Fading Actress

Make the preparations:
The mask is being fitted —
I am waiting to be embalmed.

My time in the sun is ending —
And I am retiring,
Because I’ve had enough —

I am sick of the world
And all that lives in it —
The flowers that grow,
And grow old.

My bloom is fading
And I cannot forget —

Well, let’s stop wasting;
Let’s start preparing for the last dance, my darling —
Let’s make it a romance,
A thing to remember.
I shall sail the city streets once more —
I shall die in laughter and merriment —

Better that than a slow fading —
A cold wasting in an ill house,
Forgotten and all alone.

My time has nearly come;
I don’t ask for much —
Just a little wine,
A little dance
And some love —

Then I will be happy;
Then I will be ready,
For my star to rise a final time.

From my forthcoming poetry collection, Autodestructsuperstar.

Sad (God in the Computer Screen)

I am so sad —
I squeeze my soul out for you to see;
Wring it out like a flannel —
Wring out those very words that haunt me.
Read my heartbreak, my memories —
How sad I am, how unique,
Living in this modern world
Where loneliness has swallowed me.

What more can I do, but
Reach God through my computer screen —
And pour out the words for you to see:
Reflections of a bleeding heart;
A shattered mind —
Liberate in poetry.

From my forthcoming poetry collection, Autodestructsuperstar.


I hang your image on my wall;
I carve my arm for you;
See — I’ll spill my blood for you
And I’ll starve myself for you.
I’ll do a fast for you,
And kneel down in front of you;
Pray that I may take your place
So that I can destroy you —
Set your graven image on fire
So people kneel to me.

From my forthcoming poetry collection, Autodestructsuperstar.


Your posters plastered upon the walls —
That look, so bold —
It’s like you know the secrets of the universe,
And yet so young —
You live the lives without the consequences —
You’re anybody’s dream;
Dorian, I fall at your feet;
Your fire will never die,
‘Nor your image ever fade.

From my forthcoming poetry collection, Autodestructsuperstar.

Standing In The Bus Queue After A One-Night-Stand

My knees feel tight,
My brain inflamed,
As though it’s been rubbed in gritty sand.

My eyes are dry;
My palms are wet.
The weather seems unseasonably hot.

And though I feel crap,
I am floating,
Only attached to myself by a thread.

It wouldn’t take much
To see me leaving,
And maybe I’d never come back.

The strangers around
Are so many faces
And I don’t give a damn.

All I can think of,
Over and over,
Is a stupid song trapped in my head.