THE POETRY, WORDS AND VISIONS OF CHRISTOPHER VAUGHN
This fade is ending
A colder morning
Hands moved in empty
She’s in mourning
The revel bending
Against her trembling
A gun conceding
She’s just ambling
A child can’t cry
Her hands hold tight
Blood from wounds
She can’t make right
A scream is everything
A womb disastrous
This horror flooding
From a man she trusts
Shakes she shines
The man is aching
His shit sells shame
And is for the taking
This fade is ending
A bolder morning
Hands not empty
Just more deserving.
(C)2017
Chris Vaughn
Wreckage.
Tables turned Achilles heel
Torment a shaking fence of steel
Inside the mind a child is blind
The blood borne method isn’t kind
Aches of youth demanding light
These memories derange tonight
You’re fucking aging faster here
The carbon imprints breathe like fear
Pale the skin in sad bereft
The moments only that I kept
Pursuit the whispered voicing cage
A deprecating faithless wage
Consider months I fathomed late
A choice so empty as this hate
You’re eyes commiserate the dark
These doldrums I must now embark
Fables legs are shaming now
The preface backing up the how
A corresponding backwards hue
The filaments are delaying you
Stand a wash length from the past
These vacancies can never last
Thread vines to hearing every seed
Threats dine on empty when I need
Taper time towards the line
You draw it every single time
A threnody capable of pain
A singing scourge in me remain
No weaker man am I to be
When wreckage seems to pummel me
Inside the child the mind unwind
The blood borne method isn’t kind.
(C) Chris Vaughn
2016
These leaves are brushing
Boisterous answers like plans
Man is boy stirring again
A grin is winning in his forever land
Took a glitter fair and pouring
The million times you were not boring
A waking of feverish lips
Kissing hell and heaven in moments
The mirror kills the moisture
Like a bus load of destinies
Eyes in seats of gold
This headless paper God remnant
Not his hands. Not his feet.
Never can there be a repeat.
Please take a seat.
Dropping silhouettes and dreaming
Paragon surrendered
Feathers to shoulders ache
The duke is still so very awake
Not a minor development here
Toward the stars a dusty skill
A glow of brilliant bright fleeting teeth
A chattering beneath
To sea a free bird, a lad
Insane the reflection reversing
A birthing the man trembling but changing
Perfect in every single way
Like he was every ordinary day
An oddity in a collective display
The fading is only in an instant
Regality is persistently to be
Forever our David Bowie.
For the glorious Thin White Duke.
A tribute to one of the most influential artists to ever be.
(C) 2016 Christopher Vaughn
Filagree.
Pages leak wisdom
This face is an offering again
Like expression can be red
I’m failed in twine tonight
A just fool suckling
Torn in ten million sentences
Eating fear is shaming
Terrain for worn feeling
Warn that precious light
Across derivatives
A mouth spread open
Ages ago these words a circle
Spill the paper’s wound
The remnants of dementia
Like in August you scream
A womb with stones
These arms and legs
A broken morning
I run across the end of this
As faith is breeding painful
Again a filagree shines
These hands kill simple
My heart is an engine divine.
2015 Chris Vaughn
The Wall.
Option
Opinionated
A drug sedated
Child trauma
Trains talking empty
Faces funny faking
Burning in a fortress
A stale mattress
Cables sliding on skin
The pressure making waves
A sea is drowning
Teeth hurting
No sound like this one
A brave son
Reads well and handsome
An idiot stare
A man from then said once
His magic scarring
Hands and fingers breaking
Taking everything
Absent heat
And breaths away
Can’t see me anymore
I’m quiet.
I’m the problem.
I’m disgusting.
What are you doing?
Against the wall again…
I’m bleeding.
Chris Vaughn 2015
8/27
Hands.
Her cold hands shaming
Fused in concrete she is lit
This sad scope, disinterest
Locks in breaths. Tests.
Appear again in waiting games
The vague immoral clues
Names to corrode in
Collide the skinny disguise
Emptied from excessive eyes
This waiting is corrosive
Collapsing in doubting thin
A shame her hands so worn thin…
Chris Vaughn 2015
“The Abhorrent” by Asylum Black.
a caustic itch
this cutting bitch is violent
shredding memories of torment
filth inbred so black and dormant
scrape the shit
this fucking spit to defile her
crucible a scream in silence
blackened skin to show the violence.
darkest angel
embracing shadows
bleeding visions
eating shame and sin
feed the hands touching
beasts so hungry
and aching thin
this is the end…
mother’s angry empty nest
a place to sanctify and rest
scathing faithless sunken eyes
wrath of pain in fervent cries
arms are snakes in her embrace
a sack of silhouette and lace
broken model of a child
abhorrent face is so defiled.
lyrics: Christopher Vaughn (futuristlimited)
2014
conceit.
breathing heat
a blackout
unfinished ruin
shaking the bones
a venomous rig
fists gagging left
spirals infuriating
methods are pining
for the light
a breaking skintight
aching thin
faces writhe in rhythm
fold right ahead
lit up like memory
a vehement raging
toward empty
to wanting me
eating these fingers
a taste like no other
frothing together
cleaner sickness
to fiend a routine
precious eye
egregious sight
older than this night
crust edging
a larval imbibing
shrill engined
fickle hits
bruised hands cementing
castles this cold
acrimonious thirst
such conceit
a cure for me.
(C) Chris Vaughn 2014
unfinished.
this is a place to die
a god inside my voice
the emptiest truth here
your screaming is sin.
this is a space to cry
a heart without choice
the nestling of fear
your scream is a grin.
this is a face to defy
a soul without noise
the empty makes me hear
your screams are within.
this is a grace to deny
a skin against the hoist
the wrestling you near
your screaming is din.
this is a place to lie
a demon of your choice
the empty truth is clear
you scream again and again.
(C)2014 Christopher Vaughn
approximate.
spirits flicker imprinting
lingering the jagged cleft
stints in brains suggesting
floatations deviled in opine
a gazelle single file rifled
mortal impudence lift out
the drift of colder air leaking
links of children’s laughter
aching a wanderer flip over
ghosts could culture
lips sync and slip sideways
lend hands to the back claw
less nail and capture
forthright the wisdom seek
not to chide but to loom
leave a privacy scene gloom
mortify and monthly torment
spines serving lines in shame
impish pig singing slew
faith is hushing a voice
silt hanging a shadow
spiriting mine in a flake
a flickering impression
forthcoming heartbreak.
(C)2011 Christopher Vaughn
FUTURISTLIMITED 