No pressure to be up today,
blessed or cursed, hold on

the hands in yours may be tiny,
of passion, steady, familiar,
frail or memorial

they touch the same
and need you here x

We can talk about suicide
we can
no one will ever want to
but its hands wander wider than you’d think

Each tear you blink on the back of it
is wrought with confusion:
was it?
is it?
can it?
how do I?
what do I?
what should I?

But the truth is lost
like in 7.8 billion
a healthy unhealthy percentage of which
have had enough
and you know some of ‘em

So ask them, yeah?
ask them a lot
repeatedly like an annoying clock

Ask them

Dreaming in Moonshine  
Soaking into songs heard only through  
The vibrations of insect wings  

Breathing in their scented infusions within a double scene inside another unfolding painted image of what appears to be
A still depleting life  

Casting shadows over my restless thoughts of both promise and deceit which constitutes the inner fold of what is love…  
the counterfeit of existence
that lends itself to real
What is real (in my world)?

Coming forth to me
in moments in phases from
within  
the possible  
  
That lingers until the end of pond’s length  containing the infinite drops that continue to fill it up  by the immaculate hand of heaven’s reach  
entrapping the limits   that give shape to such incongruity  

(There  are always limits in the future even though there are so many possible ones in life- even if there are so many possibilities for us to see, to understand, to believe in, and to experience)

Traipsing into waters unknown  
I learn the diligence of the dragonfly who hinges  
on existential wings  

On this journey of trial and error  
I discover freedom wholly through the mystification of my own will and the emancipation of choice
only to be surrounded by the empty court of judgment  


Seeing through buzz eyes  dripping in nectar  
an opalescent tune raises its brow  
to trigger  
The wind, which blows against the tenderness of heart yet calm and  
(flowing) as if through a wand  

swaying in the glory  
that fate whispers in between the spaces of anorexic branches meeting  


How can the iridescence of a sound, of a single word

Press with such kindness and bathe in such grandeur  

I am amazed by the purity; by the simple beauty of this world  


I recall someone telling me that just once in your life do you meet

the one who gives you the belief you never could find


The deep  

stirring  

(surge)

of your spate  

running inside  

the cord of your spine

How is that I am free today?


I wish for immortal meaning :


(self- reproach)  

does not lead to fill me  


Questioning …

but simply knowing  

the stars  


As they look to me  

and choosing not to shine  

on skin  

not even  

into eyes of gold


they look down on me

mocking insecurity  

This is my reality at its core  


As they move  further  
in between their departing  


within a space  

of sky  

do they laugh  

subconsciously  

behind  the falsity

of a perfect smile  

looming  


while the moon just sits up straight  

and smirks beside  

with faint and covered faces

squinting eyes  


Never  hinting

that this could all be just a dream  

Unjust Inside these walls


But I know like a dream they will return  

to keep me company in the mist (of shadows)  

of a nightmare inside  

I’m now in battle
to avoid                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                 


At times I feel slighted  

yet wholly redeemed  

I feel respected  yet abused beyond all things

and sometimes it feels like I’m standing in front of the altar alone

(on the edge of the dock)  

peering down at everybody I’ve ever known  

about to dive in  
to land on slippery greens floating swiftly in between (the ripples)

I feel chosen
Yet  
I feel unseen  

Dispraised for the things I’ve done

feeling no pain

do I fade...

Away  

into the lambent (lucent)mist of efficacy:  

into the Elysian fields of transcendent virtue  


And there do I become everything I’ve ever loved, everyone I’ve ever known  

Only knowing that Love's darkest form is that of deceit in the illusion of each day, I am still. But more than that, I am still alive.
Thank you for saving my life.

Dedicated to Sophie Smith

I wonder if
you played here as a child?
Did you
hunt for treasure shells
write your name in shingle
snake seaweed around sand kingdoms.
Did you ever throw stones into the ocean
and watch the ripples as they spread?

Maybe
you’d tested yourself before.
Feet sunk into the shoreline,
sea foaming at your ankles
as you made your final choice.
Panic or calm,
fear or resolve.
Nothingness.

I bet  
the water had never
seemed so dark.
I hope you numbed quickly
limbs silent
nerves dull
lips salt-fresh and longing
for the end.


Jade Wright

Her breath was ice
Was she gone?
Waves of time did not move her
There was no fear
There was no joy
There were no sounds
Where is she?
Here eyes moved slowly
Her movement had intent
But she is not here
She is gone
A victim of her own struggle

White walls
Empty beds
Silent nights
They scream loudly
They scream in terror
Lights flashing
Empty hallways
That echo into nothing
Praying to my faith
Praying not to die
Hell has found its new home
I don't want to die
All the voices echoing in my head
I'm not crazy
White walls
I don't want to be here

My dog-soul forgets to feed
and starves black,
paces circles for a bed
and with dead weight,
settles

thought and action,
usually smitten with intricacies,
are quietly smothered to nothing

a flat purgatory
scored with white noise, overcast
rendered in a pauper’s palette
on a canvas with no edge

ticks remain untocked
until at some distance
a mechanism is rewound
and a leash jangled
for an ear to lazily lift again

Three AM awake, aching with lateness
wrestling alone
even if a significant other is next to you
or little breaths flutter in next rooms

Shadow boxing ridiculous odds
in a world and heart full
of treacle thick worries
weighting your punches ineffectual
just like in the fear-fever dreams
that woke you

You skirt the maw below
resting place of your almighty failures
as the sick orange glow
breaches curtains and makes
familiar shapes judgmental
tut tut tutting at your uselessness

Here, you are defenceless

Here, the black thoughts insinuate,
find cracks to prise and plant suggestions
of a better world without you in it:
the limit of you

Dig deep, my human kin
quietly get up,
make a cup of tea,
write a message or two
to yourself, or for others later

Bide and wait
for the mute loved heaviness of sleep to return
or the welcome thinness of morning light
to wash the darkness back

In the new day, reach out,
with steady voice or bubble-snot,
be heard and seen
by friends or strangers
and try to heal again