PILL, Same Kinda Feeling, Creatives (no. 1) and Fruit Washing Thoughts (P#1)

PILL
Touch of blue 
Vile and thick
Penetrates the sanctum
Words spoken in a flurry 
Foaming at the lip 
Tenderness not withstanding
The endless barrage of mattering
Of emotionality typically reserved 
For the wheels of ones own world

SAME
My temple of inertia
Sounds as cavernous as a gong
Tempestuously mellow
Difficult to ripsote
Subtle miasma

KINDA
Ruffled silk speaks so clearly 
Caressing knots 
Appliqued into extravagant vagaries
Tragedy can only befall the blunt needle
That fumbles its natural inclinations 
Addressed by stone
The warping of fine fabric is its only goal

FEELING
Hammer strikes cranium 
Reverberating through anvil 
The forge lying low and cold
Foot stomping the bellows
Eager for ignition 
Desperation grips 
As I’m thrown empty
Skulled  onto the floor 

Creatives 
Paper mache machinations 
In my ivory tower
Which overlooks the painted pastures
Of tinpot voyeurs

Fruit Washing Thoughts
Rotating apple between palms 
Under the long drip 
I wonder
Why am I a ketamine addict
Why am I 
A Gay
Why am I but livestock before
A pretty face 
And little more
Why am I turgid and hefty 
Like the waterlogged remains of last nights casserole 
That my fucking brother and his girlfriend can’t clean of the sink correctly
I want to be so much more
But I’m trite 
Spineless
Tepid
Apple thoroughly cleansed 
I bit and feel 
Hugely ill