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Joyride to madness

By jfarrell

You’re tired, you know you wanna go to bed;

Do you really wanna open another can now?

Yep!!!! don’t mind if I do.

Hic!

I was fading, almost gone,

But, like Popeye, I crush that can, glug, glug, glug;

See that shirt rip…. see them biceps grow.

Hic!!!

Hang about…. it’s about now….

5.

….4…3…..2……

Dragon arrives right on time, better than Uber.

Hic!!!

Racing through a burning forest,

Sorry, my bad, my dragon set it a ablaze…

She sneezed, so sorry my bad.

Hic!!!!

Racing through a completely burnt forest….

Mist, smoke, nothing but smell of burning everywhere;

Again, I apologize, my bad, Karla got flu…

YEAH!!! YEAH!!! ALRIGHT!!! STOP THERE!!!!!

How the hell can an invisible dragon (who, technically, doesn’t exist)

Get flu????????????

Hic!!!!

Do I look like a vet to you?

I’m an idiot,

How I know if dragons get flu?

Hic!!!

But, my invisible (non-existant) dragon has flu….

Bugger…. she sneezed and the Aylesbury Estate nothing

But ashes.

Hic!!!

I sit in the smouldering remains of my home,

Cataloguing my loss;

Karla, redfaced and offering me a can of beer, snuggles beside me.

Hic!!!!

You’re tired, you know you wanna go to bed;

Do you really wanna open another can now?

Yep!!!! don’t mind if I do.

Hic!!!

Incey Wincey Spider

By jfarrell

Incey Wincey Spider, climbed up the water spout;

And when you fell a sleep; he got his stinger out;

And when you woke the house, in fear and alarm;

Incey Wincey uncle says… “I wasn’t doing any harm.”

Twinkle, twinkle, little star;

My younger sister, I wonder how you are;

So many years, we’ve been apart;

Like a lead-weight in my heart;

Twinkle, twinkle, little star;

My younger sister, I wonder how you are.

Three blind mice, a coward dad

See how they run, see how he drinks;

He beats his wife because she cheats;

He beats his kids because he’s weak;

He blames the drink, but it’s his fists that speaks;

Three blind mice.

Ring-a-ring a roses is about mass death, disease;

Baa baa black sheep is about taxes;

All nursery rhymes come from somewhere ‘orrible;

Somewhere far darker.

Just a thought…

I wish I could be drunk!

For it is that very minute,

That I can lay my heart bare,

Before you as a white sheet!

My heart is beset with,

Crores of romantic words,

To burst as a bomb set they are!

They would like to sing as the songbirds!

Alas! “I love you” I have failed to say!

The idea pains me as Sisyphus everyday!

I wish I could,

Lay my heart bare,

Before you,

O my dear!

I wish I could,

Let you know,

Of the ocean of love,

That in my heart does flow!

Alas! You did not ever know,

How much I love you!

I could've been the solace that cures and transforms

alcohol into holy water

but no.

as a doll I sang what you played to me

your words: lies dressed in tinfoil

I was ash, I slept with a fire on my back head

secretly, guns sized as pins

aim at my heart.

I walk on the streets swinging as always

when rain comes I lay on trees awaiting to become bark

when wind comes I'm Ana and I bring you food

(here, this small heart, scared as a poult, eat it)

make me a nice looking grave as garden, tell me

that now

this is how is born out of me the most beautiful poem

that you'll whisper it to your women and they shall cry.

I took myself in my arms, I was sunk

turning all the lights down I prayed that big pieces of coating fell from the sky

that wild horses run through my hair

so I won't know anything

about the nothingness you are

the nothingness I was

and about this love as drifting sand in which I bustle

although I know that this

only hurry the burial.

The back end of the tavern was pretty crowded that night, which meant that the bartender was being extra particular about who he gave his attention to. I’d been standing on the far corner towards the stage - the only part of the entire stretch that wasn’t mobbed by people - and waited patiently for an opening to flag down a drink. We were in between sets, and some other local act was currently assembling themselves beneath the shoddy spotlights. Their setup was as elaborate any other, with broad panels of wood adorned with as many as a dozen different guitar pedals placed firmly in front of their feet.

At a quick glance, I raised a finger to the passing bartender and ordered a cheap draft and a shot of whiskey. As he departed, a young guy stumbled toward the bar and threw his weight against it, sprawling forward with his arms draped over the back of the counter. He steadied himself and straightened, coming to relax on his elbows and placing himself on the stool to his right, as if he’d been sitting that way along. I couldn’t help but chuckle, and struggled to do so under my breath. He had long, ratty dreadlocks that held a color somewhere between brown and black. Everything about him looked sort of dirty and sketchy, but his grin also made it clear that he was having a blissfully good time.

He seemed like he was contemplating ordering a drink, but couldn’t quite get himself to move forward and do so. I sat there watching him absently, waiting on my own drinks to arrive. He turned towards me, his head bobbing, and he spoke to me as if he knew me. He had a name for me and everything.

“Tom! Tom… Sorry, I didn’t notice you there for a second.” He said, lucidly, his eyes opening and closing. He turned his stool towards me and placed one hand on his leg, leaning forward and looking at me very intently.

“Do you wanna know what I’ve noticed, Tom? Everybody here… Around here, I mean… Keeps talking about, like, what’s right; what the right thing to do is. And… They all have different ideas… About what it is, you know? What the right answer is. For everything.” He spoke soberly, despite his dazed expression and half-lit eyes. He turned to his right and slapped the counter top repeatedly,

“Drink, barkeep! Drink! Please, a drink! A Budweiser! Please!” He shouted. His voice cut through the noisy chatter surrounding us, and several people fell silent and stared at him. He paid no one any mind, least of all me, or “Tom”, and continued his diatribe with renewed vigor:

“It fucking… It blows my mind! How can everyone think that they’re right, and EVERYBODY ELSE IS WRONG? … How … I mean, really, man… Where did all of their mirrors go? Right?” His eyes widened as he spoke. To our mutual surprise, the bartender rose above the counter and brought down a Budweiser hard onto the counter top. The noise stirred the young man forward and he brought up the bottle for a quick swig, his wide grin returning as he swallowed. He stared at the floor momentarily, took another drink, and placed it back on the bar. His look of fierce concentration returned.

“I’m not gonna sit here, and… You know, tell YOU that I know everything there is to know. I’m not stupid, like that, you know? I’m not. But THESE fucking people, right? Just… All of these fucking jokers that… That wanna be on top so bad, making all of the rules… And, like… Deciding what’s MORAL and shit. What’s THAT? We’re just supposed to… ” He pauses momentarily, and then raises the bottle to his lips once before going on:

“We’re supposed to let them dictate whatever they want? Try to set their… Their bull shit in stone so that the rest of the world’s more like THEM?”

He slammed his bottle back down onto the bar. His face fell, and he drooped his head forward, looking exasperated and tired. I waited for another escalation, but he at last seemed content with being quiet. My drinks had long since been sat in front of me, and I took hold of the whiskey and downed it quickly, chasing it with a small sip of my own beer. Young dreadlocks sat motionless, looking tragic and downcast. I couldn’t help but feel for him, despite his strangeness and obvious intoxication. Why not engage an interesting stranger?

“I don’t think there’s too much to worry about. Don’t you think that there are decent people in this world? Ones who will influence others by example, instead of force?” I asked him, wondering if my voice might make him aware of the fact that I am not Tom.

He turned and raised his head level with mine, all of the vacancy leaving his face, and he spoke with a sad, but deliberate tone:

“I do think that… But, I … I don’t think they’re ever going to be loud enough to stand out. You know, Tom? Like… They’ll always be there… They’ll always be shouting too, but… They’ll never drown out the people who, just… THINK they’re right.”

And with that, he took his beer, turned away from me and walked, on unstable footing toward the surging crowd, disappearing between the many dancing bodies.

Part of me wanted to laugh, and I did, a little bit. I took another short, meaningless little drink of my cheap, bitter, sour-as-shit draft beer and stared across the way at all of the lights, all of the glittering glass, all of the reaching arms and trickling liquids across the length of the bar. Feeling sobered and unhappy, I stared at nothing, hoping to catch no eyes, no attention.

I took another drink; longer this time. More to be had. It was starting to get a little warm, but still, it was refreshing. Another one, and make it good.

Once more. And at this point, we might as well finish the job.

What’s there to do now but go into the crowd as well.

All these people sad and hurt,

because this girl is dead.

"It's all my fault, only mine"

is what pounds inside my head.

I didn't mean to do it,

it was an accident,

But that won't change the fact

that her body is bent.

If only I hadn't been drinking,

on that stupid date.

I regret ever deciding to drive,

But its much too late.

A little girl no older than ten,

could have explored europe,

But instead I ran her down,

now she will never grow up.

Everytime I close my eyes,

all I see is her frightened face.

I cannot bear these hostile looks,

I am my family's personal disgrace.

This little girl did nothing to me,

but know she's dead in the ground.

Her body smacking against the pavement,

I'll never forget that sound.

Until that night I took nothing serious,

and life was just a game.

But now a little girl is dead,

and I am the one to blame....

I creeped into the house,

Where dwelled Warhead.

I stayed living there,

Yet he did hurt me.

Years ago, we lived in a home

In extreme circumstances.

No electricity, no water;

Disconnected from the outside world;

Being underground...

Warhead was regularly drunk,

And then became aggressive.

He evicted my friend from the house,

And now I lived alone with this creep.

I desired him to leave the house,

But I didn't spoke my mind.

Instead, one of my episodes,

Which he didn't like.

One evening I came home,

And all was scattered in glass.

He had crushed the glass door,

And ostracism all around.

He left thereafter...

Weeks later he returned,

And started to threaten me.

I was so afraid that I started to chant:

"IA! IA! Cthulhu fhtagn!"

Then the window fractured,

He had crushed it in.

With a stone,

So vicious.

Then the police came around the corner,

Warhead got arrested.

But not for long,

And this was frightening me.

So I took my Book of Shadows,

And took from there a spell.

This would bind Warhead,

So he could do no harm.

I made a voodoo-doll,

And bound it with a rope.

Said some mysterious phrases,

And buried him in the garden.

So now we were in the house,

But Warhead was not at home.

And if, he could do no harm,

'Cause he was under the spell.