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.


Chris Vaughn


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



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



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



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



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