that last box, ticked.

it hurts, breathing.
that last box, ticked,
coutning on your list
there's no-one left.

it hurts, smiling.
that one named, caged
in the middle of a page
they've all gone.

it hurts, talking.
make them smile,
stay aminute, stay a while
i've lost them all.

it hurts, climbing.
back up to the start
i was stupid, wasn't smart
they're not coming back.

it hurts, living.
alone again, chances faded
cold again, warmth i'm craving
they never thought about you anyway.

all too easy.

Blade raised, ready to rip
Those last remaining strands away
She pauses; silence dripping
Echoing off tile and glass
She thinks, for a moment, waiting,
What's the point?

Poised, she realised
No-one would care.

She could slash her skin
Til only flesh and sticky blood
Were left
And no-one would notice.

With a single slice,
She could end her life
Just like that.

Slowly, her wrist drew that sliver of sharp
Across her pale, beating veins
Beneath translucent veils
So close, that sliver of sharp lay
To bone and sinew within the clay
Of her crumbling form.

All too easy.

She grapsed it, and pressed it
To her forehead, creased with
Anger, jealousy, shame
She had let her body waste away
And her desires with it.

She felt, she had little to give
So why not give the rest?

With a single slice,
She would end her life,
Just like that.

And the silence screamed.

the silence.

silence.
we know nothing of silence.
silence, does not exist in the human world.
the living world.

when whispers cease, the clock keeps ticking.
when footsteps creak, and come to a halt, the heart keeps beating.

the world never stops
as people move and rush and sway and

chatter incessantly

even when the blanket falls, and things become
slightly awkward-
sly glances and fingers drumming
hold that silence ever still.

an engine noise, in the distance
growing closer,    louder,  LOUDER,    slowly,    fading

like the spin of a knife
through tension's air.

or the rapid breathing of a child
within a deep, deep sleep.
lost in dreaming
rapid breathing
silence stays in shadow's grasp,
it daren't move.

it is only when
the clock stops ticking, and the heart stops beating
that silence consumes
overwhelms, engulfs a soul
as it disappears
from the living world.

within the mottled skin, and jealous veins
drunk with blood, as it lingers
nowhere to go
the silence gorges, no whispers made
a body, left to rot, infected
by sound's absence,

in swarms the decay.

if a tree falls to the forest floor
but there is no-one there to hear it
does it make a noise, a sound at all
or is the silence left to steal it?

spike.

It was dark
So, very dark, she couldn't see
Stumbling blindly
Through the forest of forgotten things
She tripped, fell
A metal spike
Straight through her chest
Punctured through thin skin
Like a pin through paper
She bled, wept
Coursing pain in her veins
Metallic poison spreading
As the blood, left her
She couldn't die
Wouldn't, die

Got up, walked off
Stumbled blindly with a tear stained face
And nobody knew, nobody could see
In the forest of forgotten things
And out into the real world
Rusting pole protruding
And the damage remained unnoticed
The odd screech as bone scraped
On mottled steel
Time wore the ends away

Until, flush with the surface
The spike in her chest
Became one with the rest
The pain, still raging
White tinged with unhealthy green
The damage remained unnoticed
And she lived on
With a heaviness in her heart.

the first frost.

A clear sky at sunrise
     The first frost appears in autumns wake.
The air is visible before my face
As feet tremble on the faint silver trails
Splayed across pathways
Vehicles gleam as they roar past
Through misshapen cut-outs
Shoulders shiver
Wrought with regret
At their partings from warmer homes
The wind is sharp, fleeting at my skin
Palms burning, cheeks smarting
One can only turn away
From the force of winter’s hand
Lights, of varying size and colour
Charm the familiar sights of
A closely huddled street
Too early, some might say
For the start of the month
But still, a luminous inkling
For more clear mornings to come
Clustered patches of bare tree
And rusted grass, each blade shudders
As the sky grows brighter
Ever cloudless
It’s subtle presence, louder
As the first frost makes itself
Known to us
The pressing cold reigns true again
On my way to another day
Winter has begun.

a woman.

I need a woman, so badly.
I need a woman, with wild curly hair
Eyes that shine at every surprise
And wink when she’s done something
unspeakably dirty
With soft, smooth skin, and freckles
I can trace all over her body
Full of curves and contours
And scars and rhymes
Fingers, long and slender
Strong arms, luscious legs
To pin me down with
Bold cleavage showing,
I’ll kiss her tender neck
Leave my mark, taste her scent
Inhale her beauty, the air I breathe
She’ll make me laugh,
when no-one else can
She’ll hold the keys to my mind
In the palm of her hand
I’ll chase her, form and spirit
Through waves, across the sand
Her charm will seduce me
Capture me, never let me go
She’ll smile, the world will stop turning
And I’ll smile
Her lips, such soft silk
Beneath mine, so yearning
I’ll drown in her gaze
Immerse myself in her voice
As she whispers, talks, giggles and screams
Passionate, a child
To be cared for and loved,
as wild as her hair
She’ll fall, I’ll catch her
She’ll hold me, I’ll cry
She’ll reach for the sky
And gently touch the stars
Her touch, leaves me gasping
Aching for more, for her
She drives me, spinning
Into worlds so high, so breathless
I could never adore
Anyone but her, love her more than
Life itself, for life is her
She is the best of me, the brightest of me
The happiest of me, and I her.

I need a woman, so badly.
Right now.

the smell of burning.

the flame, it leaps
he holds it to my chest
too close, presses firm
as the flame starts to dance

my skin, the slate
it scrapes
through layers of smouldered
me, from pink to dead
to blackest black,
rotten ebony

it peels away
he pushes deeper
through tissue and sinew
to muscle and back

throbbing organs
shudder and moan
the glistening white
of perfect bone
shines through

that orange glow of the flame
lights up the cave
as he plunges in rage
deeper he goes

frayed edges of flesh
they stretch and twist
round his circling wrists
his teeth grind
with pleasure, satisfaction

bloodied and grand
are his human hands
the dancing flame
it gently pirouettes
in the hole in my chest.

let them come.

the sky, darkened
her eyes, darkened
her vision, blinded
by a deep purple-black
her retinas were tainted
whilst night was drawing in
as her hooded lids concealed
the burnt decay within
lashes fringed with ashes
pupils piercing and pitch
shadowed with foreshadowing
her lip corners twitched
the silohuettes of confrontations
outlined in the dusk
intimidation left at twilight
let them come, let them come.

 

night walk.

flicker and burn
my sight, etched
with image and blur
that endless tune
an echoing dirge
hands grasp that
bulky switch -
i am
reluctant
the bright noise, ended
draws the darkness near
heavy silence feasting
as doubts crawl ever closer
merciless, their webbed limbs
claw the weeping air
and the lonely owl ascends
up and up
those creaking stairs
to another restless night, it sends
a message to her dizzy friends
don’t leave me.

quite a friend.

i understand
that my words aren’t enough
could rarely be comfort
they aren’t uttered from her lips
or formed from a mind
articulate and picturesque
but just in case
you should ever need
my fumbled beginnings and
lingering ends
my pointless anecdotes
and drearily detailed depictions
of same-old surroundings

or, if you need anything else
that might be helpful
anything at all

your pain is my pain.
i’m here if you need me.

untouched glass.

How strange, to see the rain fall
Hear droplets scratch the ground
Whilst the glass remains untouched
The cascade, straight as lines
Drawn with thin lead tip
Smudged on crumpled concrete folds
The window, ever clear
Left to gaze
Imperfection’s neglect
Cresendo building
Slam, and bounce
The heavy smell of dampened earth
Drifitng through the open latch
Yet, still, dry
The glass calmly sits
Observing the rainfall.

the word well.

WHY
are these words
so far down
past dry walls
shattered tiles
lonely lies
down this well
there could be water
sitting, waiting
all i see is darkness
hear bones scrape
and snap
crack
letters in a heap
they don’t make sense
how am i supposed to deal with this
if they don’t make sense?

scissors and glue.

that flicker of doubt on your face
behind your eyes
the very same as mine
as you wonder
‘did i do it right?’
well, let me tell you
amidst all the photos
broken sea shells
stick figures on the fridge
there has to be something
my mind has shaded
a memory, lost
that severed this trusting connection
between parent and child.
did it concern
the never-ending screams of
a demanding sibling
was i forgotten
left on the top bunk
all on my own?
i remember that.
was it about
that clear haze of
redyellowblueredyellowblue
as i fell, soundless
waiting to be caught
the thud, shock
as i hit the floor?
staring up
i never cried
i remember that.
was it something to do
with endless dresses
shiny bows and
pretty shoes
did i really ask
to wear curtains and
wool tights
each day,
did i have no say?
i remember that.
maybe, it was
something else
entirely different
that cut the rope
that so bound us.
i stand, you stand
holding tethered pieces
separate, i wonder
would things be different
if we tried to glue them back.

confidence.

That exam. It broke me in two.
Your thoughtless actions. You exposed me, when I wasn’t ready.
All that ignorance. You never realised how much it meant, for you to understand.
Inspiration mutilated before my very eyes. Abandoned. What to do.
Fame and fortune; it suits you. You’ve made me wanting, a jealous fool.
Pen, after pen, after pen. They fall, from gaping wounds, escaping while they still can.
Why wouldn’t they?
For when the cartridge runs empty,
When the broken nib is shaking,
When the lid is lost and waiting,
How can one express mere feeling,
When there’s nothing left to say?

over and over again.

What is so appealing
About falling?
Like a slate-roof-tile
That doesn’t bounce
When it hits the rough, wet floor
It’s hardly fun
To smash to pieces
Over and over again.
Is it?

wading.

I’m standing on an ocean shore
Deserted, alone,
The tide breaks a mile away
Far from me as the sky
I can feel it, heavy, coming,
About to break
Then the thought escapes
And the waves are lapping
Around my waist
An idea; no more than a drop,
A tear, swelling in my mind
I’m dragged below the surf
Neck submerged, into the deep
The doubt comes creeping
Circling beneath ny flailing feet
Teeth bared, eyes darkest black
Surging upwards -
Like a rope in my hands
I feel it slipping
That cord of tension
Strand of fear, knotted
It falls away
I see it, I reach, outstretched
It falls away
I want to hold it back
Maybe I’m onto something
A meaning, a sign
Perhaps I’m not this way
inclined …
A whisper of smoke, its gone
By a swish of curls,
An incandescent smile
And I’m back standing
On this open shore
Clothes dripping, unsure why
And the label is slapped,
On my head, once again
For each grain of sand
To challenge and stare
My feet on dry land,
But my thoughts
Out at sea.

the buzzard.

A beam of light
Through purpled clouds
And there, the buzzard
On his wide wings drifting
Through open air, blushing sky
His lithe frame tilting
No ruler or refrain
Or chains to this crumpled land
Or stone, crevice and creed
And blistered greed
His high cry screeching
Through silence still, of the moors
He’s ever soaring
Higher than the mountains call
Gripped in his claws
The life before, of prey
He crushes, fair price to pay
For an endless day of
Sweeping, diving
Defying gravity and gale
No grasp can hold him
His deep, scarred eyes
Scour every valley, peak and rise
He misses nothing
The power, rippled in his bones
And feathers, stream-line
Fast and lonely
Existence adapted, perfected
To fly above and beyond
This lowly ground
His own master, a beauty crowned
In humble gold and brown.

that voice.

I could drown in the sound
Of her melancholy voice
So mellow and deep
I can feel that cool liquid running
Down the walls of my throat, as I listen
And scull in solemn words, sombre tones
My heart is soothed, my eyes slowly close
Not a murmur escapes my lips as they part
And allow the flood to fill my aching lungs
My the thirst, quenched,
By the rise and fall of every note
Her voice could melt the hardest ice, reduce glass
To the very grains of sand from whence it came.
I could drown in the luscious sounds
Of her melacholy voice
As wide, exposed as the ocean on
A clear winter’s night
Yet her gaze can set the rain alight
Each drop of water, cascading
Over rocks and glistening peaks
Glorious, they rest in cloud’s embrace
As her voice soars to touch the highest point,
Ever reaching to drown my mortal self,
Or something more,
Something more than this life.

lament to love.

oh, love!
consume me
such a time has passed
my mind, a soundless void
i am lost without you
no drive, ambition
no dreams to strive for
i wander along a path
aimlessly
calling your name
my being, soul in itself
so meaningless, existence
here i am
there is nothing i am worth
should i lack you in my heart
this path, once moonlight silver
a mirror, water's edge
my soles caressed the surface
single roses drifting
towards that inky blue
now, each petal sinking
whilst i travel, no companion
alone, always searching
clawing in the dark
strike me, if you must
just to know your presence near
mere corpse, hence my stillness
without your gushing blood to fill
writhe in my gaping wounds, do not hide!
i crave your presence at my side
save me, while your mercy shines
for life is but, an empty ocean
without love to swell the tide.

centre of the sun.

a mother sits
at the centre of the sun
the taste of bread
texture of silk
sound of rain, lost to her
the only darkness found
in the depths of her gaze

she cradles her child
so still, he rests
small head on her chest
one hand holds him tightly
the other clenched in his hair
so still, never cries
neither dead nor alive
his heartbeat fading
she clings to the lie

the heat rages
clear flames are relentless
burning in the skies
scalding blanket softly smothers
dry ground; it aches with thirst
as the boy is gently prised
from a slowly dying grasp

the mother holds on
not scorching heat
not the anger of the storm
not the men that ate her flesh
nor the women filled with scorn
will take her child away

the flickering breeze
carried the whispers
of her sentence
inevitably damned
but the dream of her smiling boy
could never be taken
never stolen
despite the world
with all its difference
and all its charm

she waited
child in arms
at the centre of the crowd
for the first stone
piece of rock to be thrown
let them come.

a tender song.

i could bathe in the alluring sound
of your melancholy voice
as i lie beside you
beneath the cotton sheets
and listen to your whispers
rolling tones, so soft
for the accompanied words
salacious lyrics with a tender song
that set my skin on fire
my heart beats with vigour
blood, red with heat
my lungs crave, not oxygen
but the heavy scent of lust
as i feel your cool hand slipping
beneath these cotton sheets.

across a one-way street.

so, maybe you are my perfect woman
i see you strut
     heels clicking
         hips swinging
             hair swaying
         as the loose curls
      red, rich, radiant
rest on slender shoulders, strands falling
a mind of their own
entrancing my gaze.

i watch you talk
      tongue twisting
          brows raising
               lips drifting
          brushing words aside      
       full, soft, composed
what i wouldn't give, to press my lips to those
to trace their luscious curves
with my gentle hands.

i contemplate you, still
       jaw trembling
          legs stretching
              eyes staring
          fringed by wet lashes
       deep, blue, intense
searching for my core, controlling yet calm
strong arms binding
i surrender my soul.

so, you may be my perfect woman
i let you go
        always laughing
            always singing
                always, unseeing
             blissfully serene
         elegant, beautiful, irrestible
love unrequited, my lust restrained
my sapphic dream
a lonely heart will wait.

behind the mirrors.

as pain
         spills across the table
    the sea is calm.

soft evening light
   splays across the surface
           gentle, she soothes him.

they caress
   ripples across the slowing tide
 fading; the sky
                            is sinking.

purple blotches settle
          bruises across her
  pale, misted skin.

tired waves,
            they drag the lapping blanket
                 mellow; they lie down to sleep.

head resting on mirror glass
       gazing into brown and blue
              wading across
    that quiet abyss.

rain.

wash me away
erase these faults within me
wipe away the scars
flood my gasping throat
immerse me in cold
smudge the line between blood and skin
entwine with tears
blur my vision
pour out your heart
drown this life that flows from me
run your rivers over me
let your waters take the stains away

don't tell her a thing.

i'd like to think of loneliness as my friend,
but she just doesn't want to seem to get along.

her presence, omniscient
even as a child, she would linger for a moment too long.

like a hard-wearing sibling,
this troubled and turning love-hate relationship, a circle

of arguments, paranoia and peaceful silences,
a constant companion, never by choice. well.

she doesn't like to be talked about seriously, yet,
preferring to be oblivious to the pain she causes.

clinging to me, i certainly do not cling to her
she's needy. my encouragement to change.

her melancholy touch, agony in the dark of night,
but purely lethal amongst friends. family. familiar souls.

only within a stranger's gaze is she comfort,
or the shafts of light between abandoned leaves.

all seriousness aside, fate is not far behind small thoughts,
fear of a lifetime in her relentless company.

she's tugging me away, the recent attention she's craving
a simple price to pay for the pain, shortly forgotten.

she's claiming my life for her own.
draining me. but don't tell her i said that.

9/11.

the early hours of the afternoon. a time when life is busy and flowing; when nothing is contemplated and the end of the day is still a distant concept.
and a slightly strange time for a memory to resurface, irrelevant but not completely insignificant, the musty powder sparked by those two infamous numbers brought together in the mellow pages of a book, that one can take to drowning themselves in for a few hours.

the events of the day, an already-forgotten occurence in my six year old mind.
somewhat preoccupied with my purchase from the day's school trip: round, hard-boiled sweets, strawberry flavour, the size of my thumbs. bundled together in a white paper bag.

i was skipping, down that road, arms outstretched. i could've been flying, with the speed and carelessness at which i was travelling.
through no way i could understand, one particular sweet became lodged in my throat, preventing me from flying any further. i spluttered, panic swelling in my chest at the newly-experienced predicament of not being able to breathe.
my mother, not far behind, although i never remembered her being close behind at any other time, managed to support me home.

despite the aching bulge in my windpipe, i didn't cry. i never cried, and wouldn't for another nine years.

the rest of the journey was quick, as the shock i felt blurred my vision instead of the tears.
my sister opened the door, which was the first abnormal thing i noticed. being a small four years old, she was under strict instructions not to open the door to anyone.

as i raced past her straight to the kitchen, i failed to notice my strangely silent father sitting motionless on the sofa, who i would discover minutes later.

swallowing profusely, i grabbed my favourite cup from the cupboard i could barely reach and filled it to the brim. winnie the pooh, with moving characters encased in the thickness of the plastic. i don't have it anymore.
whilst gulping down the water, for once without the orange cordial clouding the liquid, i became aware of the
silence seeping in from the next room.

it unnerved me, and caused a tightening in my chest, that i still vividly remember.

as i slowy moved to stand in the doorframe, a muted television screen came into view. i saw buildings, two, side by side, billowing smoke, the occasional flicker of internal flames, with the news headlines scrolling across the bottom of the scene.

almost at the same time, my gasping throat released the hard-boiled, strawberry flavoured sweet and sunk to the depths of my stomach, leaving a tender pain that i would always associate with the images i was watching in front of me.

my parents sitting still, side by side, with solemn expressions masking the underlying horror i could feel in the air around us. my sister playing on the floor, oblivious.

it was one of the first times i can remember where my mind went quiet. i was always internalizing things as a child, but this time, i felt i had to, not out of choice.

it was also one of the first encounters i had with the outside world. i didn't understand why it happened, or what caused it. i wasn't connected to it in any way - no relatives involved, and i've never been there. just like i have no connections with actors i admire, authors i'm transfixed by, poets i'm inspired by. and yet, they have all affected me, and created a resonance in my life that alters my actions and decisions throughout the day.

maybe i'm influenced by too many things.

but this is the memory that is conjured whenever i hear those two fateful numbers.
i have few memories of my childhood. this, for a reason i've never known, is one of them.
my trivial account of witnessing the tragic disaster that happened ten years ago, when i was six years old.

ambling.

like life's tight black jeans
staring into the face of a hot summer's day
absorbing the heavy heat
of the moment,
i was walking.

walking, some might say ambling
down the familiar road, feet quietly aching
(they do in these shoes, but they look great)
as they carried me, whilst my mind
took a different path

no whistles this time
my usual companion neglected,
for nature's idle tune

i wandered, or ambled, legs and limbs alike
words sprawling across the arm of that sunken, threadbare chair
despite the inky pipe lingering on fabric's edge
to inhale that bittersweet taste
of the redemption i seek, so tempting

and yet, i resist,
strong in my cowardice
those words may tear
that old chair
to bits, but for all the tears and truths and blame
those words will remain
locked away.

but the key stained with fateful black must have fallen,
beneath the strands of grass
that brushed my fingertips
as, eyes closed, i strolled, or ambled
through a buttery field
batting her purple lashes
stroking deceit, i failed to notice

so those words stay,
locked away
burning the insides of my eyelids, screaming
as i ramble on
my aching feet carry me, ambling
across that open plain.

'hate the sin, not the sinner.'

jealousy's a bitch.
greed never knows when to stop.
gluttony just sounds repulsive.
envy's grin lead rage to clot.

lust cheats; she never plays fair.
anger leaves them black and bruised.
pride always lies with a slick bow tie,
and sloth's a lazy, arrogant fool.

each sin a colour, scent or taste
we all know them fairly well.
they wait on dark street corners,
with a snap-fresh tale to tell.

so when they talk of sinners
and how the sin is true to blame,
i see them sniggering beside me
to them, its just all fun and games.

brave.

i wish, i could write like you
when you write just what you feel
exactly what you mean to say
you throw yourself in
whilst i, wearily watching
divulge in the light-hearted
and the meaningless
clinging to the edge
looking down
at your bold hands
passionate and brave
perfect words at your disposal
sculpted graciously, outrageously
into the art of the true
the brutally honest, with a sigh
achieving the contented grin
you display so well
whilst i, wearily watching
have no words to twist and shape
these thoughts run too deep
emotion like a tender wound
you play with pain
i shy away, at the last moment
for once, the pen pauses
waiting for its master
to get a grip.

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

airport terminal, august the twentieth.

i remember now
perhaps, more vividly
the end of this bleak memory
of one of  life's overlooked curses

waiting.

silent.
a whole silent nineteen
hours, waiting,
to go home.
waiting for her.

from heat to air-conditioned
chaos. a holiday, finally
turning sour, as i had expected it to.

DELAYED.
surely, a joke.
of course not.
it never is.

we weren't the only ones,
twisting in uncomfortable nylon chairs
as the others dispersed
like once swarming flies
to another source of sticky pleasure.

i circled, impatient shark
teeth snapping
smooth soles slapping
on linoleum floor
a food token
consolation prize
like a needy refugee
clasped in my sweaty palm.

he keeps following me
can't blame him, he's stuck here as well
but he's too close
a sick submissive, trying to limp
after his agitated mistress.

mindlessly browsing for
the twenty-fifth time
my gaze falls upon a book
the very same that drags this
sordid account from the dregs
of my mind.

a spark of interest is all i need
two hours amidst the many
blur past me, huddled
in a helpless heap, draining
this book of all its soul
pencil scribbling as i disappear
then, i finish.
the hands, merciless,
slow down once again.

eyelids drooping
could this be?
sleep, of all things, a blessing
to swat the time away?
ha.
the engines hum
the building shudders
not used to the emptiness
finally.

we board, a line of murmurs
the joy fades as a simultaneous
realisation rings; eight hours to go.
restless, although mind is numb
head pounds, as sleep evades me
the view provides some comfort
we seem to be floating
above an ocean of clouds
stars dreaming
within the deep violet-blue
of the quiet night sky

i think of her.
the smile hurts on a weary face.

day breaks
the sun streams through
pungent acid rain
the first breath of air, so fresh
free of the stuffy compartments
not-enough-leg-room and
gagging green pillows
then the cold hits.
temperature is an easily forgotten thing.

bleary eyes search for the taxi
so close to the end
travel sickness, overwhelming
i can hardly walk for nauseous spinning
traffic, naturally
tick tick tick
a familiar street
nearly there
doors clicks shut
home.

the sound of her voice.
that, letter.




as are the higlights
of a summer vacation.

'never say sorry for the things that make you happy.'

lost ring.

it lies in the long, green grass.
small band of silver, an eye of glass.
after months of careful thought,
it slips from my grasp,
an accident, of all things.
does it wait for me?
does it yearn to rest where it has been for a while,
across oceans and under skies,
or does it expect another fumbling,
small hand to retrieve it?
only a shallow mind could wonder so much,
over a small of band of silver,
with a single glass eye.

weather for boots.

a storm is coming
the dry ground gapes below, thirsty
waiting for the thunder
vicious flares across the sky
the cloud approaches
inky blue against fading beige
wind squeals in childish delight
as big tree dances
to the sound of the booming bass drum
shaking the air
as patience grows thin
anticipation builds
she gives way again
silently submissive, with all the weight to bear
standing in empty field
palms outstretched
drowned by nature's cruel dominance
the first tear falls
and the heavens open.

i want to fall in love with an artist.

i want to fall in love with an artist
messy, captivating, gentle
as she strokes her hand across the canvas
precise, each forceful line and curve
falling at ease, color and detail effortlessly
intertwined, each tilted breath stolen
from my lips at the detail of her soul
displayed on a page.

i want to fall in love with a musician
a pianist, to watch slender fingers caress
cold keys, recalling every note again
and again, like cherished memories
a guitarist, to hear skin touch tender string
strumming, rhythm swings with melody
hand in hand, those rough tips
soft against my face
a vocalist, tugging at my tears
with every rise and fall of
textured voice, thick with emotion
and bounteous chest as verse flows
and captures my heart.

i want to fall in love with a dancer
gaze at her fragile body flying
through mist and air, transforming
into seamless shapes whilst delicate limbs
bend and twist against a painted sky
lost in movement, my eyes only for her
as i see love and desire
lift her beyond the restraints of this world.

i want to fall in love with a athlete
run through tongues of fire beside her
swim in gushing water currents beneath her
jump and glide with flowing gales above her
place a ball at her feet, or in practised hands
scream as she embraces glory
and catch her in my arms, should she lose her footing
on the way.

i want to fall in love with a teacher
one who cares for every spirited mind
wise with her words, inspiring
she listens and learns herself
from the profound understanding of the young
a smile that sparks a flow of ideas, worth
a thousand words of praise
giving a careful shoulder ride
to growing imaginations, each one
reaching higher than the next
as the eternal child inside of her
laughs and plays just the same.

i want to fall in love with a waitress
sliding between table tops
submissive to every want and wish
waiting for chance to pause and chat

i want to fall in love with a psychologist
let her analyse every contour
every pleasured sigh
before we're both institutionalised.

i want to fall in love with a photographer
who sees more than just a picture
through the circle of a lens

i want to fall in love with a scientist
who sees more than a star
through the eye of a telescope

i want to fall in love with a person
passionate, beautiful and brave
who lives for what they do
and the people they adore
and brings a piece of magic to this world
that only they can give.

the words.

sometimes, my mind is an empty box, lying on a street corner.
                  a blank page, cold to touch.
                  silent, standing in the middle of a deserted road
                  in the middle of a clear night.

sometimes, the words are screaming inside my head.
                  smashing mirrors, slamming doors.
                  images, emotions flickering on
                  peripheral projector screens.
                  the words cannot escape, as internally
                  i burst into flames.

sometimes, a tiny beginning, a little phrase
                  will trickle down my arm.
                  a spring at the peak of a mountain.
                  the words will make my fingers move
                  my arm to dance, whilst flowing ink
                  prods the dam to break.

sometimes, each letter will fall in a single tear, a drop of blood.
                  a soundless embrace, a subtle nod,
                  a secret kiss. the words leave the talking
                  to the heart instead.

sometimes, the words aren't enough.

but occassionally, the words are just enough
                            to make you laugh.
                            help you love.
                            and let you live.

                            if you're lucky.

bitch slap.

go on,
throw it in my face
you know, you just relish
that you seduce so well
that she desires you more
the lust that connects you
chokes, strangles
the bitter taste in my mouth
metallic, congealed blood
as your secret looks
and each lingering touch
fused with tension and voracity
they bruise, break and burn

that barrier you both adore
guess who it is
pushed and provoked
stuck, once again
the energy between you
it courses through me
i feel it all
as it rips me apart

you forget
these words aren't yours
they trailed from my desperate lips
as i craved her love
not so many moons ago
just as one does now
be careful, friend
as you embrace this game
of placing your infatuations
above others
by all means, you deserve it
but you will always trample
another's yearning heart

remember
after each resounding bitch slap
across my weakened face
love will never be enough.

trich of the mind.

streaming through the window
strips running down her body
as she lies on the floor
and spies the littered strands
everywhere.

it has a name. her condition.
she is conformed to the medical excuse
that is supposed to explain
why her parents made her wear gloves in bed.

knowing 'i'm not the only one'.
it might help you, but not her.
the one who's school photo was mocked
because her attempts at
concealing her broken self-esteem
failed.
now, it is more than just

a means of calming herself down
releasing pressure, expressing excitement.
it is a disease.
she is trapped in a diagnostic nightmare.
slamming her fist against white
clinical walls, labelled. a 'trichster'.
a maniac.

she rips and tears, pain is irrelevant
forget the blades and edges sharp
she can destroy herself just fine
without them.

hand blindly stumbles
she stares, unaware
that she keeps tugging
at the roots of her mind

she can't stop
it is a need
she is in control this way
pull, and she is serene
call it what you will
as she mutilates her appearance
it is not a crime
just an anaesthetic
or, the way i see it
a trich of the troubled mind.

do i know you?

hello, nice to meet you.
another lonely fly.

don't i know you from somewhere?
i think you used to be a friend.

ooh, it likes you.
its eight legs are flailing.
or so you think.

i'll just keep swinging in my hangman's noose.
watching as another meal is entranced from the air.

by its lustful stare, and potent charm.
the web drips with it.

jealousy, just doesn't cut it anymore.

to be young.

to lie between a sky and field,
and twist single blade between fingertips,
leaving smudged green tint on paper skin,
listening to a sound that is music to you.

to watch the words of tale and poem,
roll across your eyes and over your lips,
sink into your mind as they leap off the page
or flow from hand as you flourish the nib.

to trace gentle notes, on strings or keys,
senses absorbed by simple tunes,
acquired from melancholy inspirations
or the odd whimsical tryst ... or two.

to wander through trees and shafts of light
landscape forgotten, hunting with keen eye
in search of mismatched intricacies
to a capture a moment, yours to keep.

to strut down empty commercial scenes
watch spinning wheels through crowded estate
bursting and beaming with bold selfhood
inquisitive faces happily askew.

to be sprawled on familiar threadbare sheets
bask in the centre of your amber dreams
youth balancing on a lopsided smile
as culture embraces, the world at your feet.

spilt milk.

thankyou for leaving
               you'll be glad to know
        that i spared you the sight
           of a swollen face
                     blotches erupting
                          sobs rising up a throat
                            the sound of gasping
                         as if air was not enough
                               to feed the sadness
                                 swelling in the cavity
                                    of a bound, hollow chest
                         nose dripping carelessly
                           eyes slowly etched with
                               deep rivers, bulging red
                         whilst tears; salty, hot
                      stain smooth dry palms
                         each sudden wave of
                             retching grief
                        uncontrollable
                    limbs jerking, guttural groaning
                 the barest form of despair.
              i spared you.
      no-one should ever have to see this
          wretched body on the floor.
                          weeping over spilt milk
                                     and all that wasted time.

my turn.

if you can be selfless, so can i.
if you can be lonely, so can i.
i can't tell you how i feel.
it's my turn now.

i didn't mean to lie to myself.
the similarities choke me.
the flashbacks blind me.
nostalgia is a drug,
spiked in my nightcap.
i knock it back every time.

i'll try not to overdose.
but it's my turn now.
i'm standing right next you.
here for you.
as always.

losing it.

its slipping away
i can feel it
whatever it is.

hands linger between impatient numbers

time to spare

falling to the floor, back against tile

head resting on bruises

i let the water cascade

burning, over bare skin

rivulets despairing, rushing away

deafened, trapped - willingly

deep breaths, they echo.

i can't hold onto it any longer

it doesn't seem like a way of life anymore

it used to be exciting, it used to be, me

now, it is a cage

they expect me to turn back, to fail

but it is my own hands

at my back, the base of my spine

that are pushing me forward.

even she, who must not be named

can provide no relief

even he, who must not be maimed

says it will only get harder.

feelings, emotions,

so hard to express

in words, to you

occasionally, numbers are fair

drenched, as i'm submerged

as the cage becomes tangible

but it slips away all the more

through sliding fingers

escaping

cannot live

without knowing what i am

for if i don't know that

then i am truly, alone

the last drops, plink

against white

bright lights

bars pressed to me

it hurts to shake

the water stops.

 

just a tip.

never make decisions when you're angry...

                              .. and never make promises when you're happy.

the beach.

i watch them from afar. a boy and a girl, strangers, their faces unknown to me. trapped on a beach; grey, lifeless, stretching further than i could see. the roaring ocean, the empty sky, the smooth sands, all shades of limitless grey. the chains around their wrists, also grey.
    they stood behind a concrete wall, looking out at the bleak horizon, side by side. then the rain started. a monotonous drumming of water against pebble and stone. a boy and a girl, strangers, soaked to the skin, stood in silence behind a concrete wall.
    the soldiers came. thin, pallid, red eyes screaming pain and despair. they forbade any communication between the boy and the girl, forging a force of separation between them. other inmates, sallow skin, all of them, like butter spread over too much bread. they laughed and spat.
    the boy and the girl, strangers. they were innocent. they weren't supposed to be there. defenceless in the blood-stained hands of red-eyed soldiers.
    i couldn't watch anymore. it wasn't fair. the girl was torn away from my gaze, an iron grip on her arm. i reached out to touch her. a sudden click; the boy and the girl, strangers. they disappeared.
    left in their place. fear paralysed my body. i struggled against the soldiers. i spat back at the inmates. but afraid, always afraid. the only female on the beach; grey, lifeless. they hurt me. i could do nothing. left in their place.
    they were innocent. so was i. but i had to be here. i was guilty.
    dragged to the entrance gate. i saw my mother. she did not see me. her face, without expression. she was told her daughter was not here. she was told her daughter had been killed. the murderer was me. my mother's eyes. she turned and saw me. a cold, grey crack. as her hand hit my face.
    i screamed.
    take me home. take me back. take me away.
    she walked away. gone. she left me behind.
    thrown back into the sand. wet, cold sand. sticks to my skin. a heap on the floor. the tears fell. didn't understand. wanted to be left alone. wanted to be held.
    a boy, and a girl, strangers. my mother's eyes. they left me behind.
    lying in a heap, trapped on a beach; grey, lifeless, stretching further than i could see.

    shaking in the dark.

scent.

feelings have faded

   but your scent is still strong

      trapped between my bedsheets

         as i stride past you, standing

            stored in my memory

               my breath is stolen

          heart stops

   too easy to survive on

      your scent alone, oxygen aside

         stays with me

            sticks to my clothes, my skin

               feelings have faded

                  but your scent still

                     stimulates my mind

                        my secret desires

                           stories from the past

                              sideway streets and musty rooms

                                 eyes search star-wards

                         still waiting

      for a similar entrancing scent

         to scream for my attention

            my hopes are stifled

               each time i stride past you, standing.

magnetism.

she pushes me back
unconsciously,
                       as the force
propels me away
a slap across my face
she smiles innocently
unaware,
              her unflinching sexuality
is crushing my insides
repulsion,
                i feel sick.


she draws me closer
intently,
             as the force
seduces me
a kiss on the cheek
she laughs, like music
unaware,
               her beauty and character
are melting my insides
attraction,
                i feel alive.

my burden

digs its claws
into my back
through my chest

it drags them down
rakes my flesh
as body splls

thick blood
screams of anguish
heavy tears

tell me the answer
tell me the truth

a sinner
or a fool
just tell me

before its too late to change.

a single flame.

quiet, laid beside him
arms draped across his fragile body
eyes wide open
watching his chest rise, and fall
so afraid i might
pull him into me
squeeze too hard
and never let go
lightly tracing the
lacing rivers beneath his pale skin
a delicate heartbeat against my chest
a bond, thick and strong
it shakes my body
the pools of tears from my eyes
rollng down my face
they spill onto his cheek
he doesn't stir, he knows
such a force could kill us both, but somehow,
he is in control
his unfading trust in me allows me to love him
without dragging the world
down with us
i am set free in living for him
his safety and happiness are all i pursue
he turns
places a smaller hand on my neck
his touch burns
sets my heart alight
a single flame, keeping us alive
he is in control, i am his child
as i wept, this time
not for the darkness in a man's heart
but the light in a little boy's smile.

the letter.

i stared into the dark
knowing, it was waiting
like everyone else
one last flick of the hesitant tongue
it was sealed
turned away, took a step
the fall was louder than the final thud
as the letter fell through time
and landed. gone.
my feet carried me briskly
away, before regret called my name
doubt's feral hands dragged me back
i left my future swallowed whole
at the bottom of a box
rejected a path, littered with golden leaves
to follow the familiar ladders in my threadbare heart
whilst i ran, despite reluctant bile
rising in my throat, i hoped
it was not my fate
sinking into folded palms
independance crawling closer
as control, once again, slipped away.

greed.

when you ordered me to go
when you asked me to leave
not only did you bargain with my soul
and sell me to grief.

you gave my body to the carbs
the additives, the meals
filled me up with grease and lard
became routine, to seal the deal.

i found solace in satisfaction
as bricks slipped between my lips
i turned into contradiction
of my own self-control tips.

it was when i stopped and thought
when grief and greed set me free
i saw the gentle peace i'd sought
had stained my liberty.

you in turn don't understand
when i hide from searching eyes
as soft bricks pass from palm of hand
into stomach i despise.

self-image now in disrepair
confidence lost at sea
my appearance is too much to bear
although so many disagree.

never confiding my addiction
whilst i gorged through crumb and plate
my weight a burden, i predicted
as my hands begin to shake.

the gaping jaws of loneliness gorge on my soul.

feast on my heart.
it is all i have to give.
for the rest of me is gone.
it is all i have to give.

a melancholy tune.

she strums, through the night
black tears, polluted streams
down her face, the lonely hillside
blood trails, o'er metallic chords
skin scraping, on wooden neck
drunken laughter, escapes the lips
mother divine, now unknown
two friends, hand in hand
cannot deny them, comfort she craves.

she strums, through the night
soft melodies, richochet and bounce
inside her mind, senses aching
emotions a nuisance, wishing for sight
toiling 'tween decisons, perceptions alike
head bows, hands become slack
plectrum falls, her own music
begins descent, a restless slumber
she will wake, pressed against body
pale ashen face, eyes forlorn
melancholy tune she played, now forgotten.

"I am small, like the wren, and my hair is bold ... and my eyes, like the pools of sherry in the bottom of the glass that the guest leaves behind."

haze.

there it is again
that constant bass rhythm
trying to break free
from the melody that
attemps to pin it down
restrain the power
it grasps over the minds
of the shadows dancing
arms held high
strobe lights flaring
eyes closed
giving in
to the temptations
the heat, the rushing blood
pulsing bodies
skin to skin
close, too close
the heart beats
with the rhythm of the bass

as blade plunges
into arteries infused
with wicked anticipation
rushing blood, gushing blood
release in the flow
temptation to feel
to be, alive
keep moving
keep beating
with the rhythm of the bass
pain implodes within
a scream, slicing through the heat
knees buckle, the gentle thud
of euphoria hitting the floor
insanity, as red pours
hot, sticky, wet
worshipping the agony
the power of disguised control
the rhythm is cunning
the mind is distracted
as broken metal sinks
red turns to black
sound fades
as the heart is left to beat
with the rhythm of the bass.

twisted.

hours after accepting
i have moved on
from the person i have loved
for over a year,

i am now nursing the wounds
of an altered friendship
that i didn't want to change
that i never meant to ruin.

a yearning to be held
to be consoled
it proved too much, inevitable
for boundaries, limits were left unspoken
now i know.

i can do no more wrong
as my chest caves in again
for the things i touch
are already twisted
before i can blink.

i chose life the hard way.
i must learn from my mistakes
or else time
will wear me away.

nearly there.

my love for you
                        was all that was left of me.

i'm nearly there
                       so close to forgetting you.

the person i once knew
                                   the face, the voice.

the person i love
                         the person i loved.

i will never forget
                          although i think you want me to.

i will always be here
                              as the person you now need me to be.

as one love fades
                          another grows.

no longer a lover
                         but a sibling, closest friend.

no regrets this time
                            no going back.


'there seemed something tragic
                                             in a friendship so coloured by romance.'


maybe, the most beautiful things
                                                adhere the worst tragedies.

in the end.


                          

through her lover's eyes.

she is only beautiful, when she sees herself through her lover's eyes.

without her lover, she can only be nothing.

for now, as she looks upon her staring figure in the glass, she cannot believe her beauty.

her lover was a liar.

but it could not be her lover's fault.

her lover must've been blinded.

yes, that was it.

she was only beautiful, when she saw herself through her lover's eyes.

now the lover is gone.

mirror broken.

confidence shattered, into small, glistening pieces.

deep, purple tears are useless, for there is no lover to see them.

to embrace them. kiss them. love them.

in the reflection of darkest bronze.

she was elegant, brave, seductive.

the person she wanted to be.

the girl her lover wanted.

through her lover's eyes.

but the lover left.

she is only beautiful, when she sees herself through a lover's eyes.

without a lover, she can only be nothing.

nothing.

compound gates.

let me hold you again
let your body melt into mine
this will always be the divide between us
a distance i regret
i was carried through my childhood
privileged, protected, blessed
i never saw danger, witnessed evil
until you lifted the blindfold
and i chose to open my eyes
the world as it always had been
how you had grown amidst the noise
revealed its cruel severity
overwhelming my perceptions
shattering my beliefs
the walls of my infant compound crumbling
as cruel reality swallowed me whole
yet you have known no difference
a curse or a blessing?
i could never understand
i wish, perhaps, that i'd caught a glimpse
of your deep, fierce eyes
no younger than i
but wiser of the world and his
endless traps and tricks.
sometimes i wonder, though
who is saving who?

writing sets the soul free.

i wonder what would happen if everyone in this world was given a piece of paper and a pen, and told to write.

just write. anything. the first anything that comes to mind.

it wouldn't have to be profound, prophetic, poetic. simply words, phrases, sentences, paragraphs, pages full of knowledge, understanding, experiences and stories. individuality to the extreme.

imagine the extent of luscious details you would read! alphabets and languages from across the earth; so many people, humans recording a mere fragment of their existence that could never be written by anyone else.

just think of the sheer scale of it, how you could know so much about a person purely by watching their thoughts scatter themselves across a page - so many diverse opinions and beautiful dreams. so many ways to set a soul free.

it feels as if i am the only person awake right now. i could do anything. leap out of my window and run through the night. fearless and in complete control. the overpowering surge of freedom.

i believe that writing sets the soul free. so this is me, sprinting through the darkness, lighting candles with my mind. being vulnerable never seemed so fun before.

eyes of a whore.

anger

like a disease

grows inside me

clawing through sinew and bone

vision clouds

hands shake

pushing against ribcage

trapped, wild

whites of eyes, vivid

hazel turned to red

teeth gritted

preventing the internal rage

from being unleashed

whenever i see your face.

read your words.

hear your voice.

remember.

is it anger?

or is it jealousy?

hatred?

 lust?

repulsion? 

fury?

 malevolence?

it makes me sick

to think we are the same

that we shared a piece

of one another

in order to be me

do i have to be you?

sometimes, i am

ashamed to be

who i am, who we are

everyone thinks its easy

i make a joke out of it

but you make me despise

my luxurious sin

i am aware of it

smeared all over my skin

sticky, cold, suffocating

just like you

but you wear it like

a fur coat and heels

down a cobbled street in the dark

labelled

come, take all you want

i don't give a shit

what else is there

it makes me sick

and yet

i crave your attention

i hate how you give that girl

all your 'love'

once, you held me in your arms

i felt safe, protected

happy with myself, with you

i didn't want to leave

part of me wishes

i hadn't

you make me hate to be different.

i yearn

so badly

its painful

to be held again

loved again

caressed

cared for

as much as i

want to love another

care for another

physical contact, a growing need

i must be touched

to survive

an choking addiction

reduced to tears

as i lie

alone.

i hate you for forcing upon me

the imprisonment of solitude.

even though it wasn't your fault.

your eyes.

clear, bright blue.

i was always drawn to them.

i never want to see them again.

for your sake

for i fear

the anger inside me

might break out

and gouge those gorgeous eyes

from your innocent face.

my only exception.

fingernails scrape across raw, bitter skin
wrists restrained behind cold metal bars
eyes closed, lips apart
bruises flourish, caught between teeth
you never asked
i never asked
we never had the chance

hand in hand,
blades of grass whispering against shins
as the sun sets behind us
we forgot to return
happy, as lovers should be
simple contact infused with emotion
i thought the world lay before us
but we never had the chance

lying in the heat
a haze, passion in tangible form
we grasped it
bodies close, minds closer
no need for time, lost in eachother
interrupted, i don't think we finished
we just never had the chance

now
i look towards his silver surface
and see your face
i struggle to tear my gaze away
your love in chains
they hurt, i can't breathe
cannot move away
letters, words, pass me by
i am left behind
we never had the chance

blood mixed with tears
hate entwined with love
the soft, white fabric clings to your chest
a touch to my spine
a smile, as my limbs shake
the connection shared, my soul bared
reflected in the darkest brown
you, my only exception
i gave it all to you
we never had the chance
i never had the chance
to say how much i loved you.

do you remember?

do you remember what happened
last year? right now?

of course you don't.

why would you?

i was soaking in the balmy waters of hope, smiling at a hazy future that seemed too slow to start.

i turn back and look down. so much has occured, so much i have learned.
but still, i must wait for the two things i desire.

i turn my head up, towards the rest of my life. suspended on a red rope, walking skywards.

should i raise myself above my friends, and become the person i should be?
or stay just here,
right here,
with you, and be the person i want to be?

do you remember what happened last year?

maybe you do.

stranded.

she sits, still.
amidst the growing tide and deafening storm.
perched on a rock, beneath the eye.

black stars printed on her bare shoulders.
wings ripped from her shadow.
dignity lost.

violet hair escapes into the gale.
the only movement she makes.
as the world trembles before her.

the shrieks of the nearing apocalypse.
they do not faze her.
she is stranded, in the clutches of chaos.

silent tears carving unspoken words.
salt of the ocean, intertwined.
with the salt of the buried soul.

the moisture lost from fearless waves.
smeared over her naked skin.
glistening, wet, melting with the blue.

open, exposed, welcoming release.
yet she will not surrender to her captor's seduction.
beauty and wit never leave her side.

the cold cannot penetrate her.
she clings to the warmth inside.
she belongs in the air, resting on crimson wings.

defiant, she sits, still.
wounds yearning for affection.
waiting her turn.

the ocean floor.

lying on the ocean floor
staring up
with blind eyes
as the salt
gushes down my throat
i fear that if i
close my eyes
i'll wake up
and my soul will be
taken, emotions lost
senses perished
feelings gone
i need something
to hold onto
i dont want to
fade away
a living ghost
give me your hand
and i promise i wont
drag you down with me
down down down
to the ocean floor.

to feel nothing.

no tears will flow
no words will come
i want to feel
my heart is numb.

my hands are weak
all ink run dry
the mind is caged
afraid to try.

to flee the void
where souls are chained
where bones are charred
and spirits wane.

i lie and wait
for passion's claim
to fuel the fire
within again.

my thoughts are trapped
they'e breaking me
from inside, out
please, let them free.

they slice, i bleed
i fall, a coward
emotions hide
depression devours.

faces behind the glass.

i dream of faces. faces behind the glass.
peering through the window, faces from my past.
faces i'd left behind, gotten over, pushed away.
now i can't help but think, perhaps they're here to stay.

i turn once and see him staring
i turn again and gaze into darkness
just a shadow, pale silvers and greys
curved black lips
and eyes.

a deep crimson, filled with malice,
malevolence and desire,
i struggle to look away, for he is still,
but his stare is wild
i crave it.

sometimes he's laughing
sometimes he's screaming
mostly he's glaring
rarely does he flinch
if i linger for more than i should
i fear he might
tilt his head to one side,
lean forwards through the glass
and whisper my name.

temptation is strong
for as much as the terror paralyses my limbs
i longed for the intoxication
of his piercing gaze
to allow the adrenalin to
poison my bloodstream
and fling me into the complete control
of the faces,
many faces
behind the glass.

warmth.

she lay, in pieces, her back against the wall. a shaft of light fell across her pale body, concealing the scars, besides the dry blood splashed in distress across her forehead. veins, blue and mottled, vividly trailing down her arms, unnerving and distinct. her eyes were open. unflinching, they were bottomless. dead. yet her shallow breathing echoed off the concrete, in tune with the steady, single drip of water in the corner of the cell.

barely alive, barely human. when emotions had run dry, could she call herself a person anymore?

she clenched her hand into a fist; the first movement she'd made in hours. tears wouldn't come; she had none left to cry. no energy, nothing.

but her mind would not let go, would not give up. despite the cold seeping up through the ground and into her bones, she felt a deep warmth spread under her skin, and a light presence land on her still frame. she tried to jerk away from the contact, but somehow she knew it wasn't hostile. after a while, she relaxed into the warmth, sinking into the bliss of safety. however brief it may be, for she knew the illusion wouldn't last long, she couldn't help but surrender to it, slowly but fully.

the presence she felt behind her was now enveloping her back, chest, legs, arms. it melted into her, not invading, but protecting her fragile form. she saw an image in her mind: wings, the colour of her lover's hair, so soft to touch. they brushed against skin, fuelling a powerful sedative through her bloodstream and into her soul. so serene, she could barely breathe; yet she didn't need to. her heart began to slow, like a pendulum in its final days of ticking time away. unconsiousness drifted over her, like a blanket from her past laid over a child's delicate, sleeping shadow.

in the moments before she fell back through the tinted veil, she heard a whisper. a faint smile lifted at the corners of her lips. she knew he would stay until morning. then, she was lost.

your song.

her fingers caress the keys
white and black
to sound and back.

they sit and smile
knocking glasses
as time passes.

relax, concentrate
a youthful mind
the joy it finds.

in simple pride
and quiet praise
she acts her age.

muffled noise
through doors closed
a wall imposed.

i stand and stare
can't understand
this wasn't planned.

of my doing
memories blur
remorse stirs.

i can't lose them
but to connect
i musn't protect.

the secrets lie
within the keys
inside of me.

come here.

"come here," i murmured softly.

out of the darkness, he ambled clumsily to my bedside. he was little more than an apparition, a combination of black, white and grey, his white-blonde hair a shade of silver in the murky light. without hesitation, he climbed under the sheets beside me. warmth radiated from him as he burrowed closer into me, not making a sound. i held him tightly. his breathing slowed, his figure faded, and i was left alone, just like before.
my eyes opened.

this, i understood.

my collection of guilty pleasures. another one returned.

my little boy.

bell rings
doors slammed open
feet charge through desolate corridors
end of a school term
inmates released early
a rare privilege
for the ones who know nothing about the world.

i am the last to leave
slouching past deserted classrooms
chairs left haphazardly, tables askew
my solitary footsteps echo
even the knowledgeable ones have fled,
alone, finally, a sigh of relief
the weight of driven learning
lifted for a short while.

descending the cold, stone staircase
i see him before i hear him
close-cropped blonde hair, pale skin
bright eyes, beautiful sapphire blue
he runs towards me, fiercly focused
on catching my attention
afraid of letting me out of his sight.

i reach the bottom step as he does
a claw scrapes my abdomen -
confusion? anticipation? fear?
arms oustretched, he cries out
i catch him as he falls
stand him back on his feet
with a sure, steady gaze
he smiles at me
a charmer; i smile back.

instantly, i fall in love with him
it chokes me, burns me
not yet ready to understand
a tiny hand on my cheek
i watch him speak a word i cannot define
then he is gone
lost to me.

i place my hand
in the shadow of his
and realise
i am crying.