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.