women the fairer sex: caring kind killers

Rattus Rattus Incognito

Clinging the rat sucks and gnaws

belying its tenacity to subtly overcome,

nibble by nibble lick by lick it harpoons

seeing flesh ready willing and able

it never ends

 

overcome by the innuendo

Inserted With a Fluid Fixed Kiss

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ζKeres  Death Carousel
Swings and woundabouts hearts slave to life
Death cruel saviour drips venom filled tears with
question marks
lying in wait,

knocking blindly at the armature wire,

filled with turgid fillers,

stuffed to the gills
where no one can investigate
congealed  encased opiates of pain,

a chasm bubbles
sloe burning  on the branch

when know 1 came

and ate
pHAnASIApHAnTASIApHAnASIApHAnASIA

Tumescent Terminus PTCA PK et al 11.11.2016 11.11

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

Tumescent Terminus PTCA PK et al 11.11.2016 11.11

Ambulance doors open.

She’s arrived.

Somewhere.

Expectancy heightens everyone senses.

With no dissent she is lowered down from the ambulance put on a stretcher and wheeled down a corridor.

‘You’re ok’ said the ambulance man pushing fast.

A face appears above hers, eyes brown and intense he’s  telling her she needs to sign a form, a disclaimer in case she bleeds to death, has a stroke, a h……..her mind which had been compliant and silent is now in overload: too much assiduity and action.

‘I am not signing’ she thinks

What is he on about?

She hates being centre of attention and

Tumescentmostly she hates surprises and drama. Why is he making all these statements ?

Wheels turning the roof and walls appear glassy with the movement. He walks backward and quickly beside her.

She doesn’t understand; please sign the form he says again.

Quizzically she stares at him; his soft eyes dominate with a pleading #DoIt.

He propped a board up with paper on it for her to sign.

Her arm stretches out, this is strange until now she had no awareness of herself or her body, even writing her name was phantom like. Is she writing her name? If not-

Who is doing it?

The wheels turn faster and faster she lies there. No thinking. Nothing. Silence. Peace.

Brown eyes turns to look at her sage like and pushes open doors they swing back.

A blue welcoming party stand in front of her.

JESUS

What the FUCK is going on?

Her face spreads with fear. She is scared.

The blue welcoming party surround someone wearing a white hat, a white smile in a white room, dressed in green his smile not betraying anything other than his delight to see her.

Who?

What is he saying?

Beaming salutations of her name he moves torward her?

How does he know her name? Christ! No! Don’t

He is so earnest have we met.

FEAR

The mask inhibits.

zero body –zero mind.

‘We are going to move you over’, voices and faces say, it was all a blur.

Arms shuffled her from one stretcher to another. She lay malleable and frozen and why wouldn’t her mouth work? The mask inhibitor.

She is being strangled.

Everything is as clear as daylight so bright and intense she is dazzled to death.

Nothing is making sense.

Stop making sense.

She was trapped and as with any trapped animal – instinct is to lay docile until you get a chance to run.

‘Have you eaten’ said earnest man.

Her answer didn’t seem to come from her.

Slice of bread.

Am I conscious? She wonders.

RUN

Was she dreaming?

Nothing was said about anything.

Trying to hide it with his kind way earnest man’s eyes  now took on look of fervency and execution their eyes met and eclipsed with urgency.

She knows that look, however in this scenario it was not pleasure but pain.

She feels so nervous talk to me tell me what is happening to me.

Explain.

Silence.

She wants to go home.

I want you to hold onto this bar with your hand.

She gripped the cold steel bar tightly as if her life depended on it.

The curtains pulled: tight

radioheadthomyorke

A heart that’s full up like a landfill

A job that slowly kills you

Bruises that won’t heal

You look so tired, unhappy

Bring down the government

They don’t, they don’t speak for us

I’ll take a quiet life

A handshake of carbon monoxide

With no alarms and no surprises

No alarms and no surprises

No alarms and no surprises

Silent, silent

I don’t want to be your friend

I just want to be your lover

No matter how it ends

No matter how it starts

Forget about your house of cards

And I’ll do mine

Forget about your house of cards

And I’ll do mine

Fall off the table

Get swept under

Denial, denial

The infrastructure will collapse

Voltage spikes

Throw your keys in the bowl

Kiss your husband goodnight

Forget about your house of cards

And I’ll do mine

Tumescent Terminus PTCA PK et al 11.11.2016 @11.11

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

Tumescent Terminus PTCA PK et al 11.11.2016 11.11

Ambulance doors open.

She’s arrived.

Somewhere.

Expectancy heightens everyone senses.

With no dissent she is lowered down from the ambulance put on a stretcher and wheeled down a corridor.

‘You’re ok’ said the ambulance man pushing fast.

A face appears above hers, eyes brown and intense he’s  telling her she needs to sign a form, a disclaimer in case she bleeds to death, has a stroke, a h……..her mind which had been compliant and silent is now in overload: too much assiduity and action.

‘I am not signing’ she thinks

What is he on about?

She hates being centre of attention and

Tumescentmostly she hates surprises and drama. Why is he making all these statements ?

Wheels turning the roof and walls appear glassy with the movement. He walks backward and quickly beside her.

She doesn’t understand; please sign the form he says again.

Quizzically she stares at him; his soft eyes dominate with a pleading #DoIt.

He propped a board up with paper on it for her to sign.

Her arm stretches out, this is strange until now she had no awareness of herself or her body, even writing her name was phantom like. Is she writing her name? If not-

Who is doing it?

The wheels turn faster and faster she lies there. No thinking. Nothing. Silence. Peace.

Brown eyes turns to look at her sage like and pushes open doors they swing back.

A blue welcoming party stand in front of her.

JESUS

What the FUCK is going on?

Her face spreads with fear. She is scared.

The blue welcoming party surround someone wearing a white hat, a white smile in a white room, dressed in green his smile not betraying anything other than his delight to see her.

Who?

What is he saying?

Beaming salutations of her name he moves torward her?

How does he know her name? Christ! No! Don’t

He is so earnest have we met.

FEAR

The mask inhibits.

zero body –zero mind.

‘We are going to move you over’, voices and faces say, it was all a blur.

Arms shuffled her from one stretcher to another. She lay malleable and frozen and why wouldn’t her mouth work? The mask inhibitor.

She is being strangled.

Everything is as clear as daylight so bright and intense she is dazzled to death.

Nothing is making sense.

Stop making sense.

She was trapped and as with any trapped animal – instinct is to lay docile until you get a chance to run.

‘Have you eaten’ said earnest man.

Her answer didn’t seem to come from her.

Slice of bread.

Am I conscious? She wonders.

RUN

Was she dreaming?

Nothing was said about anything.

Trying to hide it with his kind way earnest man’s eyes  now took on look of fervency and execution their eyes met and eclipsed with urgency.

She knows that look, however in this scenario it was not pleasure but pain.

She feels so nervous talk to me tell me what is happening to me.

Explain.

Silence.

She wants to go home.

I want you to hold onto this bar with your hand.

She gripped the cold steel bar tightly as if her life depended on it.

The curtains pulled: tight

radioheadthomyorke

A heart that’s full up like a landfill

A job that slowly kills you

Bruises that won’t heal

You look so tired, unhappy

Bring down the government

They don’t, they don’t speak for us

I’ll take a quiet life

A handshake of carbon monoxide

With no alarms and no surprises

No alarms and no surprises

No alarms and no surprises

Silent, silent

I don’t want to be your friend

I just want to be your lover

No matter how it ends

No matter how it starts

Forget about your house of cards

And I’ll do mine

Forget about your house of cards

And I’ll do mine

Fall off the table

Get swept under

Denial, denial

The infrastructure will collapse

Voltage spikes

Throw your keys in the bowl

Kiss your husband goodnight

Forget about your house of cards

And I’ll do mine

meta4180

flora fauna rapistThe goddess [Flora] replied to my questions, as she talks, her lips breathe spring roses: ‘I was Chloris, whom am now called Flora. Latin speech corrupted a Greek letter of my name. I was Chloris, Nympha of the happy fields [Elysion], the homes of the blessed (you hear) in earlier times. To describe my beauty would mar my modesty: it found my mother a son-in law god. It was spring, I wandered; Zephyrus (the West Wind) saw me, I left. He pursues, I run: he was the stronger; and Boreas gave his brother full rights of rape by robbing Erechtheus’ house of its prize [Oreithyia]. But he makes good the rape by naming me his bride, and I have no complaints about my marriage.
‘I enjoy perpetual spring: the year always shines, trees are leafing, the soild always fodders. I have a fruitful garden in my dowered fields, fanned by breezes, fed by limpid fountains. My husband filled it with well-bred flowers, saying: “Have jurisdiction of the flower, goddess.” I often wanted to number the colours displayed, but could not: their abundance defied measure.
‘As soon as the dewy frost is cast from the leaves and sunbeams warm the dappled blossom, the Horae (Seasons) assemble, hitch up their coloured dresses and collect these gifts of mine in light tubs. Suddenly the Charites (Graces) burst in, and weave chaplets and crowns to entwine the hair of gods. I first scattered new seed across countless nations; earth was formerly a single colour. I first made a flower from Therapnean blood [Hyakinthos the hyacinth], and its petal still inscribes the lament. You, too, narcissus, have a name in tended gardens, unhappy in your undivided self. Why mention Crocus, Attis or Cinyras’ son, from whose wounds I made a tribute soar?’”

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