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 ..

REALITY Vs DENIAL

I hope and not pray.

Sick of praying, to no avail.

That lois my daughter.

Does not follow the dark & ever lasting.

Twisted road i took.

My life has always been controlled.

By substances or people

All because they followed the line.

He/she wears.

Uniform.

Mainly blue & white.

AUTHORITY.

Me,lived a wild & troublesome life.

Pure fucked upness ?.

I question.

My fucked upness.

Am i justified.

Can i justify the abuse i put myself through.

Or am i right in this fucked up world.

Am i escaping reality.

Or denial.

Reality is shit .

Or is it my denial of this shite existence.

That i have & owe  responsibility.

Free..

Will i ever be

I Rome from town to town.

Left are the once towns. free.

Now destruction.

Where ever i go.

Ive done wrong, no saint.

And have morals.

I used to thieve or chor.

Anything.

Just so i could buy drugs and alcohol.

And give myself the misery.

Of a body mind and spirit.

Already dead.

On the borderline

Driving myself mad.

Yea i take responsibility for my misery.

Most time spent repeating .

The false happiness .

I seek that entails ...

Death and or madness.

Am i trying to kill myself.

By my deeply ingrained denial.

Ive done wrong, no saint am i.

Still have morals. Responsibility's to take care of.

Most time ,ime killing myself.

Karma.

Its not done ..

Take drugs & expect no less than..

Paine, Grief, Regret...

You will always feel lonely.

Whilst in the company of others,loved ones,etc..

Feel wrong with out so.

You will isolate yourself.

As the addiction grows.

Whilst you weep & feel sorry for yourself...

You become not obsessed but.

Possessed by the drug of your choice.

Or are you a Polly user.(take anything to suppress the current emotion).

You shall, as mentioned in another writing of mine.

Thieve, beg, brake promises ... (WITH OUT GOING TO THE DEPTHS.OF ADDICTION)

This constant struggle to stay on the straight and narrow.

Grinds you down.

Repeating, the sacred words.

I WILL NEVER.

Till the time comes ...

When you sell out.

Sell your broken dead soul.

Plus your last piece of mind ..

Only for one more shot, HIT..

One more to many.

But if it comforts you .

And you can ..

As you may think.

Function in today's world.

Plus carry yourself.

Then good luck..

MUSIC. LIFE BODY SOUL. MUSIC IS THE GREAT ALMIGHTY

I would fade out.

Give up.

Die without music.

Ime only alive.

Whilst playing,or hearing.

The sweet sound of tunes.

Oh yes.

Rhyme and bang on time.

Play me mister.

A descent track.

Then theres no need for you.

To feel my flak.

Play me some bullshit..

Commercialised boll ox.

And ime of out of  there.

Yes you mister.

Fear.

For i  ..

As you know will shed a tear.

Which always leaves you ?

Where you deserve to be.

I will pickle your cock.

And wrap your penis,(VERY TIDALLY)..

Then deliver it to your misses.

With the smile on my face.

As she answers the door.

I gratefully.

Hand your bishop.

TO YOUR WIFE.

Who was so appreciative.

Hence dont fuck with my music.

"SKY,BLUE, GREEN, FLASHES ,ELECTRIC BLUE."

AS THE FENDER & AMP PUMP, MELODY INTO THE AIR.

REVERBERATING,.

HITTING ME LIKE A BOLT OF HIGH VOLTAGE ELECTRICITY.

BRINGS ME TO LIFE.

SKY NO LONGER GREY & DISMAL

BLUE IS EVERYWHERE.

SKY SEEMS AN ENDLESS ENTITY.

OF ELECTRIC BLUE.

WHITE CLOUDS.

CANDY.

HOVER ALONGSIDE.

THE BEAUTIFUL TWILIGHT SKY

WHAT A DAY TO SKY DIVE.

AN ENDLESS ADVENTURE.

IPOD WHACKING OUT THE TUNES.

LEFT RIGHT & CENTRE.

LET ALL VENTUEROES .

VENDOR.

THE OPEN FREE.

SKY.

BOUT TIME YOU OPEND.

MRS SKY.

ANY LONGER.

A SLAP.

WOULD OF SHOOK YOU UP.

SLAP STRAIGHT ROUND.YOUR.

DASHBOARD.

.BOREDOM

I am sick of.

Cleaning, dusting, cooking, maintaining.

Looking my best.

Out to impress 

Whilst felling as if I've just been blown from the wild wild west.

Bored of.

Relationships (to much hassle).

Got no sex drive.

Got money.

Still ime bored.

Sat in the sun(2 hours to long).

Had a lovely dish,at the restaurant,(nice while it lasted,all of half an hour).

Tired of the same old.

Yes i am a fortune teller.

I predict mr moore .

That tomorrow you will.

Struggle out of your pit.

Drink your cup of tea.

Have a shower.

Drink alcohol.

Walk 3 miles,collect your script.

Go to sainsburys.

Eat some chicken.

Walk 3 miles back home.(sweating your nuts off)

Intake more alcohol.

Maybe write some shit.

Then fall into your comfy armchair.

And wallow.

Wake up the next morning.

Thinking Jesus .

Ive had enough.

Hands cover your eyes as you curl.

And splat your head onto your knees.

Sat on your pity pot.

Ah poor mr moore.

What is up with me.

I have a beautiful daughter.

Lovely home.

Bank account.

Good family(whom ime very grateful to)

For putting up with the shit i have caused.

Health could be better.

But ime not dying(hopefully).

HANDSOME AND DAPPER (AS YOU INSIST MR MOORE).

Talented.

INTELLIGENT.

Ime not going on & on(as ile be here all day.)

You see no matter what happens in my life,in regards to keeping ones self content.

Iam never fucking happy.

For now i will put it down to a state of mind.

And my mind is in a terrible state.

I have the answer to my happiness.

STOP DRINKING BLOODY ALCOHOL.

STOP TAKING PRESCRIPTION F...ING DRUGS.

Hence mr beat yourself up moore.

You will begin to see the beauty life is offering you.

Ok i here you.

But ime still bored shitless .

A PEEP AT THE COUNTRYSIDE

Spring is here isn't it.?

Flowers, pink blue red yellow & green.

Begin to bloom

Sky still grey & dismal.

Yesterday , spring,sprang.

Sky opened.

And down she beams.

Back on the bus-tard.

1 2 3, rabbits bounce joyfully in the open field that stretches for miles.

Miles of fresh fresh green grass.

As i catch them with my eye,from the top of the double decker bus-tard.

Playing free.

A white & brown horse .

Sheep cows.

yes this is the garden of England (Kent).

Such beauty grows.

Houses proudly show off there 15ft hedges.

Styled hedge.

One shaved & pruned to perfection.

In the shape of an elephant.

A peaceful desolate graveyard.

Layed to rest are the loved ones.

Grief stricken, people come brandishing flowers.

To decorate & let live the love all had & still have.

Still have thoughts,memories.

Heartache.

Love lives on beyond the grave .

Most of which ime sure were brave.

Love lives on in the heart & memory. of loved ones.

That's how we never die..

Make sure to have a child.

To carry your memory & name.

For that is our purpose alone.

Tall tress .

Must be hundreds of years old.

Green for miles.

In the horizon.

Grey mist.

Gathers around.

Shading the deep green grass.

Orchards & farms.

Mechanical machines, lay around the farms.

Smell the hay & breath healthy.

Before hitting the city .

Suffocated by car fumes.

Is the air in the city.

River run for miles through cutting countryside.

Ducks,swans ,& other wild life...

Harbour around the river.

With bridges made of old stone ,here and there.

A church.

Sat lonely. and somewhat sad looking.

In the middle of no where.

Just field upon field.surrounding it.

Ime feeling sorry & pitiful for the lonely church.

As most people (not all)but most..

Have deserted the church.

Believe in yourself.

Hence no need for so called god.

Bus is coming into maidstone.

Leaving the countryside behind ...

good bye beautiful. site.

DYKES

Two pink.

4 pink dyke's.

Two days prior, one & half dyke.

No flight.

Kind of took off.

Causing some nervousness.

That being said.

Today two of the dyke's went straight up the M25.

Two odd hours later.

The other 2 dyke's went straight down my neck.

15-30-40 Min's have been & gone.

To my disappointment .

Never took off properly.

Maybe the runway was too wet or something.

Witherspoons.

Me and a pal , by the name of Richie.

Have some lunch, (chips, two eggs, & a nice slice of ham).

Washed down with a pint of something Russian, (nice lager).

Me and rich sit in the big cosy comfy brown leatherd chairs.

Cheers.

Clash as our pint glasses collide.

To our triumph.

Content and relaxed.

In the cosy chair i begin to drift off.

The dyke's who entered my mouth & slid down my throat .

Take off.

The runway is now comfortable .

For a take off.

Ime off.

Sinking deeper & depar.

As the dyke's, cover me.

Felling so warm and happy, elated.

Smothered in blissful inner peacefulness.

At last a piece of mind.

The chair begins to cuddle me.

I lay my head on the chairs shoulder's.

As my utopia is in awe.

Sorry but i will have to end here. As i don't want to glamorise .