Peter Lilly: Poems

Diazepam dribble stains your off-white shirt the colour of the skin it sticks to. The contraption in your hand should have been a book, any book. What is this aversion to the light of the sun and it's reflections? All these artificial sources are sharp strings scraping the backs of eyes; wired- open. Despite the depressant. Class A prescriptions, yellow like sodium lights, douse anxiety in the calm before unexpected withdrawal. Mangled mind, confused by wires and rigid unyielding from the IQ-sclerosis of salty sedatives. Just floating on the surface of society approved sanity with the buoyancy of benefits and the opinionated ignorance of contentment in vicious complaints. Saturated by a lack of depth, a rebel made a drone by needless needs; absent family; fake independence; medication; and the denial that there could be anything more than symptoms. Written mid-June 2011.

Fall out, shadow blows your hair back. Chase the ground with your solid pupils, full of the blood you've failed to forget; blind balls of platelets. The scales that cover them have blunted your claws and even so, the stench of rotten, stagnant ocean will always cling to your hair and skin; matted and filthy. Rugged beauty decomposed needs only to be cleansed and who you are as putrid eyesore will change and no nostalgic sickness or golden-framed rose-tinted memory-cleansing goggles will ever make one regret a change such as this: A freeing of the limbs to life, and a hope that all had thought died in infancy is the flourishing epicentre of life. The resurrection of pure touch and talk, to perfect contentment, satisfaction and belonging. Written Mid June 2011

The fragments of shattered homes pick up static from the friction of the streets and each story clings to the walls of a fully-laden heart. If this is how I feel how much more must you suffer at the sound of this shivering breath and at the silence between estranged family. A plethora of poisons burn the pockets to rags and coins leak like blood from a severed artery, searching for the phantom of hope that lies beyond the recovery-relapse cycle. As much as you are my motivation, When all ears are plugged with crime and drugs I ask that you become the hope that changes the perception of dependancy into a self-giving freedom. Circumstance can tap the heels of honest men and make them fall. Pseudo escape of killing braincells can drain every aspect of life. A misdiagnosis can dilapidate the mind and leave one submerged in the chaos of over-responsibility. An upbringing of violence can crash kaleidoscope crime and dehydrate any opportunity. We must stand with our own stains on our skin and...