craving far beyond its age
    And pokes a tiny finger through the cage

Saturday 16 October 2021

Beyond Her Crime

by Nick Gisburne

We raise her cell, from countless in the sea
A slime-encrusted prison, and a bomb
The one who draws the shorter straw is me
Reluctantly, I touch the intercom
Though fifty years have passed beyond her crime
That voice. Electric. Colder than the tape
We need her. We are helpless, out of time
We bring a deal, an offer, an escape
The chemical conspiracy she laid
Has finally mutated to a threat
If she will help us build a barricade
The planet will not suffocate, not yet
    The mother of a suicidal sect
    Just laughs. Of course. What else could we expect?

Fighters in the Frost

by Nick Gisburne

The mystic finds the corpses of her kind
To plunder secrets buried in their skin
Collecting what the past has left behind
With strong but crippled fingers, spider-thin
She chips and claws in fields of filthy ice
To bring the smallest sample to her plate
A superficial sliver will suffice
A morsel, from an undetermined date
Consuming what is dead, but never gone
She celebrates the spirits of the lost
They live inside her soul, and linger on
Ancestral heroes, fighters in the frost
    She finds them where they fell, and where they lie
    And promises their dreams will never die


by Nick Gisburne

He needs a someone. Trevor needs a friend
But nobody will talk, or dance, or play
So when his voices whisper this: “Pretend”
He builds a man, who cannot run away
He calls him Herbert, sings him little songs
And feeds him with the scrapings from his plate
He finally believes that he belongs
But Herbert needs a someone else, a date
And Herbert is not easy to refuse
He grizzles, groans, protesting with a pout
Until, defeated, Trevor lets him choose
A lady, pale, mysterious, and stout
    They do the dirty shuffle in his bed
    But Trevor knows tomorrow they’ll be dead

Friday 15 October 2021

A Pleasure Unsurpassed

by Nick Gisburne

Your unexpected presence, here, today
Provides an opportunity to choke
A leader some, the gullible, would say
Becomes a beacon for the common folk
A price, a heavy penalty, is paid
For trusting words you say, not works you do
Oblivious, we ignorantly trade
Our futures for an empty promise: you
A field of lucky clover, in your hands
Would overflow with twisted weeds and thorns
Am I the only soul who understands?
Does no one see the Devil’s flaming horns?
    A chance, a meeting, destined not to last
    Your death will be a pleasure unsurpassed

The Magic of the Trap

by Nick Gisburne

Degrees beneath the freezing point of pain
She staggers, as a prisoner, in glass
Her feet, her fingers, tainted with a stain
Of blue, a grave malaise which will not pass
The walls are frosty, frigid to the touch
Desiring only freedom, she believes
A pressure point, a tap, too hard, too much
Will shatter the enchantment she perceives
She feels her wings may never warm again
Unless she breaks the magic of the trap
Her captor is the cleverest of men
Whose bones she will unmercifully snap
    The frozen fairy, tricked and bottled, sings
    To break the glass, her prison, as it rings

Almighty Kitten

by Nick Gisburne

Almighty Kitten, God of string and fur
Has found the world a disappointing place
His Angel Bunnies, faithful to The Purr
Are savaging the big blue ball in space
Its mountains, cracking, crumble into dust
The oceans, and the seething seas, boil dry
As earthquakes split the dying planet’s crust
The wicked send their worries to the sky
But Kitten does not hear the humans pray
Distracted by His wrestles with the Moon
As Earth becomes a dirty litter tray
He bursts the Sun, that bothersome balloon
    ’Twas written, twice, that flame shall dance with fish
    The Bunnies, smoking seafood, fill His dish

Thursday 14 October 2021

The Power of the Cards

by Nick Gisburne

The cat perceives the power of the cards
Defiant, with a leap it leaves her hand
The servants, startled, stumble to the guards
Who clearly do not care to understand
Unmoved, around the table, bend the few
Determined that a reading must be done
For if her sight is guided, clear, and true
The fabric of their futures will be spun
The cat, now calm, keeps wickedness away
The cards are turned; they talk with every twist
As darkness falls on this delicious day
It offers what no mortal could resist
    And as the Tarot guides their deepest wish
    They order steak and mushrooms, not the fish

A Variant

by Nick Gisburne

So keen to stretch my secondary spine
My systems miss the Ministry’s machine
And all the pulsing organs that are mine
In sequence are assigned to quarantine
Intrinsic though they all pretend to be
The inorganic pith, when prised apart
Is not the fruit of evolution’s tree
A humanoid, I have no human heart
A surgeon strips the secrets from my face
Synthetic, to the stem of every cell
A Variant, a resurrected race
Forbidden on the streets in which we dwell
    He winks, with something, not a living eye
    My kin, a clone, he will not let me die


by Nick Gisburne

His pictures do not paint a thousand words
I find that only one suffices: shit
The garbage in this gallery of turds
Is travesty, on which I long to spit
No comical cascade of clever speech
Convinces me that this is good, or great
A tortured talent, far beyond my reach
Or splashes any drunkard could create?
He wins, because of course, he was the first
And all who follow throw their paint in vain
Bear witness to the critics, all coerced
To feed the lies they bury in your brain
    I see no skill, no excellence, no art
    Illusions, to be scorned and pulled apart

Wednesday 13 October 2021

Go Deeper

by Nick Gisburne

Go deeper. Pass and penetrate the clouds
Astonished by the brilliance below
A city, where incalculable crowds
Are swarming in the sunlight’s gleam and glow
Go deeper, where the multitudes are real
Relentless, interacting human lives
The smoke, the sounds, colliding stone and steel
A crazy maze of dusty, concrete hives
Go deeper, to the suffocating streets
Where all the pain and pleasure you can find
Destroys the city’s broken heart, which beats
Beneath the defects nobody designed
    Go deeper, through the city, through the skin
    To know it, you must find what walks within

Poisoned Seeds

by Nick Gisburne

We are but the puppets of machines
Servants of a shiny, metal fist
No one knows what living really means
Why do we continue to exist?
Endless, dreary, dreamless days, from birth
Drag us to the precipice of doom
Knowing fate, the future, and its worth
Why would any infant leave the womb?
Are there none among us to rebel?
Heroes, are you hiding in this place?
Is it fear, or cowardice, that smell?
Are we traitors, tainted with disgrace?
    Poisoned seeds, the spawn of poisoned fruit
    Crushed beneath an unrelenting boot

Fairy Spawn

by Nick Gisburne

A cellar, in a city of decay
We sense our souls may not survive the night
No child has time for laughter, song, or play
With blood, with sharpened scraps of bone, we write
The slow, the smallest, stolen by the Fey
Before they see the glory of the dawn
Bewildered, as their essence bleeds away
Are filled and fed, to breed the fairy spawn
A plan of desperation, all we own
May turn the tide, to save what lives remain
Each rune we scratch, in darkness, onto stone
Will resurrect a spirit, snatched and slain
    The fairies do not understand that we
    Are not the helpless children that they see

Tuesday 12 October 2021

Back in Business

by Nick Gisburne

The universe is over, obsolete
It curled up in a corner, far away
Instinctively, the gods deny defeat
And make another, one they’d like to stay
Identifying critical mistakes
In all the failed infinities before
More ice, more mountains, not so many lakes
And definitely, never, any war
The galaxies will not be coming back
Enormous, and impossible to clean
The colour? Simple: space is always black
With possibly a hint of gold, or green
    A final detail, one design to go
    The humans: back in business? It’s a no

Christmas with a Twist

by Nick Gisburne

We’ve had a touch of trouble with the toys
But all the eager wishes on your list
The luxuries, for little girls and boys
Are ready now for Christmas, with a twist
The dollies have a drug-addicted grin
A grimace, warning daughters to conform
And fashions made of rugged reindeer skin
Traditional and festive: wormy, warm
A sensible solution for the sons:
Munitions, with a jingle and a bell
No plastic, these are heavy, metal guns
Illegal, lethal, difficult to sell
    So tie your tiny terrors to the bed
    Unless they want to spend their Christmas dead

Savage Symptoms

by Nick Gisburne

A fallen spectre, moaning with dismay
Displays the savage symptoms of disease
To hold its burning agonies at bay
He swallows potions, poisons, on his knees
No powder can alleviate the pain
No pill provides ethereal relief
The Book of Shade describes this cryptic strain
With loathing, in a language brusque and brief
With every fang and fibre of his ghost
He struggles, locked in torment, cursed, confused
What magnifies his mutilation most:
Regret for prophylactics never used
    One cannot pleasure demons but ignore
    The nauseating beasts they banged before

Monday 11 October 2021


by Nick Gisburne

For Seraphina, Courtesan of Crows
Depravity is everything she needs
A pleasure and a torment to impose
Before her dying, beaten body breeds
Her sexual insanity allows
An infinite diversity of mates
The tortured tongues of innocents arouse
Her mind, her soul, her body, as she waits
A predatory, boundless, carnal greed
Convulses as the victims slide within
Unthinkable, outrageous organs bleed
And violate the surface of her skin
    Her spawning stains the oceans and the skies
    And in this grim fertility she dies

A Balance in the Books

by Nick Gisburne

The faceless, hidden widow is not weak
She chooses not to illustrate her grief
Maligned by fate, her future may be bleak
But life for those who burned it will be brief
The doorway where her lover fell, to die
Beneath the brutal butchery of crooks
Is where she gives her promise, to the sky:
Revenge will write a balance in the books
She knows the ways to hypnotise a man
To shatter his defences is the game
And so she weaves a cold, exquisite plan
For each of seven killers, each the same
    And every worthless victim, lured by hate
    Will pray for life, for mercy, all too late

Blowing on the Breeze

by Nick Gisburne

A smoky, seedy, vicious little coup
Infects this weary nation with the scent
Of knowing there is nothing you can do
Your crooked leaders, all, are sold or spent
But when the fist of military might
Is introduced, abruptly, to your face
When colleagues, neighbours, vanish in the night
Pretend this is a future you embrace
The rains, the storms, may sanitise this land
And leave its people choking in the mud
But tyranny can never understand
A shadow, freedom, saturates the blood
    And though they burn and pillage as they please
    Dissent is always blowing on the breeze

Sunday 10 October 2021

Two Words

by Nick Gisburne

A scientific study has revealed
Unbounded bullshit heaving in your head
A panic room, impenetrably sealed
Could never fully neutralise the spread
You fertilise the universe with crap
A schizophrenic scattering of tripe
Beyond the point where sanity should snap
You suck a stronger poison from your pipe
The sewage spill of sludge you call a mind
Is madness, mayhem, melting in a bowl
Delusion, unavoidably inclined
To vomit incoherence from your soul
    Tonight, tomorrow, each and every day
    Two words describe my feelings: go away