Monday, 5 March 2012

Dead Flower Pointlessness

I write with limited expressions and long forgotten honesty,

all shaken in a cocktail of innuendo

and dead flower pointlessness.

it lingered and tortured my thought process.

the scent of a passing stranger on a tube station platform.

she smells somewhere between heaven and a better place.

traces of a past that I am not quite sure really happened.

a face crafted by an artist who cared.

she drenches angels with self doubt.

why don't I know you?..

maybe your hand slipped from mine whilst I wasn't looking.

I started writing to find you.

I wrote some lyrics.

It will be our song that will never be sung...

....tragic but poetic.

a vase full of dead roses that never loved me.

are you the last of the unblemished roses?

and is it nice being adored?

well, at least falling apart has soul.

each night I drip in insomnia.

In my cracked sleep I dream of you. It's a charitable psychosis.

there are kisses that will never find the lips for which they were intended.

the brutal emptiness of a one night stand, not desired.

I fell in love with you and hated the world for it.

but I don't know you...

and never will.

she dances through my life...but she doesn't know it.

she sang for me once and it broke me.

her pale flesh a canvas for a fucked up artist.

painted finger nails waiting to scratch the life from this life.

perfection is over rated

like tea with sugar and nicotine.

I would drink from you if you allowed me.

I would worship at the church of your dirty laundry.


never shout.

love is loud enough as it is.

the scent of a passing stranger.

misguided lust from an innocent pen.

I write with limited expressions and long forgotten honesty,

all shaken in a cocktail of innuendo

and dead flower pointlessness.

© Owned by Boris Danski Written by Tim Roberts March 2012 ©


  1. I’m made of a lot of things, of bones and blood and brains, but most importantly; I’m made of sunshine and magic and tophats. I have ∞ tattooed in my heart and behind my eyelids, I have inked fingernails and photoshopped skin. My eyes are lined with pigments and flushed by tears. Pretty tears though, they make my eyes spectacular. Cheeks like a healthy sunburn freckled with shy awkwardness and strawberry corns. I’m not even sure why I’m writing this, but I guess I’m still the same, I still have to write everything down and make my mark. Preferred substances are still ink and blood and spit and alcohol and sex. I want, no I need, the constant roam of guitars in my ears, I want the bass to keep my heart pounding and the sweet whispers of my favorite singers to put my thoughts into words. I’m weird like that… I like ugly and broken and romance in the heroin kind-of-way. I want smoke in my lungs and ecstasy in my veins. I want Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds behind my eyelids and I wanna paint my hair and nails in pretty pastels. White-ink my skin and scar me for life with your beautiful words. Make me sick, make me skinny and make me pretty. I’m a flirt, a slut, a filthy whore. Love me like you love drugs and we’ll be happy for all eternity ‘cause I am drugs, my bones are joints, my skin is cocaine, warm heroin runs in my veins, my eyes are LSD and my lips are full of ecstasy. I’ll suck you in and then I’ll fall apart, escape down your lungs and hide in your chest, carving love-letters in your heart. So Skinny Love, what do you say? Do we dance on the full moon and make love between the stars? Do we swim through the universe, or do we play hide and seek in your brains? I’m not much of a singer, but I promise I’ll sing you to sleep.

  2. This is far too good to leave here...fab. Not sure what to say...

  3. Oh thank you so much. I missed your writing, I don't know if you remember me, but somehow that was just what I wanted to say to you.. x

    1. so if you tell me who you are I can tell you if I remember you...its a very powerful fact its like a poem..:)

  4. We started talking on DeepUnderground, I go by TJ..
    And thanks :) xx

  5. ha ha yes I do remember sweet you came and found me here :) can email me if you wish. Are you still writing? and do you write there?..xx

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    1. I'm thinking I'll start writing on this blog xx And I might.. x

  7. This is beautiful and tragic. I've been in that place, where you begin to wonder if the person you were meant to be with passed you on the street and you didn't recognize her, or whether a bit of mistiming on the part of the world put a car between you when your eyes were supposed to meet. Or worse yet, that she stood in front of you and you decided on some shallowness or bias or falsity or grumpiness that she wasn't the one for you and now you scan your brain trying to remember if there could have been someone you should have looked at twice and how you will ever find her again.

    1. amazing comment..thanks so much. This is exactly the feeling I had, was having...thank you for articulating it x


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