Maybe we're making ourselves upset,
sitting in cubes of air
conditioned to make us feel sick,
racing back and forth
in our poisonous bugs,
and I'm thinking

One day you'll find me sitting
in a green field on a busy motorway,
singing the blues and talking to clouds, looping dead daises into a chain,  
thinking about gypsies
in their little world of colour,
trapping their secrets inside caravans,
laughing at the rest of you who
race to the end of the world, daily,
eyes to your cars and the concrete.
I'm thinking

One day I'll be standing
in the middle of that field again,
under skies black, void of mercy,
wondering why everyone left so soon,
taking in gulps of poisonous air,
flashbacks to the pieces of history
I'll have to keep to myself.

*Maybe we're making ourselves upset.

My stomach feels like deadweight.
My arms are about to fall off.
My lungs feel like they're paper frail.
My teeth hurt from smiling.
My mind has gone on overdrive.
    My heart's functioning automatic.
Lately I haven't felt anything but
the air that I'm breathing.
Theres a whole world revolving right now and I'm just sitting here wasting water.
People want a taste of death but
I want to feel alive again.
There are things I have to do
but I lie awake unnmoving for hours.
I lie to everyone I make contact with,
every ******* day.
Deep down I feel the tremors of an earthquake that may never surface.
**I'm waiting.

Undercover, Spy-like
Wondering if I'm your type
Take a quick guess to
Figure out this mess;
You simply cant-
My words are overdressed.
You can never tell.
Features adorning a mask
of pure  insincerity- Alas!
What I am or what I may be
The lies are always some kind of me.
You don't know me, Nobody does
For I've never known
How to blindly trust
Leaving it behind
Every ******* time
The past continues to turn to dust
A path of ashes
trailing behind me
Lingering at
my frozen feet
I am suspicious mystery-
Incognito history.

I've started talking to the insects
crawling along the bedroom floor.
They scuttle away
when there's nothing to say,
but I still talk some more.
I find myself conversing with
the paint on these four walls.*
They stare back at me
without expression,
but I continue much like before.
I text myself
inside my head at night
before I close my eyes.
I find that these conversations
can get lonely sometimes;
atleast I get replies.

The hungry beast.
She left me alone
For a couple of weeks;
She had left me in liberty

She has now set herself free

She's the invisible spider
Crawling all over my body.
She's the magical monster
Climbing inside of me.

I dread the nights,
I put up a fight;
Insomnia likes to cheat

She promises an hour
That hour becomes *eight
The sun leaves me blinded
I'm not ready for today...

You're screaming at me
and I don't understand
but all I can see
is the blood on my hands
Regrets splattered colourfully,
an array of guilt
A constant reminder
of the walls that I've built.
I needed somebody
to show me the way home
Now that you're not around
I feel dangerously alone
Dear future memories,
welcome to my danger zone.
It's irresistible,
now my nightmares have grown.

Shutters down,

No windowlight,

Not a single sound.


A scratching quill,

A windowsill;

A couple of flyaway pages.


Scribbling down

My Incoherent muse',

Desperate attempts

At a poem or two.


Trying to find

A you and I

In this world

I've created.

Your compassion for art
Led me to think I loved it too,
But it wasn't art I grew to love
**It was the memory of you.

Missing you tastes like death,
if it had a flavour.
Lately I've been getting bad breath,
and my conscience is unstable.
I haven't been able to find a solution,
put a conclusion  to this sadness,
this madness the distance has instilled
inside me-
It hurts.
It burns.
Forces my brain to take a wrong turn,
churning up the bad thoughts
like mouthwash-
more like dirt.
Over and over-
until the mouthwash starts stinging
my gums and the dirt begins to rot my teeth.
Missing you might taste like death, however
I don't know how death tastes;
**I haven't tried it yet.

Let's stay shadows
dancing in the face of light

Let's masquerade at a ball for two;
A private venue just for me and you

We could really let go,
work something out
We could stay timelessly young
&
Sing until out lungs give out

Shut down our minds,
just for tonight

We could really do it

*If I was at the right place,
if you had the time.

I see you liked my poetry,
how do you like my brain?
Does it seem like it's original,
or another 'stain 'pon the page'?

No, tell me in all honesty
How'd you end up here?
Make it a grand story
(Even if it's actually lame)

Wait, did I mention honesty?
Bah; not like I'll see the lies.
And here's my small philosophy:
lies make for real fun times

So this won't get many likes
I figure that now, I just don't mind.
Bah; who do I look like I'm kidding
Be nice and give me a like!

Unroll me like an ancient scripture.
Flick through my pages,
a creased-binding book.
Boring descriptions
you choose to overlook.
but in retrospect,
I've got you hooked.
Caress the frail pages
that once used to be bark,
watch out for papercuts,
my edges are sharp.
Absorbed in the middle,
you almost forget
there are 142 pages
that you've left unread-
and yet you read on,
though some pages are torn,
but what matters to you
isn't my physical form.
It's the miracles born-
those thoughts you adore,
written down with such care
that you're scared to read on...
But Alas!
Time passes so fast!
there are three pages left
but you want this to last,
so in your own mind
you'll tirelessly write-
yes, thats right,
you don't want to end this-
you'll stand up and fight.
And as you hug me tight,
and re-read me on sleepless nights,
I'll keep your thoughts safe
bound between my own pages
until our lives
entwine once again.

Do not be afraid;
go ahead, like my page,
because oftentimes sad is
the only thing I am,
and if it is in sadness
that I am solely literate,
I shall be sad,
and when you happen
to give it a like,
*I will be unspeakably glad.

Left to stumble alone,
a mockery of happiness.

Limping over broken twigs,
paws stained a dark red: I cry.

Shadows of sin chase me,
and I howl to the stars above.

Nobody looks twice
at the sad wolves that cry
into the blackness of night.

Stepping on thorns,
pushing through brambles:
A lone tear leaks through
the blue of my eyes.

I am only pieces
Of what my pack left behind;
*They stole my pride.

I've never understood
What this really meant...
So I'll tell you what I've gathered
From all the ones I've seen
Hand over their hearts
To "The One" of their dreams.
                
Love is a ray of sunshine
On a lonely, hopeless day.
Love is that immense joy
That can never be portrayed.

Love is that rush of adrenaline
The surge of aliveness in your bones
The craving for skin on skin,
The lust for the one, deep within.

Love is a promise
An oath of "together forever".
But love is a coin with two sides,
And here's the reason why.

Love is a weakness,
You depend on another.
Love is destruction,
When that person leaves, for some other.

Love is desperation,
When you blindly trust.
Love is the need
To find someone to lust.

Love is agonising
When you're not good enough.
Because love never lasts long
But is left as ashes and dust.
                  
That is why
On the subject of love
I'm thoroughly confused
I've explained why, above.

Your eyes
Your hair
Your captivating stare
Our similarities
Our differences
Our moments we share
The thought of you
The thought of me
The thought of what is meant to be
My universe
My time
My energy
All stand before me
The fireworks  in your eyes
In my stomach are butterflies
What we have is explosive
Dangerous yet breathtaking
Our hearts entwined
In this fragile web.
The spider is fate
And it brought us together
*To destroy us forever.

Reader, lover, pioneer.
Lover of words,
Conqueror of fears.

kaleidoscope of jagged shards
create this face, forever changed
against all possibility
imperfect pieces rearranged

where light is twofold magnified
and shadows waltz within the light
and waves of light, of liquid gold
now break behind unseeing eyes

then fleets of doves assail the skies
in graceful waves, untethered flight
toward my vacant heart they glide
my thoughts unowned, now occupied

one string of fate, two counterparts
diminished light, a distant star
your presence, through the fog, is felt:
a lighthouse in the dark

What if** your brain
was just a small packet of popcorn
that desperately needed
a microwave.

What if it refuses
to operate
until you show it some love-
Let it open itself up.

What if all it wanted was
to feel a little more lightweight-
'pop' away the pressure of being
confined to a head-cage.

What if our brains
Were just raw popcorn pieces
That needed some heating
To melt away the pain.

Today I made a memory
It sits upon blue flame
Today I changed my destiny
Life is a memory game.

Our heads
will hurt,
Our bones
will break.

We ******
love;
Our hearts,
they ache.

So dance
with the shadows
your candles
create.

Learn some
lessons,
and make
some mistakes.

Fire
breeds love,
and flames
create hate.

We were old friends
Playing the part of strangers.
We were close friends
Experimenting with emotions.
Time stopped for a few moments;
There wasn't enough time.
You smiled, I smiled.

Rapid changes colour the days
Time rushes forward, weeks become grey
Moments don't last & memories fade
Next year I'll wonder how this one passed

Trudging along this endless road
Stuck at the end; a T-junction
I read the map just yesterday,
Despite my efforts, I've lost my way.

Make more mistakes; I never learn
As the winter bonfires fight to burn
Mistakes have paved my path so far
Next year should be just as bizarre!

Nostalgia burns behind her eyes.
So many faces, too many lies.

When I was younger,
from the age of four.
I ran to my room,
Barricaded the door.
I would go to my corner,
And sit on the floor.
Myself, I would remind
Of my supposed crimes.
And I would cry;
I would drown myself in misery galore,
Until I couldn't take much more.
And during this time
Once you came inside,
Looked around the room
Then turned off the light.
You didn't see me,
Didn't look hard enough
For the girl breaking herself,
For the crimes she'd never done.
It's not a matter of caring,
Or maybe it is
But you never tried hard enough.

Now let me tell you this,
in the midst of my 'teens
In this new life, it seems
You would never have thought,
Or could never believe
When I do something wrong
And you punish me,
With knives from your mouth
Far worse than before
I go to my room,
Barricade the door
Telling myself,
Could I take this anymore?
I thought things would be better,
Since the worst of it stopped
But I sit by the wall,
On the right of the room
Hoping that right
Would embrace me soon

But I hear them carry on,
With their time passing ****
Forget my existence!
Stay in your bubble of bliss
But know that I love you...
I don't have a choice
When you'll be gone
In your grave, you'll rejoice
Or maybe you'll mourn, the daughter you hurt
You'll notice, as a spirit, the girl internally burnt.
Because even in your grave
When you're dead and gone,
I'll never forget
How you left me torn.
How you walked out of my life,
And turned out your light
And never noticed
Your Girl in the corner,
Out of sight.
And thanks to you I can endure pain
Yet I could never endure you
And this may sound insane
But thank you for these walls you helped build;
For all the blood that you spilled.
Because I've learned my lesson
Never to love
You caused this fear
Due to the above.

i am the silt of the ocean bed
falling into places i am not meant for
swept away from where i would like to be
floating, drifting into scene
sinking, falling back to sleep

Falling for a poet
is like swimming in an ocean
of warm, blue water,
with currents that never cease
and waves with a constant flow.

Natural, the water is,
though some would call it
*****, unfiltered* & dangerous-
and dangerous it is, absolutely!
Swim in too deep and
you'd probably drown in its volume!

Oceans cannot be tamed,
Oceans cannot be blamed,
Oceans can be changed.

But if you do get out of the ocean alive,
if you do manage to conditionally survive,
you would be leaving the water
*****, poisoned & polluted.  

Hence, the poet shall write.

I want to run through green fields
screaming at the sun;
fearless.

I want to climb a mountain whole
and swim free in the ocean;
thoughtless.

I want to dance among the trees
and sit somewhere cosy,
pondering over love.

I want to walk through this city
and listen to my music,
slowly falling apart.

I want desperately
to breathe in
the madness of nature.

I've never known falsehood
like the empty laughter at a party
or when the people dance
inside the limitations of
what is normal, what is preferred.

Nobody decided dance
had to be executed a certain way.
All you need to do is sway.

I will not accept the pollution
of the people around me.

You'll never see souls
Spray painted with pink
You'll never know stereotypes
Or make judgments, too quick
You'll watch how each soul floats
With a grace of their own
And the presence of everyone
Will always be known
Because if we were all just souls
Floating around, all alone
With no bodies to define
The beauty that's shown.
Everyone would be beautiful
In their own magnificent way
And tomorrow would always
Be a beautiful day.

these are old bones, bones of the dead,
bones that don't belong inside a body

bones that decay, abandoned first aid,
and forgotten calcium supplements

Baba, in life you took my soul, I thought,
so I held my heart away from your hands

Baba, I have no use left for it now,
bury it deep under great piles of dead land

I've been told by the birds that you're not in the sky but in fact, just beyond my eye's reach

I've been told by the cemetery stones and old trees that the earth houses empty bodies

Some days I think you are trapped in the clouds,
but they pass to reveal mirthless blue

Some days I think you'll walk right through the door, but the foyer is clean of your marrow

Baba, these bones have aged too soon, with unlived years I dreamt to share with you

Good years, after the last of the wars, in which love surely wins, triumphant over all

Years of peace, filled with the light of the sun
I witnessed warming you in your grave

That sun, over sands of sandspit beach,  painting us, bathed in gold this December

4 months, and these bones creak along to your song, it goes:

I miss you, I love you, come home

the composer, the symphony
the poet, the poetry
the artist, the masterpiece

the poet
is no poetry.
the artist
is no masterpiece.

the instrument,
until played,
carries no melody.

these conflicting qualities
could never meet.

~

Echoes reverbate inside
this blue satellite,
signals of sadness and
ashen butterflies.

It's the little things
that bring nature to life,
smaller still are
the things that **** light.

quiet, stolen brightness
oh, it doesn't belong to me
but this sky is your black ceiling,
I'm just trying to be seen
and I see you-
I see you-
I see you shying away, yes
every few days, there's less,
every month the same cycle,
over and over again
and you don't know
how much is too much
and you don't know
when you'll be enough
and you're stuck
cutting those pieces
and you struggle
to bring them back
back to largeness,
back to circular-
insecurity,
phases of the moon,

and the Sun does smirk
in the morning blue.