DREAMS

I am walking alone.

When i see a couple walking towards me.

Over a green park.

"Kenny".

I hear.

Turn & look at the couple.

And am struck by elation.

Followed by emotions not felt for a very long time.

Hello.

Chrystal ann baird.

"How do you know my full name"

Chrystal asks.

She walks over to me.

Looking absolutely beautiful.

Stunning.

Chrystal looks me up and down.

I become uncomfortable.

And say.

Please don't get freaked out by what I'm about to tell you.

I know your full name as.

I don't know maybe another life time or something i cant explain.

Chrystal you & i.

Were lovers.

Best friends.

And engaged to be married.

Sadly you died at the age of 20 chrystal.

Chrystal and i sit chatting.

And all the feelings i had & felt.

Whilst chrystal was alive.

Came flooding back.

Then i cant breath.

I'm having a panic attack .

Then i awake.

With a tear rolling down my left cheek.

Such a powerful dream.

Or is it a sign.

I wish i knew.

But what i do know is

My love for 

chrystal ann baird shall never die.

R-I-P

ON the subject.

OF fuck knows .

FUCK ALL.

Excuse me.

Thanks.

You seem very forgiving.

And i appreciate that.

He wore a tailored hat.

Armani suit.

Shoes and all.

Most suited him.

Good, nice fit.

Thanks & ta la.

"Well fuck me.

Whered you crawl from.

You horrible looking sick fuck."

Cant Adam & eve it.

Why does he make it linger.

All to push & touch my boundaries.

"Don't push to far".

Dartmoor such a wonderful.

Gleaming.

Full of beauty.

Hell hole.

Of which  many try to burrow out.

If lucky (cant see it).

Where then.

Only one place.

Forget the fucking GRACE.

NO1.

Of this written load of bollocks.

Field upon swamp.

Upon swamp .

AND MILES MORE FIELDS.

Lanes of FUCK .

KNOWS WHERE.

UNTITLED

We create.

Heaven.

A warm room.

Back of the church.

People gather.

A cult ?.

Piece of mind.

Something to look forward too.

Hope.

The desperate find sanctuary & find there belonging need.

Some one to lean on.

BE there for.

From beginning till end.

As we slowly strip.

Chip away at.

Break down.

Heaven.

Are you for real..

The all white.

Fluffy fucking clouds.

Peace unity.

All love.

No more pain.

Floating about.

Fucking about.

Please please please.

Not today darling.

Thank you all the same.

Now please fuck off.

A POEM I WROTE WHILST SITTING BY MY DYING FATHERS BED

• Written by Kenny at his father’s bedside on Saturday 29th September 2012
  

  For my father.

   Ken Moore.

   I will cherish The fond memories We both share. In times of need You were there. 

  You daddy.

  Let me live my life as a Free Soul, Free Spirit.

   You never tied me down with so called boundaries of control.

  
  You made me right, through guidance and self knowledge, so I was never afraid to turn to you, when I had done wrong.

  
  I remember Butlins, swimming.

  
  The 800 metre race.

  Of which you were there cheering me on.

  
  Which carried me across the finish line as the winner.
  I was so proud as you were.

  
  Proud to have my father watch me win

  
  

  So many, too many, happy memories to count.
  And now you’re leaving.

   Not dying.

  
  As not one day will go past without you in my thoughts, you shall forever be with me.

  
  Through my heart.

  
  My heart will ache and mourn the loss of you daddy.
  But i know you will be going to a brighter much more loving place.

  
  I shall go to the places we both went to
  And sit and reminisce , as you father part the clouds and shine down.

  
  I know I have been a little bugger (as nan says).

  
  I have been the sour taste of lime.
  Whilst you made the sun shine just for fun.
  Me not frozen beneath no more.

  
  I love you Ken Moore.
  Who I can proudly say is my father.

  Love forever and always your son Kenny Moore. xxxxxxxx

  
  

COOKING WITH RCK1

Because shes the sweetest thing.

The sweetest buzz in the world..

Cook the sugar ( BROWN SUGAR OF COARSE).

With some vit,c or citric acid.

Let it cool down.

Sprinkle some WHITE over the brown.

Crush and stir the white.

Filter please.

1ml thank you.

Take it up the motorway.

And.

And .

All because shes the sweetest buzz in the world..

MY DIEYING DADDY

FATHER.

I cant accept it has happened.

To you.

And to me..

Plus the rest of the family.

I know my words wont cure you of your pain.

But i just want to explain.

And express my gratitude.

Love, & thoughts.

From a son.

You haven't seen much of.

A son that is proud.

And honerd.

To carry your name.

PLEASE feel no shame.

On floating tides of misery.

Which has enveloped you.

And left you helpless.

Hopeless.

We all live to die.

But honestly.

DO we die.

Or are we forgotten.

Dad.

I love you .

My love for you shall never die.

As .

You will always .

Be the one.

Left to shine on.

My thoughts.

Feelings.

Will never fade.

As i am .

So amused.

And proud.

To have.

You.

KEN MOORE.

As.

My

Father.

GOLDEN BROWN

The brown powder.

Brown sugar.

Leaves the heart fond.

And golden brown.

Removes all that frown.

Fear not .

The stigma.

Steriotypical.

Judgemental.

Of this tit for tat.

Opiates are pure.

Heaven like.

The euphoric rush.

The once emotionaly crippled.

Stands once again.

Whilst under the hypnotic charm.

Of poppy seed waste.

Poppy seed waste, why waste it.

The beauty of a narc .

With such flawless beauty.

And charm.

For this powder.

Shall charm.

And induce all that cause it strife.

Forget the wife playing away.

The pain & misery.

Of every day life.

Anxiety, anger, loneliness.

To many jump the gun,.

And run,run,run.

From what.

YOU do or you dont.

But trust me.

I see the blaming,

Cursing, the pain and suffering.

Of mis-use.

"Look what that shit did to me".

Says the man with one leg.

No, no and know this.

You did that to yourself.

Golden brown doesnt call you .

 

Begging you to take her in your arms.

OR IN YOUR CASE UR LEG.

You shot yourself.

Time after time.

Using filthy pins.

To ease your pain.

And still you blame.

A piece of brown powder.

BE CLUMSY BE YOURSELF

Is there really a person named RCK1.

Asked the friend.

Yes my friend  that is i .

I reply.

But you seem such an intelligent man.

Of course i am.

Intelligent.

Witty.

Please don't pity.

My clumsiness .

And mistake it as a bad, negative.

Value.

One has RCK1.

R CLUMSY KENNY IS NO 1.

You see my friend.

No one is perfect.

Far from it.

But above it.

I am myself.

Kenny moore...

STONED IN ROCHESTER

It was a beautiful summers day.

Way back in may.

1990s.

Me,Gaz, & don.

All equipped with materials.

For building spliffs.

We are in Rochester.

A town in medway.

At the back of Charles dickens.

House .

Where Charles did most of his writings.

Sat on wooden benches.

Onlooking the two ponds full of beautifully coloured fish.

A small bridge mounted in the middle of the ponds.

Flowers, pink blue orange red, yellow.

Climb the house.

And cover the garden.

We skin up.

Sit back .

Glaring at dickens writing house.

Soon were stoned.

So head of to Rochester castle.

Through the high st .

Eyes red as can be.

The castle .

Tall and historic.

To the left.

A hanging post.

Where people used to be hung.

We enter the castle grounds.

Lay on the grass.

As we smoke more of it.

To our right .

Rochester cathedral.

Straight ahead of us.

The river medway.

There has always been something magical.

Mystical.

Gothical.

About Rochester .

With its cobbled stone walk ways.

Magnificent buildings.

Just a lovely town .

Not just to get stoned in.

But by its self.

Rochester has something tranquil about it.

We lay stoned absorbing all the beauty.

Those days .

When we were 16.

ARE LONG .

And gone.

But my heart.

Will never let it go.

SOMETHINGS CANT BE FIXED.

Don't try to fix something that isn't broken.

Well my heart ache ..

Remains.

Smashed to pieces.

This pain is no self pity.

My body's broken bones.

MOST fixed.

But my heart .

Has suffered.

13 years of which cannot be mended.

I need to see you .

Feel you.

I need you by my side.

Hand in hand.

Running .

Walking free.

I so so need us together again.

I dry my eyes.

In vein.

Just to see the rain ..

Pour from my eyes once more.

Why did i lose you.

Nothing is the same.

Ime lost & confused.

A tune floating aimlessly.

A lost soul .

without you.

LOST FACES

You will spend alot of time.

And make friends.

Plus think to yourself.

This shall never end.

The faces,places,FRIENDS.

Till one day.

You realise.

10 years or so.

Have been and gone.

Sat reminiscing.

Summers day.

Smell the hay.

Thinking back .

To a time ,

A place.

A face.

When you was with your long gone friend.

Having a great.

Whale of a time.

But theres always that special face and place.

For me.

A special girl.

Now women.

Now dead.

And can be said.

We never forget the..

Dead

SHADOW

Shadow.

Hours have past.

Yet you cast.

Across the wall of the hallway.

Whaling.

As you slowly drip .

From behind me.

Shadow ..

Though never shallow.

Nor shady.

Shadow.

Still you follow me.

WHERE ever i go.

But only at night .

I see you.

But do you see me ?

You slowly fade.

As another dawn creeps upon you.

That night.

You crawl .

And creep up on me.

Hands, arms, body.

Tight as can be.

Thrown against the wall.

Leaving me confused.

Was it you shadow.

Or was it another entity.

I will never know

FLYING

Don't be scared.

DO not be shy.

Spread your wings and you shall .

Fly.

Open blue sky.

From the corner of my eye.

A tear.

Runs my face.

Clouds here.

There & every where.

Ime free.

As i sore.

Glide.

Full of pride.

I twist & twirl.

Cut & dive.

Through the pink.

Fluffy clouds.

Candyfloss ..

I smother in.

This weightlessness .

And gain .

Sight.

Once again.

Removes the ugliness.

Which blurred my vision.

& true to myself.

I once again.

See the beauty .

Of a once grey & dismal.

World.

Unfolds the beauty .

Of life...

MONEY AND WORRY

Why is it a constant worry when it comes to ..

Money.

Oh stop your worrying.

Go make some.

Give me the plates ink & all needed .

And i shall make some money.

Not money made from a 9 to 5.

But forged money.

"Oh no that's fraud"

YOU mean to tell me you have never handled fraudulent money.

Trust me without knowing it.

And by knowing it.

90% OF us has been passed ..

Dodgy money.

In one form or other.

Even then money.

Is a worry

MOTHER NATURE

Sat watching a documentary.

An orchid. (killer whale).

Calls out, crys out.

What a beautiful creature.

This planet. with its abundance of beauty.

Then man came along & trys & trys so hard .

That man has achieved his goal of ruining planet earth.

Why should earth put up with it.

No man nor women would .

Human vs earth,.

But why.

The wars,pollution,, science,

Making money.

From Raine Forrest's.,lakes,rivers,sea,trees, etc, etc.

We take it all for granted.

How many times will you lay under a full moon.

On a clear darkened sky.

How many times will we see the sun beaming down on us.

And yet it all seems limitless.

Earth will turn on us.

We are a plague a disease.

Parasite to earth.

Mother nature.

Wont put up with this destruction much longer.

She has warned us.

With the earth quakes, tsunami's (mothers army), flooding England in the middle of July.

We shall be the ones paying the price .

All for what.

Money, power (false sense of) ,control, land etc etc.

Land of which will not be seen.

Nor heard.

As it will be swolled by our greed.

THE WRONG ROAD

I hope.

And only hope.

Sick of praying to no avail.

That day will come when i say.

Enough is enough.

I want to walk on the right side of the road.

The one that has light.

To lead me home.

Instead i follow the dark road.

Which always leads me to a.

DEAD end.

My life has always been controlled.

By substances.

Authority.

People who think they are able .

To cage & tame a man .

All, as he/she wears a uniform( normally blue & white, black tie, shinny shoes,well pressed trouser).

Me i have lived a troublesome life.

Wild & chaotic.

Pure fucked upness.?

I question.

My fucked upness .

AM i justified.

Can i justify.

The abuse.

I put my body mind & spirit through.

Or am i right ..

In this fucked up world of which i must stay.

Am i escaping reality.

Or is it my denial .

Of this shite existence.

Reality is crap.

The responsibility i own .

I owe.

Does my mear existence count for anything.

THIS IS NOT LIFE. (ime red faced).

All that chrystal means to me.

Free..

Will i ever be free.

Life mainly a big not joke.

Big game.

I rome from town 2 town..

Leaving destruction where ever i go..

Me no rules applied.

I DRAW THE LINE ON SICK SHIT (YOU KNOW WHAT IME GOING ON ABOUT).

The filth just accumulates & gathers.

Just as a snow ball ..

rolling down the snow covered hills.

At the bottom of the hill.

One big toilet,

Splash ..

In goes the snow ball.

Covered in shit ..

There is beauty to be seen.

But drugs have way of making everything extra beautiful.

At the beginning they do ..

But once your caught.

The beauty you once saw.

Has gone.

Eyes coloured grey 

As you slowly .

Fade away..

45.....?

Will i still be alive.

When ime 45 ?

Or shall i die.

You may question why.

Things must change.

Before that age.

As 45 creeps up on me.

Tis doubtful ile make 45.

This give me gratification..

A man torn & emotionally disabled.

Squeeze me please.

Squeeze out the ousing , emotions.

Most full with anxiety.

Tainted ,painted black.

Fainted & fading.

Is my mind, body & soul.

Does my soul still exist.

Is my soul still with me.

Or is it amiss.

The torture i endure.

(SOME PEOPLE SAY ITS YOUR OWN DOING,).

No no no.

The substances that i pump into my body.

I take responsibility for.

Although its not done out of fun (the buzz).

My nerves need taming.

OF which many professionals have tried .

To no avail ..

2 YEARS, 3YRS total abstinence ..

BUT the anxiety & panic attacks .

Will not leave me alone.

Time to call myself (the doctor).

So i can self medicate.

And go through the whole cycle once again .

The fear has gone,(HASN'T IT).

Yes for these sweet few hours.

Only to return ..

Very aggressively.

Leaving me on my knees with my hands in the air.....

MR BLUES

And yes the black man.

With his blues.

Helped the guitar cry.

And sigh .

The man also wept & cried .

Tears of joy.

Ran down his face & onto the strat guitars face (headstock).

Down its neck & body.

The hammer ons ..

Belted the guitar.

As if the stratocaster  had done something wrong.

Mr blues.

Slipped & slided all over the guitars fret board.

Fret not stratocaster.

For we are one.

In perfect harmony .

8 two 12 beat bars.

Bartender.

12 of your finest ..

Please.

Was the order.

In which they both played...

MUM

Father.

You was never there for us.(me,my brother & mum..)

But why.

Was it the responsibility.

Was it the conflict between you & mum..?

But i don't hold a grudge.

Mum you was always there.

Through thick & thin.

And took allot on your chin..

You mother..

Was the back bone.

Whilst i was in a twilight zone.

Trying to fit in..

Mum you kept it all in.

Your sons sins.

You never judged.

Neither did you disown me.

Hence i was never alone.

To face my demons on my own..

You gave me strength.

That helped me..

Overcome, Most depths.

Of horrendousness.

Stay strong.

As you always have.

And promise.

You will not.

Leave me to my own devices.

No longer shall i .go to the places.

And lay .
on a summers day..

Surrounded by daisies

Come up smelling of roses.

Never to leave me on my own...

MEMOIRS.ONE HEROIN ADDICTS DAY

Due to me going ruthlessly mad.

Yes i think my mind has had enough.

Past two weeks .

No sorry..

Past 6 weeks..

Back in 1996

I wake stumble to my bathroom.

Lock the door.

Check make sure its locked (the bathroom door).

Grab my Pandora's box (steel Guinness case).

Open it.

Grab a 1ml.

Spoon lays waiting anticipating, the powder.

Bight the previously melted bag off.

Teeth rip it apart.

Sprinkle some magic onto the overly whelmed spoon.

A little citric acid...

Go back grab the 1ml..

Turn the tap ..

And cup water, whilst draining the palm of my hand ..

Syringe full enough .

Oh yes.

Squirt water into the mixture of citric acid &..

Lighter please.

Flames cup the sacred spoon of doom.

Slowly the acid brakes down and cooks the poppy seed waste.

Filter .

Don't want any more shite other than the euphoric hit flowing through my veins.

1ml syringe onto filter.

Slowly drain the hungry spoon.

VEINS thick as Arnie's (Arnold Schwarzenegger, or something like that).

I tense up.

Plug the spike into my vein.

And i tell you things werent quite the same.

I wake in a twilight zone.

On my knees .

BAG  of utopia held up in the air.

For what i do not know.

Probably saving it from ending up all over the floor.

You see i don't know how long i was holding this bag in the air for.

Could of been hours.

But what about me .

I just fell .

Into a world of comfort & contentment.

Whilst on my knees..

Struggling to hold the bag of gloom..

Before its dropped & useless.

Yes 6 weeks now .

Nothing but drugs.

YES .

I have relapsed.

Once again.

But theres not to much Paine.

My mind i cant explain.

Kinda Trippe.

SORT of fucked up.

Heroin.

What a label.

The fucking hero.

Are you for real.

Six weeks to long.

Or not enough.

Cant fucking win either way.

Drugs i respect.

Cos i don't know anything .

That could do the damage drugs do ..

You name it drugs has done it .

Its been before your wife.

Your kids.

YOUR FREEDOM.

Your insanity.

Your once moralistic way.

All out the way.

For drugs.

Sell yourself.

Sell your soul.

If only..

It lead to a friendly goal.

I have for (like i said ).

Six weeks.been,

Pumping my veins body & soul.

With a needless to say fractured scared soul ..