Activities of Mark Heathcote

How many chest compressions,
How many chest compressions
Will it take to awaken me again?
Death is a flower pressing I've longed for.
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The sky was dark and monochrome
When the blacksmith's labour was brought home
By his widow on a hired horse gig
Seated like a broken hazel twig
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Please don't go far
because imminent danger lies ahead
detonation and destruction
are dancing in a circle
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If I leave you in the night
screaming but still believing
then we have something left
to salvage to dredge back into life
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I sense the weather could always be better
But I wouldn't change a single moment
But I wouldn't run any place to find shelter
I just want to look into your grey eyes
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I confess I loved him more than I loved myself
Never wanted to be left on the shelf
Never -wanted to be second best
Never -wanted to cry alone.
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Vocally, you are a dream, a baritone
But visually, I could drown
Eyeing at your James Dean looks, your blue-eyed pouts
Lips as lush as two red plums
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Freak accidents are more commonplace than we are led to believe. When you read about one and research if there ever was another, it's like discovering the head of a venomous snake with its tale in the wind, winding its way through the depths of time. Sure, it's there, but if it isn't pieced together. So plainly, it goes unnoticed, unseen. One time, on a school trip, I was wandering alone on a beach in plain sight of a medieval castle when a loud call went out. It was time to go home. It stopped me in my tracks, and the shrill shout of the second shout, I guess, literally saved my life. And between those calls, a large hole appeared in sight on the beach in the sand as though out of nowhere. It was large enough for a young boy my size to worm my way down. My boyish instincts were to poke my head in and explore. But luckily, I stayed clear and may be avoided dying there.
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I've been watching the moon,
Ever since I fell in love with you
Realizing my heart isn't immune
From stumbling over going eschew
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The final chapter isn't yet written
There is always time for revision
Whatever blunders are unbidden
The answer is just an apparition
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