Lines For Define

Your browser window currently does not have enough height, or is zoomed in too far to view our website content correctly. Once the window reaches the minimum required height or zoom percentage, the content will display automatically.
Alternatively, you can learn more via the links below.

“The colours of the rainbow
so pretty in the sky”
The colours of my jocks lying
on a bench
Uncovered by shutters
Unarmed waiting snakes
Too clean to congo
Too late to be vague
Cos reality is a disease
And all must please
The Society blisters
The eventful sleaze
Wrapped in iron bars
Closed behind doors
The sky is different
Some grey ugly war
Between insanity
And the reason
Parlours of goodbye
Never needed teasin’
Instinctive beginning
Call for hollow ends
Ending of the path
To another life rend
Yes, there may be colours
Stilled + on the page
After all disasters
The sky is still the sage
Of whispered prayers
And balderdash gods
Only in the inequality
The grey is in the odds
we play the game
and welcome tears as friends.
“The colours of the rainbow
so pretty in the sky”
The colours of my jocks lying
on a bench
Uncovered by shutters
Unarmed waiting snakes
Too clean to congo
Too late to be vague
Cos reality is a disease
And all must please
The Society blisters
The eventful sleaze
Wrapped in iron bars
Closed behind doors
The sky is different
Some grey ugly war
Between insanity
And the reason
Parlours of goodbye
Never needed teasin’
Instinctive beginning
Call for hollow ends
Ending of the path
To another life rend
Yes, there may be colours
Stilled + on the page
After all disasters
The sky is still the sage
Of whispered prayers
And balderdash gods
Only in the inequality
The grey is in the odds
we play the game
and welcome tears as friends.
Often I try to self-reflect which turns into waves of rings around me. This picture reflects my days in general; life is static, surrounded by waves around.
The cage stands bold, with its steel-clad mesh. For within its grip, it’s us it holds. Ten foot walls, of cold creme concrete. For outside we muster, like horses in stalls.
I know you think you’re broken far too much to ever heal properly, like all those other folk that make life seem so real.
You begin to scream and shout. Roll about time to let it all out. Emotions running wild from the hurt and pain. It’s starting to hurt my brain.