from new orleans to naples.

                  from new orleans

where people embrace age,
instead of trying to hide behind
a squeaking plastic facade.
he could already feel the mellowing blues
pouring from cafe doors
and into his yearning ears
throaty laughter, a contented drawl
as the music taught his eyes to listen
and his feet were lifted and
taught to dance

step by leap
through sprawling streets
past the flowing echo
of busker against sandy stone wall
he touched the scent of secrets from
a language, like melodic notes
flying from weathered lips
onto his blank canvas soul
the colour of wine.
where people live in art
instead of trying to flourish
in disillusioned wealth

                    to naples.

that fatal toothbrush.

a man stands in front of a window.
he sees his previous lover, smiling,
dining with a date. a purpose.
without any inclination of thought
towards his efforts
of remembering to return her toothbrush.

he turns, gets into his car,
presses his foot down, with gentle precision,
and drives straight through the red brick front wall
of his previous lover's house.


i know now, i am still hurting.
i know, that i am still angry.
i know now, that i will be this lonely
for quite a time.

i tried to cling on, too close
some may think it trivial,
to persevere in suffering
for the sake of barely three weeks, in younger years.

but love is a wealthy friend
it lingers, with good intentions
to postpone sobriety
now, it is asking to be excused, at last.

hurt and anger are staying the night
hence, i must lie and wait til morning,
remove the keys from the hungry ignition
and nurse an old aching wound.

i'm sorry, for holding on too much.

red brick walls intact, fingers crossed.

baby-sitting.

timid and thin
the little girl, curled into a ball
cries for her mother,
innocent eyes torn with anguish
she knows she has been forgotten again.

afraid of the dark
like most small ones are
but she fears more
the essence of the darkness
how it might change her
how she might not be
mummy's good little girl anymore
should the black mouth consume her.

she screams
i hold her hands, consoling
in every way my panicked mind
will reveal,
but my hands, as always,
the wrong size
she yearns for the delicate touch
from the mother she craves
my foolish disguise ripped away
by raw inadequecy
there was nothing i could do.

helpless, i felt her suffering
sobbing, she clung to the light switch
untrusting despite my promises
whilst my anger for her mother swelled
within me.

this poor child, i couldn't keep her safe
both of us waiting
for a release from this hell
i couldn't keep her safe,
as the sunlight descended
running from her pleas
i couldn't keep her safe,
as exhaustion shook me
and mistakes became inflamed.

and the little girl
timid and thin
cried for her mother
until she ran out of tears.

crimson angel.

a strange girl, i first thought
as she presented herself
subtly, with the sound of tearing
paper beneath that fateful manuscript
laced with poison ink. fatal,
from once written to last read.

but the girl
besides the many words, i was
speechless.

hair, tangled, various shades of
pink skin, pale, her delicate form
portrayed in the slight turn of her head
gazing over bare shoulder
right through me, with those deep
shining eyes, those emerald moons
unflinching.

she's seen everything
knowing, in her quiet way
what a fool i have been
yet her expression never falters
never judges, despite
my tears, endless frustrations
hopeless, cases of unrequited affections

crimson angel,
if only humans were this fair.

so am i being cruel
locking you away
it is no fault of yours that
your crafter was an artist
this is no elegy, for
you will not be forgotten
this is no, simply cast aside
i ask for a while to collect
my trinket thoughts

my crimson angel
that face, a mystery to me.
those sad, shining eyes.
you have had your way with me.
rest, now.

i can see you.

gnaws through flesh with blood stained teeth
tears from her scalp with vigour and skill
claws at her skin as if no more than meat
as demon watches from her window sill