A kiss from you is all I need,
To take the pain away.
The thought of you urges me through
All those vacant days.
When darkness kills my shadow beside me,
I know you're still there to guide me to the light.
You trail across me, red lips blossoming from within,
As you coax yet more scarlet tears from my wrists.
A kiss from you is all I need,
To take the pain
Away.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
My eyes weren't working,
So I took the liberty of crying out of my wrists instead.
Hope you don't mind.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
Press two fingers beneath your ear,
Feel the swift pulse of a lover's kiss,
The devestated trickle of a meandering tear,
The muted thump that accompanies a crinkled eye
And the halted thud, seized by fear.
Feel your heart steadily beating.
This is it:
Living.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC
When the night shines brighter than the day,
And moonbeams cast more shadows than the sun,
Only then will I take your hand
And hold you in the dark.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 5:35 PM UTC
I long for the times
When we were kept afloat
By rushing jokes and waves of laughter,
But fractures appeared in strained conversations
And our unspoken words.
Now we cling to the wreckage of our once beautiful friendship
Desperately trying to stay adrift,
But I fear the water flooded my lungs years ago.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
Two stories, intertwined to weave a web,
Of elaborate lies and hidden secrets.
Parallel truths of a renowned city:
London, the city where they come to live.
London, the city where they go to die.
A cacophony of colours, vibrantly singing,
Reds that foxtrot and blues that Waltz,
Twirling, swirling, laughing, swinging,
Shining bright till dawn takes its course.
Whilst peeling greys in burnt out husks
Of building's corpses, thrown down by the tantrum of time,
Get signed by the shaking hands of addicts,
In dripping graffiti and shattered windows.
In an office, hands soft from perpetual ease,
Poking out from crisp white sleeves,
tap methodically at keys,
Maintaining a facade they all believe.
A few streets down, fingers:
Tobacco stained and streaked with yellow,
Pierce a quivering needle into
Their master's begging flesh.
A girl who seeks definition in numbers,
Who needs a crowd to hear her message,
Seeks knowledge in eternal wonders
Of London streets' bleeding essence.
Yet the boy who drowns in pounding feet,
Melts into the din of a thousand voices,
And his voice pleads a dying whisper,
As he loses himself to anonymity.
By the light of the underground
These juddering truths are evident,
In the despondent eyes fixed on filthy floors,
And the eyes dancing with potential, flitting around the crowds,
Waiting for a chance to shine.
London is a lock that guards two doors,
And we are the key that determines our fate.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
What is beauty?
An ideal stuffed down our throats,
That makes us scrutinise reflections
To trace every single flaw and imperfection in our very being?
I've long since stopped searching for beauty in the mirror,
It was a loosing battle, no mater what empty compliments were spat my way.
Instead I've come to think of beauty as freedom,
As liberation from the shackled thoughts of society,
And it's come to mean so much.... more.
Beauty isn't in the angular curves of malnourished models,
The photoshopped perfection of tabloid queens.
No.
Beauty is in muted sunsets,
Colours thrown up as homage to a whispered day,
Cradles by clouds and wisps of white.
Beauty is in the moments that make you itch for a pen,
A brush, a lens: anything to preserve the moment
In perfect clarity so that you can feel again the breath thieving awe.
Beauty is in woven fingers and passionate touches,
Love shouted through the twitch of a mouth and the softening of eyes.
Beauty is caught in the second you stop, look up
And dig your nails into a world that spins too quickly,
Seizing every day that flies your way.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
Snail trails of a cloud, bleeding life into a dying sky,
As feet drum out a rhythm for wounded thoughts to dance to:
pirouetting voices shout to keep a smile on that face,
And anxiety tripping in a failed twirl, trampled by pointed toes of glee.
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 9:55 AM UTC
I felt myself suspended
in the air,
And I thought I could fly.
Then I looked down,
Saw my shadow lying on the floor,
Felt the rope around my neck,
And realised I wasn't flying at all.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC