Once I know that I'm not magnificent
the wire twisted around my heart will slip away
and I will be content with peacefully dying
at 90
and having everyone forget my essence
rather than being chewed up and spat out by the universe
gone by 30
to encounter some sort of immortality
to leap across the length and breadth of legacy.
But to live in a calm contented rhythm,
to let go of the panging in
my lungs
to be more than human.
the secret is beyond me

I left one day, when I thought that I was an alien.
The brief pilgrimage to the sky, I have spent passing through Dover Beach and the Wasteland.
Barely a life in technicolour, a half-unconquerable soul.
The popular nothings dance, eyes so dark within their sockets. The sun looks soporific on their shoulder blades, to the point that we can’t convince ourselves we’re still the same.
I wish you could see the veins of earth, pumping beneath the waves. It’s a story I long to write for you- curious but not yet brave. Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth, I am too afraid to disturb the universe.  
One day we’ll all be stories that get told, told incorrectly. My tale will grow old, so I leave.

The fish, like people, swimming in sync.
All swimming around a tank disguised as magic- a world pretending to be beautiful.
The only difference is the sense of indifferent certainty.
The fish completely accept how small they are in the myriad of birth, death and evolution.
We are doomed to question.
I feel that they are accepting of futility rather than ignorant of it, as believed by most.
The sharks are the most magnificent, they have power to destroy yet they live through peace- that is the most beautiful phenomenon of all.
Most of us, all of them, seem unbothered by this perpetual routine.
My eyes begin to mirror the contents of the salty tank, filling with magical mystery.
He echoed my thoughts. The boy I am completely inlove with kissed me under a sky of turtles and whispering kelp.
That moment exists with the few that convince me there is more than an ancient, repetitive cycle.
He is alive with me. Believes that I am more than the half-life I am doomed to live. Always my first love to have awakened my belief in grace, my craving to live in the unconquerable light.
Teal glow, shark shadows and moon-cold kisses.

We look to the stars because they mean nothing.
Nothing but the mirror of what is thought and felt by the beholder.
All the chaos of my heart is inhaled into the dark sky,
where I make my own constellation
to understand what makes no sense.

Charting and analysing the spheres of flame
that fell into the night by predestined accident
as if they hold
the greatest secret of all.

They hold wishes that fly, souls that have died ad a sense of perspective
that cannot be traced anywhere else.
While the subways around create the perfect sound
for my emotion fatigue,
I'll paint the dusk with something new.
No on will see the same stars
that I do.

the car smelt like it had once belonged to a rental company
the car smelt like cheap cigarettes had been puffed too many times
we turned out of your hospital home,
always filled with disinfectant, gummy bears and sulking roses, machines beeping.
I saw a rainbow hug your room
I thought that maybe you
were being showered with the possible blessing of life.
but that was just a reflection of my greatest wish.
you were gone.

you see the world in shades of sun.
can you teach me how to do that?
how to envelop everything with such love & compassion
that the world is incapable of breaking you.
don't hold me.
don't carry me to the river.
I already love you too much to see you leave.
yet you are free of me. you're free
of any insecurity that grabs at the hearts
of the rest of us.
and I have never met anyone whose eyes
are most beautiful when they cry

She was doing nothing.
Except lying there, holding up the galaxy.
She could not rid herself of that responsibility
For every cell beckons
Her sweetest downfall.
To give her life to another
Only so that the other
May, one day, do the same.

I run
I know I am nothing without them
And when I most wish to stop being nothing
Then the craving to run back to those I have fled comes back with unbearable strength.
Until I see arms, bringing me their gift of death.
I come back here, to live my half-life of loneliness.

I cannot believe your truth.
Because those who are truly original cannot grow here.
Longing to be defined by my thoughts rather than my actions,
And shame for this evident cowardice.
If you are all-kind and I am carved into your right hand, in your image
How am I to be sacrificed as a nothing
In the name of a plan
Not even evident that you understand?

Beautiful girl with eyes so dark within their sockets
The essence of woman.
Adapting while effortlessly embracing strength
Concrete fluidity.
Only she is the muse to Hemingway’s unconquerable soul.
She holds the sunset on her breath
Inhale a little bit
Now vanished is my fear of death