Treasure Island

GRANT FRASER

(JUNE 7 1964 / ABERDEEN)

Holy Smoke!


What do you want to bring
with you,

the house is getting cold,

last night, felt like I was
going to expire...

Holy....!

that's what I need, some

Holy....!

and I want to smell

your

Holy....! too...

fill in the space,
of time,
with whatever you like,

cause i dreamt last night,

that the dark haired girl I met,
lapsed into gobbledygook
or a serious tone of Hebrew,

like last rites,
I was partly scared...

won't someone say a prayer
for the soul I received
is hard to bear,

we don't have those anymore,
like where have you been?

souls...

the industry wants to succeed,

but the coffee I drank earlier,
started freaking me to no end,

failure, freak, wanting everything
the way you see it, to work for you,

then I vapourised, until there was
little left, a film of conscience

just the big spike of where I've
been, or not, I haven't done enough,

for I cling to things secretly,
and don't they know it...

I am dead already, there is nothing,
while rolling what's left of my love out...

here it is, I used to be scared,
so I scared myself ten thousand times a day,

what is anxiety?
fear of drying up, fear of dying,

your honour, I'm always guilty of you! !

and I need to collect it, I need much more,
to succeed somehow!

guilt, show me a way to get through the
world without it...

as some will even defy themselves,
just to be to our picture wall traitors!

we live off, the screwed upness of it,

and yet show me someone
truly looking for the almighty antidote,

surely people can already see through
it all...

Submitted: Friday, November 22, 2013
Edited: Friday, November 22, 2013

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