Information.

This tried and tested intervention;

the close of this contention.

I refuse to ape some rubbish human.

Simply what nature selects,

How tragic are these breaths?

Considered gifts of evolution,

Recycled like every revolution.

Silence - Solitude - Sterility,

Choose pills, choose life, no choice not to choose,

All the symptoms smell the same,

The composure, in company, in pain.

As I deserve to be,

Beginning to end.

Uno Tracto Intención.

Kidney clutching fetid fetus,

Pitied in disdain, takes the piss.

Please Take the Piss.

Internal ache. I gathered corone corvus.

Livid and libidinous - Chokes - Resist.

Please don't resist.

Sex infects as a latrine nauseates, suffocates.

Insitigates a usual tension. Another glandular crush.

Please don't crush.

The spreading sores, eager to please, irritates.

Writhe the time away in faint ignorance. Don't Worry. Just flush.

Please just flush.

But you never wanted anybody sadder than yourself and pleased everyone but you so you could fulfill your own egotistical urge to be held in esteem rather than be held at all and the organs burn as they play a tune of their own accord whilst slumped with no backbone you purposelessly press all the wrong keys and hit the wrong button and yourself up the bracket and up the arse-end of empathy and generosity is giving yourself away because you don't want to give yourself away but you must be seen to give yourself away and that's generosity that's yours insincerely,

Your bladder,

Your spleen,

Your back (stabbed),

Your kidney (stoned),

Your cock,

Your disappointment.

Doctored.

GP Self-centred trinity:

The father, the son, the holy ghost.

They say 'practice makes perfect,'

Prefects perfect generality.

The wounded wolf who cried out sheep,

Warded by shards of elusive sleep,

Shivering, de-furred, veins exposed -

Petty self-portrait, selfish composed.

Salvation is submission,

To a god I don't understand.

The bruises remain on battered hands,

Prescription reeks of crucifixion.

Love parasites plague liberty:

The cure, the ally of the ailment.

They say 'it's how to save a life,'

Lusting a twisted nobility.

The alpha and the omega-3,

Base dyscalclia stained livery.

Post-doctorate salvation,

Twelve step Asimov assimilation.

Some say I'm as well:

I'm a 'physician' too,

Symptomatic deep-thinking,

Yet Bruises on hands still remain,

Morning: the death of another day.

Resurrecting obliterates meaning.

Wronging rites the force-fed death-bed conversion,

And the man in the wheelchair's the arrogant one?

Portrait.

A life and mind reduced to dramatic lines,

And a heart of black camouflaged in the backdrop.

A thirst for freedom.

A thirst for forever.

A thirst for love.

Berserker.

Let the army approach-
I’ll stand alone.
They clutch their bastard swords,
Bound to their Baron’s throne,
But I have my axe and wulfen clothes,
And I have my cause.

Blinded by delusion –
Keeps me alive.
Alone I face the hordes,
And swing my axe and scythe,
To stall for reform before the fight,
With no dream of reward.

Fuelled by feudal angst –
Compassioned hate.

Beyond the sick-house wards,

Bring the blood, clean their slate,
The only cure: To eviscerate,
These slaves to ‘evil lords.

My fate lies here, I know-
On this bridge, slain.
Holding a lonely ford,
I’m mortally insane,
The solo soldier armed with disdain,
And hope of hope restored.