The morning after the wretched night of pain that went before, ever more

Tracy Emin's Bed. 1998.

This, if ever there could be such a splendid thing, is the most accurate, pure and honest representation of every physical, sexual, regrettable moment of my ever-moving, ever fucking life.
The dirt, the filth, the cruel lurkings within my ever-hollowed mind reside upon this stinking mattress. Though I may not respect the rest of this beautiful artist's work, this is sheer artistic perfection in my ever-open eyes.

I falter

So, let's face it,
This was never what you wanted.


But I know, it's fun to pretend.
And now blank stares and empty threats are all I have.
They're all I have.


So drown me, and if you can,
Or we could just have conversation?


And I fall, I fall, I falter...
But I found you, before I drift away.


Now you still speak of day old hate.
Though your whole world has gone up in to flames.


And isn't it great to find that you're really worth nothing?
And how safe it is to feel safe?


So drown me, and if you can,
Or we could just have conversation?


And I fall, I fall, I falter.
But I found you, before I drift away.


The things we do just to stay alive.
The things we do just to stay alive...


The things we do just to stay alive.
The things that we do just to keep ourselves alive.

Edith

It's such a beautiful thing that all of her crimes were that of passion, so her actions and deeds of debauchery and bloody murder were forgiven by society. Crimes of passion were forgivable in France, at least...

Yonkahz

Ain't nevah gunnah cease to adore this kid.

Mornin

Bad habits die hard.

The world's a mess

and you're my only cure.

The only words I know are

More.

More.

And more.

You have seen some unbelievable things

Hater, I have your diamonds.
And still, cos you have seen some unbelievable things.

I just don't know

There is nothing left to fight for.

We all recognise that I'm the problem here

Holding Hands

Forever and a day will never be long enough to hold your hand.

What Boy Trouble said to me, part two

We are essentially two moths flying around the same flame.

Well baby, if that's the case, flutter your heart against mine. Burn this up into fresh, sweet, satisfied smoke rings. Make the air beautiful, whether this love remains transient, or grows into the eternal threads fate weaves between our desires and sweet kisses. Your tender flight, baby I've lost you from sight. Don't singe my wings for nothing. Singe my soul for love, and love alone.

Wretched Love

islovethesamethingasdrowninginmyownbloodytears?

fuckingfeelslikeitthesedaysbabylove.bemine?or,begone?

beforgotten.beforbidden.beforever.befornever.alwaysandeternallyoursisshallremain,thoughyourloveandlightandlipsandlaughterceasedtoexistwithinme,longbeforeourlovewasconceived,longbeforeyoursweetlips'kissborethechild,thatwretchedcreaturewhoclawsatmyheart,thestrings,theveins,theinnermostchambers,consumedbyablackening,rottenstenchthatclogsmynostrilsasibreathinyourtantilisingscent.

painislove,ifeverthereweresuchapainthatcannotbeanythingbutbeautifulwhenyouareheldsinmyarms,betweenmysheets,withinmyheart.

so,itistrueisitnot?loveiswhatdrowningistoair.loveisthesuffocatingforceinlifethatweyearnfor,crave,consume.loveisthemurkywatersoftheforbiddenriver,swallowingmyheartwhole,beingandsoul.lustfilledeternityeatsatmysoul.eachbiteyourhearttakesrendersmebroken,brokenasifeverwasandcouldhavebeen,pulledfromthehistorybooksandforgottenpoemsofthepast,draggedoutofasoddengraveintothelightofyourkiss.holdmeforeverandalways.nevershallilookbeyondyoursweetface.nevershalliyearnforanothertasteofallthatyoucannotbecome.existanceistorture,with,ourwithoutyou.
bemine,fornever?

sweetloverofmine,idrownforyou,ingloryandwretchedlove.lust

Eyerapists in the smoking area

Have you yet been molested by the eyes of a thousand men?
Try having my job. Try retaining a smile as your body is undressed to its most tender and sensitive. Try developing a furious sense of shyness when you have to go outside to clear tables amongst the ashtrays and cigar smoke clouds.
It's not all that great being visually assaulted by every man who comes into your coffeee store to purchase a "caramahllahhtehinapahpurrhcuup". As you sit outside with your filthy cigarette, your festering packs of bensons&hedges, your over priced lighters and your greased up moustache. This blonde girl, this barista and natural smiler, this one, right here - yeah, baby, you see me? I don't feel comfortable being asked to fuck you every time I exit my workplace to take away the mess you don't pay enough to leave. This girl doesn't regain a spring in her step as you turn her being into a piece of cheap meat.
So fellahs, please, don't bother me with your boredom today. Why not hit up our rival down the hill instead, and leave my arse far enough out of your makeshift, liveaction, full rehearsed wank bank for today? Try me next week, i'll wear a thong and an extra short skirt, specially for the filthy occassion.
Yeah?
Wink wink.
Nudge nudge...

Deal

Is it all really so trivial to you? In your eyes is this a foolish game to be played by the weak, the young, the blind?

While those in triumph may gloat, may saunter, strut, flounce about the place with their chins held high, their pride and presence more intact than ever. So strong it burns to look at in the face. Sickening. Selfish. Gluttonous.

However, those who lose, really do lose. We sit, watch, wait, whisper among ourselves. We ache, burn with envy and a passionate sense of subtle fury and pain. The losers, however, shall rise. We shall knock the smiles from the face of the proudly, loudly triumphant. We shall wipe their mouths clear of the smug sense of owned reality, of self respect, self worth and deserving.

No one shall deserve more than me once this day is done.
No one shall earn more than I in love, life, laughter and pain. The treasure shall be mine. The gold will fill my hands until it drops to the floor in heavy, radiant clatters.
This is my victory, my ugly, brutal triumph. To be taken, snatched, clutched at despite all odds. This is for me, and no one else.
Life deals a fair set of punches, brace yourself, baby. You're in for a hell of a ride.
And once you're done, shaken up and sickened, though thrilled and excited, I shall be gone. Sauntering off past the sunset, my hair marking the horizon like an unwanted, dirt smut present on the car windscreen of your supposed life.

Deal baby, deal.

evermore

whyhaveyoursweetsubtlesensualsoftlipsleftsuchaneverlastingeverlongingimpressionuponmyown?
howhaveyourwordsimprintedsostrongly,sodeeply,withinmymouth,uponmyears?
whohaveyoubecomeinyourownworldtohaveleftmeandmyloveandmylipsandmylaughtersofarbehindinthemistsofyourforgotten,nevercherished,evercherishedpast?
whereareyourthoughtsresidingnowsothatiamunabletoreadthem,butameverevermoreawareoftheirburningbastardisingpresencewithinmyowngroaninggaspingpsyche?
whathaveidonetobehauntedso,eversogracefully,bythedeadmemoriesofwhatweonceneverhad?
ifthereisananswertothetosatisfymyforevereverneveroflongingquestionsandrequests,writetomeinahandscrawledscribbleofaletter,onateastained,crumpledpage,tornfromyourbookofsecrets,tosharewiththelikesofmyghostly,forgottenself.

pleasebabyboy,ibegyou,bemine,justforonemorenight?givemethegoodbyekissideservedsolongbeforethislongingcontinuedtocontinue?

Awesome as she, in all her glory

Does the fact that my swift and ever swifter demise and its effects fit so perfectly into your clammy, cold little fist like that of a toddler, squeezing their first and last hamster/gerbil/mouse/rat to death mean that I shouldn't love you as I do?
I fall into the abyss of meaninglessness. Signifying, symbolising and communicating less and less to the world, overshadowed, overcome, overruled by your ever pervading power of narcissism and nonsense. Does it mean that I am worthless? Surely not?
Though, if you of all the beings upon this blessed earth shall not have me, instead, choosing to discard the purity of my love, my devotion, my depth, who else might be rendered worthy of the honour?
For it is an honour to love and be loved, is it not? Do not the vows of marriage, the promise to have, to hold, for all eternity, signify the importance, the integrity, the royal injustice of the word Love?
Shall I forever be a discarded car wreck, reliant on drug addled friends, drug addled foes, and the throwaway lovers found in festering in the corners of public houses and filthy establishments surrounding the cities of the United Kingdom's forgotten men?
Shall I forever be deemed notquitegoodenough for the likes of yourself? With your selfishness? Your overpowering spitefulness? Your soul, that consumes the love and peace of others, leaving behind only the remnants of the path of destruction your fleeting passions led you to, and left alone after using up all that was good within them?
You know what, baby boy? You did that to me. You squeezed, you drank, you stole and you surmised me. You knew what I was worth and you took my fortune, claiming it for yourself and your beige bastardised brigade of the benign, the banal. Your cheekbones meant the world to me, masked with the mist of cheap banana-scented hairspray. Consumed by the exoticism of your bone structure, your bullshit stories, your tales of mishaps and images of Northern drudgery. You knew what I was worth and you took it all for yourself and your inherently beautiful and rewarding future.
But again, baby boy, you know what? You future is marred by the pain that your actions inflicted upon the likes of myself and other well-meaning beings of passion and grace. You stole, you lied, you cheated your way in and out of my life, choosing instead the blandness of her. Her ashy complexion, her toneless voice, her predictable comments and mirroring ways. You chose the bread and butter in life, keeping to yourself the wondrous delights you'd excavated from nights of passion with the likes of myself. While I am now worthless, in your eyes and mine, I am at least lit, basked in the glow of something you shall never possess. Truth. Honesty. Reality. Love. Honour. Beauty.

Your face may speak to me more words that were ever written in every tongue in every book on every page. Your eyes may forever communicate to me the innermost thoughts and feelings you possess and choose to share and articulate to the worthless being you moulded into me. But, sweet darling first true love, lover of mine forever and never, giver of scars, of tears, of oozing sores - you shall never be mine for you, your world, your heart and your words shall never be worthy of this glory.
I, awesome as she, in all her glory, shall never again be touched by your gaze, your love, your voice and your efforts to manipulate the light that emanates from my very existence. It was never yours to have, to hold, for all eternity, and it never shall be, sweet lover with the slitted eyes.

Flashbakk, part two

Oh how I miss the days when I possessed the pins to strut about the cobbled streets of Liverpool in patent shoe boots and skin tight sweat-inducing snakeskin spiderswebbed pvc leggings.

Time for diet mtn dew to commence...

WANTWANTWANT, number one

THESE PRETTIES. BE MINE?

Youhavemyheart

Favourite picture of all time. Want 'em baby boy, I want 'em.

Strangers

This is so hot. So intense.