Stimulation – a poem

Tics come through smoke of old days

To remind of what was, once and IS

Come again, risen to the fore as lines

Ingrained until routine, strange come

To familiarly known ties, deep grooved.




Eater of Pain – a poem

From five to zero, not intended, lest

Pains of sleep take over, fill the nerves

With horror and suffering, sold instead

Into duality wondrous and wild, aches

Subsumed by care and fuss, consumed.


Broken razors grow inside the hands

Like slow crawling nuclear fires let

Loose from harnessed stars a’glow

Like furnaces unleashed from time;

This darklight eaten without pause.


Feeding the Hunger – a poem

Hunger abated by this unexpected host

Though few may be able to tell such

For effects and outward appearance

Show little to demonstrate change.


Reduction and thought expansion leads

To the hunger slowing, drying, less

Than it once was, far less than dreams

Might have displayed, hoped for.


Contrary to prior beliefs not so

Terrible is the reduction, hunger

Slowed like epic glaciers trawling

The frozen oceans and a’shore crashing.


Running Out – a musing



Today I write of a strange vitality, the harsh wonder of experience. I am running out of painkillers, in a manner I had not anticipated, and while on a family holiday.

Having misjudged my situation I now have 7 Tramadol remaining. Aching from various mental stresses the day before yesterday (yes, mental stuff becomes physically manifest) I attempted buying Cocodamol here in Portugal…but left with strong Ibuprofen instead. Turns out you need a prescription for Coco.

Now I am down to rations.

I had thought I was doing well. No Cocodamol for months now, days off the herbal painkiller Kratom, as well as reduced doses. I brought none of it with me this holiday. I still do not think doing so was a mistake but I did badly miscalculate my needs.

To try and remedy it I had an extra Prozac yesterday. I know, I know, it has longer term effects, but based on how much of the holiday is left I thought the extra Serotonin would help my many pains.

Wish me luck.


Solipsist’s Dream – a poem



Pain is the solipsist’s ultimate fantasy,

The dread light dreaming on hale darkly,

Like a sickness born from diseased rats

Let loose into the circulatory stream

Of an organism wondrous in the horror

It too oft indulges.


A system undying that feels as if it withers

Under the sensations crooning out cut rhythms

Of what hurts incessant, overactive signals

Streaming through the plasma blood aether,

The pulses broader than what they are,

Iron a steaming puddle dream.


Let fly the nightmares of agony, various

Creatures alive only in explosion, akin

To the bomb, living in the falling, never

Else other than to hibernate, honey made

In the skulls of demons, poisoned sweetness

Swarming as the enraged hive.

Poison of Choice – a poem

Tides from a star tyrannical pour

From skies otherwise bare sanguine,

A crude colour mostly buried under

Tones darker than real, or pale

As the viper’s belly, poison dripping;

Ready the glass.


Choose what evils you wish for

Or such tendencies curtail tidily

With ramparts of fine barometrically

Tested mind-matter, the soul a somnambulant’

Silent witness, bearer to this;

What we wish.


Vertical, super helical light spins

In formations foreign and diabolical,

The pour of abyssal plains weight

In such light sunbeams dash

The little fears of many decades

Brewed on dank ocean beds, such as

We oft overlook.


Those gestating virii dream in abysses

Darker than black mayst suggest or

Those living in the heady light may

Wot of, visions without tincture formed

From the viper venom kept in glasses

Sheltered from light.


Drink up, and let more than we know

Fill these rusted veins, tired relics that

Call post-poison shuddering paroxysm,

Amidst lacerations before the necessary balm,

The bitter become death stench heavy;

By far untenable.