the rapture.

He tempted violence within
coursed the veins of her dreams,
tortured the need
to survive
pounds at a time,
trawled the ravines
of slags like a disease.

Powdered noses cracked the mirror,
innuendo draped over lines
the nameless face,
the stench of the bowl spilled
stifled her slender frame
flushed away.

Piss and venom spat as
haggard fingers fumbled the creases,
tore every moment of feeling
as time reigned over
her desolate landscape,
squealed at the pain

watched,
waited

withered.

With each line
taken
the spirit sanguine, salted,
thrust upon thrust
eased with every drip of human oil,
rebellious of morality and
joyous in the instant.

Decadence dwelled in the slum of her heart,
imposed the want
the exposed need,
defiled every ounce of allure
yet recompensed the hurt
with each erotic stroke,
tears bought as
the rapture

raped respect.

© 2007 Michaela James.

'Ethan.'

Shards of my paternal heart
crystallise,
mood sunk

unconditional
love
on the road of winding life.

My friend,
my treasure
I keep close,

forever is a long time,

my friend,
my pleasure
to hold close,
forever it will be:

this gift given
taken with gratitude

his friend, I’ll always believe.

Affection in
full splendour,
his porcelain face
in a smile of scars

my son.

November 14th
he arrived,
lay in my arms
did not cry

listened
to my personal lullaby.

The promise I made
to hurt like I’d died,

take each blow

it’s all he’s worth,

stumble and ache for our rights,

every time crushes a little more
yet the pain will ease.

No-one can feel every thought
that passes through
each time I take another
blade,

each swipe that severs the solitude,
the photograph I stare into
drives my will to survive

and I feel.

Ethan, my son
I protect:

keep
see and
hold you

within my laughter
within my tears,

hold these moments like they are my last

as I cry.

© 2007 Michaela James.

Severance.

Severance.
Gratification of being born
drowned on
the edge of reality,
stopped
each moment of weakness as
she slipped from the grasp of her spider's web,
tampered by tears of torment,
shell dead
more than it ever was,
insides gutted,
spewed across the wasteland of
every mans wet dream.
Vultures laid in wait
eager eyes
blood red with rage,
circled each emotion
penetrated the locked door of innocence,
spilled the sanity of sorrow's native daughter,
reached the monotone horror
of her deepest recess,
stripped each ounce of life,
severance of breath.
© 2007 Michaela James.

'One.'

Purge the insides of feeling,
emancipate government whores,
political pain unleashed
every waking night
sleeping day.

Watch the fear ooze
from the screen,
stench of the overcooked world,
baked over Bollingers at a five star
monument.

El Presidente emblazoned
on the front page

comrade-in-arms without a clue,

night time news
to headline print,
catalogued for my son's future
demise.

Two phallic symbols of extravagant
proportions
sunk:

in the name of God

one by one
the lonely decent,
snap-shots of what we've become.

One boy, gun in hand
spray can the other

morally defaces his innocence lost,

father half-dead,
my mother?

his America, mother gone.

Idealistic
idiosyncrasies,

idolised
the bearer of the U.S. Dollar

the English Pound shadowed
secretly weeps for independence

and is on borrowed time.

America with it's tired allies
off their leash
belly's showing,
for all their might
won't paralyse the parasites.

Creatures of God re-armed with blind belief,
await the callous call to jack and blow

the western world

apart

thankyou.

Michaela James.

lysergic acid diethyl amide.

It came to pass
as I passed
over,
lids shut tight
imagined
thoughts of the last sip:

pollen air,

the taste of triumph
the taste of despair:

bitter sweet.

The final thought,
the final tear
seeping

my final beat
creeping:

thro' shadows I'd not dare.

The last thing I heard:'

I told you it was over.

'Tick. Tock. Tick.

Mindless, banal
pulse of the clock,
hypnotised
I float down the canal,
freedom washes over me,

my comeuppance

welcomed with such joy,
pain oozes from bloated pores:

release of anguish needling my existence.

Existence?

37 years, not a tock more
myself
the babble

'Do it, do it, do it..'

'your shell immortal.

'the reality I fear not.

Though the image begged to differ,
my arms flailed:

devoutly nailed
to the low of my high.

The mirror mocks me,
each hair,
crease and
minute detail

that has graced my unearthly face.

A piano played my mind,
couldn't get what I was suppose to say,
onlookers
carry their bigoted shame,

a tragedy and
I'm not to blame,
the ache subsides as they

burn my charred remains.

Dance of joy
hooked
upon free flowing hash,
eases the inevitable
sleep.

scores feed
pick my intoxicated flesh,
the subconscious core
silently screams,

dilated,

lacking fear

of an early death.

Michaela James.

"The Falling Man."

Angels on the black breeze
eased the way down

flames licking past
through falling shards

howls echoed in silence:

grey silence
that held all hearts poised

filled the void that was once called home.

Symphonies captured the strokes
of
every
moment

the staccato pluck

paused for no-one

strings pulled
every
tear

choked
voices.

Bricks and mortar
strewn across
the plateau
of my ignited being

as sanity simmered to death
long before
the flesh

wept with each
cinematic thought

alone

yet
surrounded by the falling man:

the ghost of hope burning brightly
amidst the guilt

madness made immortal
unforgiving

relentless and eternal.

© 2007 Michaela James.

'God Made Me.'

Cookie dough innocence
painted
on walls,
fingerprints of time

cracked
the hourglass

each aspiration
of youth

sheared.

My virtuoso performance

through the window
beyond night,
swallowed
the created mind,

etched the route of evil
behind those deep brown eyes:

eaten

the reality of waking.

Siphoned celluloid memories
cascaded,
laughter drowned by rivers
ragged tears

the truth
the dare

whispered,
the final sneeze missed

mother's nurture.

Read between the lines and
saw

looked beneath the surface and
heard

shallow screams served cold

scratching at the deep white,
the endless circle
of my belligerent landscape.

Frame after frame
torched

by my hand

ridicule at conception
reached inside,

stripped
dignity as
desire fled death

without conscience

God made me.

© 2007 Michaela James.