I think perhaps our first was not at the beginning. You crept down my throat and settled there.
You tasted my words before I did myself, the acidity rooted strongly in liquid letters.
I fell asleep with a river of thought pouring from my eyes and onto your skin without realizing what you were to take.
Not me seriously, in any case.
Our first was a whisky kick
***** in someone’s bath
A screaming silence
I, game player and you, changer. You had ringed your wrists in neon colours and anchored them to my lips.
Bind my breath to your cells so that I will know what I look like, to you.
You are in love with the idea of being in love,
Dear someone.
I have written countless poems.
I have buried you in the open space
Between every M and P
So that every ‘oh’ sounds off,
onomatopoeiaic. Our last was your realization as I came to terms with our first. The same. You are listening to music again. You are falling asleep again. You are silent,
Again.
I am counting my fingers to tell how many muscles I will exert to let you know. It is not that I confine to syllables but that they are confining me. It is not mystery I strive for.
Dear someone,
Our first was our only
Our last, not so
Dear someone,
I do not love you—
I am not sorry
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
They’re coming for you – human tendencies
On their mind
You matched your smile to my voice
—
And I whispered into the walls
A room full of bodies, who’s souls were yours
But not your own
They watch through glass lens
As I watched anything other than
Your eyes
Their movements were yours,
And in the hollows of night
They shed skin, alighting into skies of
Your voice
Had you heard me breathing words
—
Before?
They have — they are. Perhaps your ghost
Is the shape
The moon takes when I try to hold it
And
This
Distance
Is my heart from my head
When they reach you, open your
Ink stained arms, welcome loudest
And swallow them whole
We will not be
—
But those moments captured and
Replayed
Betray lips we share
As we cling to the debris
Of others
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
He ghosts through apartments long after three in the morning
Tracking in the residue of his night time wanderings through dreams
Curtains lift in the wake of his storm and rest on bare shoulders,
Life signs;
The figments and fragments of a hurricane he breathes.
Through open windows he leans, his soul reaching surface
Drawing moonlight into his skin, illuminating the ice he carries,
A chest cavity full of crystals and rainbow light
Breathing in shades of heated silver.
He has found a place for his bones to lie down and sleep, wrapped up tight
Spiders web to sew together and daisy chains round veins
His limbs - will become trees
I stand below, blinking upwards as he takes root and grows,
Resting burdens in the air
I - am a foolish, fragile spine and wake when he does
Passing time, holding up more than is my own as I try
To take him from himself,
Even if I’m buckling beneath these unspoken
I have watched him appear, as a flower
Hiding secrets amongst himself and blooming long enough
In Spring, baring bones
To prove he is more beautiful than this drained, scar-riddled skin
These, he says, are his strength, and that the skeleton forcing outwards
Is the truth. For when we die, and lie buried
We will have his face
Setting fire to his insides for fun he catches his tears in hands
Allowing wounds to grow, and through translucent skin
His screams show, throwing themselves against ribs
So as not to fly free of throat
He breathes in smoke, blackened lungs straining, dry
As he drowns in himself.
He leaves,
His shadow whispering across my skin as I watch, breathing silent as
His pleas.
I – am a foolish, fragile spine, trying to take him from himself
I – lie bent and broken, life passing and I remain on the roadside,
Safely tucked away.
I have travelled through my days as if they are
Losing themselves. Marvelling at what he has grown into as he
Reaches for the skies. I have walked trails instead of stretching,
Standing straight, growing tall as he
Try save him from
His – is a flower, grown and withered, seeping into earth
Six foot deep. His – is a tree among many, his years marked out
In rings. His – staying rooted and breathing life from life he does not feel and
I – am setting forest fires
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
There’s a lot to be said
For silences.
Spaces open up between heartbeats.
I’m throwing my words against barriers.
Bouncing from Mandible to Maxillary
And retreating back to vocal chords
Rubbed raw by screams.
I have been trying to tell you
That what I have to say is not
What you think.
But pulling teeth apart feels like
Tearing flowers from their beds-
Their petals from their stems-
And discarding them beneath feet
Anyway.
I have been trying to stay silent.
For what I have to say is not
What you think.
I can no longer tell if it is
A lack of things to utter, or too many.
But each contained within throat
Rattles against breath
And how you cannot hear, I
Know not.
They scream louder than
A pounding heart
And at times that echoes, unbidden.
I think they each race the other,
Tempted with reaching ears-
Does the head win,
Or the heart?
I could lead from silence to sound,
Or elsewise
And still feel confined
To passages of speech.
Monologues ringing off instead of
Dialogue.
Confined to self, and always
Yearning
To touch you
We’ve been taught that
Actions speak louder than words,
And I travel with back steps
Hoping –
Perhaps silence will sound loudest
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
Of course
I still remember.
Don’t -
Don’t start on that thread,
unraveling every word and
stop the colours spreading.
I don’t want to think,
End up like you, sinking too quickly beneath waves my every movement sends crashing
Against the shores.
I let them reach heights to
tower over your own
As if no prove -
No, not insignificant.
Nothing less than.
I haven’t ******* forgotten, can you please remember that?
You’ve tied yourself
too tightly
to your words - and their’s
and this is not like
you have always dreamed.
Lost - myself.
The wind is calling.
And that woman stands
dangerously close
and she could/I could.
Jump:
Right over and away, twist for show and gaze upon horrified faces.
Terror at what is me, leaving what is not
and what you are trying to keep.
But I have not forgotten
I have not-
Me-
This me-
Not who you reach towards not you not us
not
maybe.
I cannot forget what is not there and so-
Remember
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 4:35 PM UTC
I’ve filled my room with
dream catchers
So you can twist and turn
from mind
And I’ll still have pieces
come morning
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
*breathe me in with
cigarette smoke
so i can cling
to your dying cells,
since i cannot
hold your hand
or heart*
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
Home for moments to gather
self/belongings/thoughts.
Step right up to the ******* edge.
Beneath my form;
one thousand
foot
drop.
Tethered by words and
a knock at the door,
step away, breathing-
Just breathing.
Quick flashed smiles and
‘Are you going out tonight?’
With a reply, of course:
in words, ‘of course’.
And breathing,
with a song running under skin
proving opposite of words
they sing.
So step away from edge
and walk down hill
with head held high.
Lead self to memories,
crying dont
you
stop
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC
Take time in morning to breathe in ***** fumes,
Enough to assess damage and open new bottles,
Escape from collection of bruises marking paths
Along bodies and pull teeth from ****** lips with
Aching lungs. Push through it with music blasting in ears,
Rose petals littered with thorns and hate fueled words.
Shaking knees to breathe life to memories of night.
Sleeping forms scattered throughout, curled on floor
Here and there. Blood trails to burst noses and
yet another break up. Shivers running under skin,
Commence the search for clothes that is more than
Someone else’s jacket and knickers dangerously close
To ripping. Piece together fractured moments
Leaving jagged edges on show, mental notes
To write each one down later, and display to all
Your state of mind.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC