I am not a jealous soul,
But I stare green-eyed at birds,
Those avian aviators,
Artists of the blue,
I envy them their wings,
I write you true,

Soaring the skies,
It must be such release,
Such catharsis,
They are not bound to one another,
Why do they stay in throngs?
Are they not individuals?

Do they not know they are free?
My envy screams up at them,
Predation should be no deterrent,
When the flock flies west,
Why not fly east?
Don’t waste those wings,

Coveting their feathery prom dresses,
I call out to them,
Please take me away,
Imitating their freedom,
I reach skyward,
Yet they flee in flocks.

Each leader has a war chest,
Millions,
Paid for with blood and limbs,
The gold of the chest,
Pounds and dollars and roubles,
Minted in hells flames,
Emblazoned with skulls grinning,
Baying for oil and miles,

The true fuel for warfare,
The ammunition of conflict,
As the chest opens its charnel maw,
Arms dealers rub their hands,
And children cry in droves,
The drool of the chest,
It looms over free lands,
And shadows of bombs fall soon after.

The human race,
Society,
It’s all a pageant,
A beauty contest,
An insipid affair,

A masquerade on the streets,
We all put on glam dress faces,
Makeup over the tears,
A plastic smile for outside,
Who’s got the most beauteous mask?

The worlds a catwalk,
Fake visages,
Fake selves,
Objectifying each other,
Intoxicated on one anothers lies,

A smile on a polaroid,
Selfies with stupidity,
Interaction through a screen,
Charity for the likes,
Grovelling before the cyclopean god,

The human race,
A comedy,
A race we lose everyday.

The smith sweats,
An armsworker,
Doing the work of shinigami,
Machining thanatos into steel,
Ore becomes death,

A masterwork,
An emotionless tool,
A cold weapon,
A true lifetaker,
A stygian masterpiece,

Harnessing thunder and hellfire,
The power of hades,
The power to take lives,
In one hand or two,
Exerting ones will through iron,

Stocks and smoking barrels,
Breathing fire and ash,
Charon on a bullet,
A life snuffed out,
The gunsmiths work complete,

Can he claim neutrality?
Does this artisan care whose life is ended?
Does this merchant burden himself with ethics?
Does this artist care how his art is wielded?
Is the dollar worth more than a life?

I’ve seen the elite,
A cartel of tuxedo players,
Vultures around a board held aloft by we the people,
They play monopoly above us,
Playing for borders and lives,
Among red buttons and whiskey,

An oligarchy of a smoking room,
Perfume of toxic fumes,
Product of industry,
A effluvium of poor mens moans,
Sounds of pickaxes and canaries,
Walls of blood diamonds,

The pieces are made of flesh,
Shaped like batons and warmachines,
And cry for help as they shift,
Beholden to old men,
Liars in chief,
Tycoons of trepidation,

They have played this boardgame for centuries,
From pyramids to railways,
From aeroplanes to the moon,
We have been pawns for too long,
What happens if we all stand up?
And knock their game over.

Good day there inmates!

I hope that you’re all having an excellent and uplifting day! I’ve been feeling a decent amount of positivity for the last few days. Fighting the low mood tooth and nail, I tell you! Haven’t gotten out quite as much though, due to a great deal of rain. Riding the bike in that weather is pretty much out of the question. It’s given me some exquisite views out of the window at least. Nothing like a downpour to cleanse the minds eye. But onwards and upwards eh?

So, it’s time for another edition of the Harlequins writing music. Almost contrary to what I said in my previous post last week, about still having many artists to share with you, I thought I’d do one of my “single artist” posts this week. It took me a few days to actually decide which artist to pick. But in the end, it had to be one of my all-time favourites that I’ve recently rediscovered after a few years. A teenage favourite of mine, as it happens. The band I have chosen this time is She Wants Revenge.

She Wants Revenge are a rock/dark electronic (though it’s often described as Darkwave) band from California in the US. I remember first hearing one of their songs, called Tear You Apart, in the thoroughly disappointing move ‘The Number 23’. The movie was a shame, but the song stayed with me and so I looked up the band. Naturally, I promptly fell in love. Their songs tend to err on the side of the darker or dirtier side of romance. As in, unrequited love, depression, obsession and sex. They are another band that, in my opinion, have a very unique vocalist in the form of Justin Warfield. I find his vocal style hard to describe. It’s almost monotone-esque, while still really quite fluid. As for the music itself, it ranges from rather dancy electronic numbers to dark moody rock. I really recommend them, they have a little something for everyone. I’ll be sharing five of my favourites, but I definitely suggest delving deeper.

So, without further adieu, join me as we delve into the moody musical minds of She Wants Revenge!

She Wants Revenge – These Things

She Wants Revenge – Out Of Control

She Wants Revenge – Tear You Apart

She Wants Revenge – Broken Promises For Broken Hearts

She Wants Revenge – Take The World

So there we have it for a She Wants Revenge version of the Oldschool Harlequins writing music!

As I always do, I’ll be sharing the link to the website for the band. Here it is: https://www.shewantsrevenge.com/. I really hope that many of you give them a chance, they are very easy to listen to while also having rather deep lyrics!

Also as always, I’m going to encourage you all to follow the asylum over on social media. I have a Facebook page, an Instagram page and a Twitter page. I tend to post some silly, random things in those places. But I also post clues for my poems ahead of time! It can be fun sometimes! Oh and as always, if you like what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page! Thank you to all the inmates out there! You’re all breathtaking!

So, until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!

Listen here children,
Have you heard the tales?
Folklore of these trees,
That you wander amongst,
The trees that whisper one name,
A witch that lives here,
An ambiguous figure,

Baba Yaga,

You shall hear her approach child,
As chicken legs upon underbrush,
Her weathered hut astride,
Leaves shiver at her arrival,
Ferocious in her features,
Wielding a pestle,
And accompanied by a sorcerous mortar,

Greet her warmly child,
She can turn from helpful guide,
To child eater posthaste,
Don’t be rude child,
Wield your pleases and thank yous thick and fast,
She may impart such divine knowledge,
Or you may never leave her woods.

The day roars in anger,
As I awaken bloody-eyed,
It bares its dragon fangs to me,
Demanding I return to the aether,
It threatens my chakras,

So I turn to the gemstones,
They are eternal war advisors,
I turn to the agate to calm me,
It’s fiery aura pushing me ahead,
I watch the ruby rage,
Impelling me to take on the day,

Unakite takes on purging my nightly malice,
I clutch a pristine diamond,
It animates me to be a force of good,
Amplifying opal carries the lance and standard,
Tiger eye suggests a practical method,
The onyx points the way,

While the pyrite drives me to stand up to the dragon,
I gaze at the howlite,
Quietly it tells me to forgive the day,
They serve as bulwark and bandage,
The dragon shall be subdued,
Whether through heart or force.

Not so happy?
We have a fix for that,
Allow me to put on my apron,
Forgive the blood,
This is a messy procedure,

Your face shall become artwork,
A scalpel sculpture,
An ideal incision,
Ear to ear,
A grin born of cruor,

You’ll be the talk of the town,
No more sorrow,
No more tears,
Extracting that bad mood,
The agony just means it’s working,

Why are you screaming?
You look so happy now,
You won’t be laughing,
But you’ll be smiling until the end of days,
Even within your grave,

Now that grin shall never dissipate.

I’m an old marionette,
Constructed of the flimsiest lime wood,
I was discarded from the pier of life,
Left in the mud,
Sinking slowly but surely,

A small parody of a clown,
A joke in truth,
Closer than I’d like to admit,
Faded paintwork,
No longer any particular shade,

Tattered strings made of hazy twine,
A control bar rusted by seawater,
I fear my puppeteer went astray,
Never been to an opera,
A puppet without a show,

Now the renaissance is over,
The dark comes,
I saw the sun exit stage right,
This peat will consume,
My little wooden heart.