Two dollar secrets and crap cocaine

Two dollar secrets

And crap cocaine

Your voice is printed

On my brain

At the end of the night

When I’m gunning

For the fight

And the pain is

Coursing roughly

In my veins

I just want you to ache

Your bones to break

And your blood

Your blood to flow

Sweetly through

 My fingers

Two dollar secrets

And Reese’s pieces

The summer scent

And burning flesh

I’d rip out your heart

If there was any left

I ache for your suffering

The destruction of your offerings

And penance for all

Who have endured

At your insistence

For holding my head under

And choking it back

For the times that I wished for

A knife in your back

Black, with no face

A creature crafted in hate

I will lay waste

To you all

And all that is yours

Two dollar secrets

And cigarettes on

Whiskey breath

And a major jones

To break a leg,

Make you beg

And watch you suffer

To the very end

I’ll suck the marrow

From your splintered bones

And lie sweetly to whomever,

That you’ve just ducked in the shower,

When they call for you

On the phone.

I own you now.

Two dollar secrets

And crap cocaine

Reese’s pieces

And cigarettes

And whiskey breathe

I’ll make it hurt

Till that’s all that’s left

 © Saskia Kelly

Angers so much easier.....

Between last night and the 2pm train...

No thoughts. Only cigarette butts and cold sheets...

Between Last Night and the 2pm Train

Never so much death

Had I seen in one place

It clung like a shroud

Across the nights face

I search as I lay here

For some thrashing of thunder

To light up the atmosphere

And shake the sky that I’m under

Listless and cold

In the devils dreamy embrace

I used to be bold

Not suspended in space

It hurts in a way

It didn’t before

My heart keeps the beat

Down my back rake the claws

The softness clings close

Like an icy dead breeze

It lingers the most

When there’s no one but me

There’s a threat in the silence

The science

Of pain and perversion

Chaffing at the gates of my humanity

They’re gyrating in cages

Prophets singing their praises

Sweaty sex

Muscles flex

Kiss me quick

Between my legs

While children make

The soldiers beg

Today my friends

It does depend

Pledge allegiance

 This is the end.

© Saskia Kelly

Welcome to the Lunatic Cafe

Hello cyber space, and the old guy from Smith street who followed me home last week. Greetings.
If your anything like me, your not actualy reading this. Yesterday I told my mum that blogs were wank. Ahem.
You may ask what caused this sudden change of heart. Well i had an ephiphany you see. It occured somewhere between 1PM, and discovering the entire contents of my fridge consisted of Mozarella cheese, that kind of looked liked lettuce.
Anyway, being bored and impoverished, and a raging indie-fag narcisist, combined with my love of writing, and the genius of Leonard Cohen has led me to conclude that perhaps blogs aren't in fact total wank, merely publishing for the 21st century.
And perhaps i should try and be less of a snob, seeing as I sit at home on the computer, living vicariously through the exploits of Paris Hilton, or drinking beer with Amie and spying on the neighbhours with the suspicious town car across the street.
Anyway, I thought i'd share my craft for your viewing pleasure.

Welcome to the Lunatic Café

Welcome to the lunatic café

Where everyone’s got a story

And happy hour lasts all day

There’s Uncle Sam against the wall

And Stalin playing chess

 With Michael Moore

Ladies and gentlemen

Welcome to the lunatic café tonight

Come have a toke from Peter’s pipe

And gosh do we have a treat for you

The noise will outlast waterloo

The fat Controller to start our show

Joined shortly I hope

By miss Monroe

Scene two is comprised of the wizard of Oz

No special reason

Just because

Then a quick break to let your minds deflate

But don’t fret though

There’s tea and cake

Boys and girls hurry back to your seats

The shows about to resume

No more posting of tweets

As usual Mr. Bush, lagging behind

Smoking some college kids Cush

Wait no, fuck, that was mine

Anywho now, back to the program

A surprise demonstration

From dear Uncle Sam

He pulls out a missile to pick up the pace

Steps onto the stage

And promptly falls flat on his face

What a shame, never mind

The show must go on

Hey Frankie! How ‘bout a song

“Well” Frankie says

“I’m for whatever gets you through the night

So how ‘bout it boys”

As he steps into the spotlight

Excuse me, sorry, can I just pause the show

Yes ma’am I hear it

Bonapart! Haig! Is that you playing guitar hero?

Sorry lets continue

Please welcome our last act of the night

It’s Tinkerbelle, Jack Daniels, and the puppet theatre cartel

I believe they will be dancing

The tango to hell

So ladies and gentlemen

I trust you had a marvelous time

We are the lunatic café

Come back anytime

© St. K, 2010