If I come to terms then my world will collapse.
You said time's made of pockets, so when in doubt just dance.
Once I was guiding light that he wouldn't go without,
Now a mass of ash, dry in starving mouths.
Remember how I melted into the carpet that moved; the ebb and flow?
Remember the day we stayed up through a hurricane, remember ****** snow?
Memory is a sacrifice buried at our ***** feet,
Sacraments that leave our minds incomplete.

You were my purgatory, your burning makes me clean,
I sat in Persephone's throne, it's fit for a queen.
Stolen maiden turned *****, six seeds seal fate.
I'm consort on your royal tour, but you need to abdicate.
Your morganatic lover under covers.
Sharpened claws hide in kitten's paws,
Concern hovers, while I discover
Who I am, will be, and was.

Like a chrysalis hatched a week too early,
Like plastic, pulled from Laura Palmer's head,
Like latex, pulled over another's,
Like sheets, ripped out from under,

Fear, excitement,

Anticipation.

Words, heavy, dripping from lips;
Lazily falling to the ground with resolve.
A sense of finality,
Blunt ends, fullstop.

Sleepy eyes, bedroom eyes,
Lacking in focus, in definition.
A crown of feathers, a crown of thorns,
Talking heads with sacral scorn.

How fast the seasons change,
I survived a hellfire hurricane.

Smart men are incredibly attractive.

Tiny toes pitter patter,
The dish, the spoon, china clatters,
In the end it doesn't matter,
Nothing is new anymore.

Reduce, reuse, and recycle,
Take an inch, I go a mile.
Faces tighten with a smile,
Tired ankles, wanderlust-sore.

Marching songs, stomping feet,
Blood shed on the fresh cleaned street,
Sight of violence, scent of defeat,
Find a way home, find a way home.

Louder voices, stronger words,
Fleeing children, roosting birds,
Frame and focus, rule of thirds,
Final days of the Peace of Rome.

Love is an iron anchor,
Who keeps a strudy home,
Who seals the fate of the falling.

Love is a burning bush,
So glorious it has to ignite,
Brighter than the sun, yet inflammable.

Love is the sound of the seaside winds,
Ethereal whispers turned howls,
Spawning waves to tug and hug the coast line.

Love is a family home,
With age comes more memories,
With time comes more maintenance.

Love is half a cigarette,
A safety net when you need it,
A stink you can't wash off.

Love is but a nightmare,
A beautiful dream gone wrong,
What lofty ideas did desire taint?

Love is a game of house,
Familiar, easy archetypes; performance,
Life is a game, a good friend said.

Love is a double-edged sword,
The strongest weapon,
Your hands always end up ****** when you use it.

Love is pride.
Gaining ownership, control, security.
Love is shame.
Losing autonomy, independence, sanity.

Love is the fuel of the Beloved,
Sacred mana,
Emotional crack-*******.

You are the golden boy,
I, silver.
Your immaculacy is enhanced,
As I stand, downstage/left:
Tarnished.
Trophies are coveted,
Trophies are discarded,
Shiny space-fillers, second place is shame.

I want to be as a child's toy,
torn to shreds with use,
A noble way to go.


You are sanctified, your apotheosis is imminent.
I will stand witness to the fall,
I will stand witness to you.
A one-way ticket to hell, comfortable in a designer handbag.

Dry scents linger in paralyzed air,
Creeping bony fingers,
A comforting specter, and a reminder of home,
But the sky's children freeze before they're born.
Miscarriages of moisture,
Nurturing nectar gone sour,
You will provide nothing.

We were parodies of our parents,
Twisted mirror images,
Emulating something we can’t understand,
Trying to mimic something we haven’t seen.
Unsure of what we are, or were, or will become.
Control is the new black, painted on the walls in our love shack
That hasn’t had a visitor since this time last spring
Light filters through muggy dust, floating through the air like plankton in the sea,
And we were the whales, filtering through our mouths,
Unable to consume anything more substantive.
Our teeth fell out with old age,
But my face is still smooth.
We are green shoots, erupting with violence from the malnourished soils,
Desperate for a drop of sunlight,
Sweet relief.
Sweetest silence in another’s company,
Words were made to lie with,
Bodies are made to lie with,
As they huddle together to try to warm up,
But my hair is needles, and my arms are razor blades;
Steely coldness, severing all that tries to warm it up,
Stabbing what gets too close,
Feeling like you're quarantined.
The phoenix is reborn to be given the chance,
to be the man he thought he could never be,
But scrub and scald, the slate won't come clean,
The only escape is constant escape,
Never stop moving.
Venom leaks from my skin,
Bright colours warn predators,
While sweet sounds attract mates,
Aural honey sticks in the holes we put in my brain,
And for about three minutes and forty-seven seconds
Everything is about the vibrations.