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Atticus Mar 2018
cogs and bolts

turn in the space that is my brain

when someone sends a glare my way

the cogs turn

s l o w e r

who said you had to love me

who said you had to give me the world

no one but you and then

when i couldn't give back what you had given me

you left

you were done with nightmares and tangled sheets

panic and paranoia

but no matter how hard i try

i don't think i can get past loving you
Atticus Mar 2018
oh where has the sun gone

rain and spittle and mist

ice cold to the touch

it washes away the pain

of broken umbrellas

of cliche kisses in the rain

your arms around me

our hair in sodden dreadlocks

a day spoilt by the rain
Atticus Feb 2018
i carve my body into your ideal shell
but no matter how hard i try

it will never be enough for you...
Atticus Feb 2018
the rhythm of my heart
and the rising of my chest with each breath
anchors me to this world
that i call my own

sometimes i can hear the roaring
in my ears
and the ticking of the clock

losing my beloved rythm
the tuning fork of this world is faulty

why else would there be so much
destruction and violence

why can't people just love on e another
instead of taking their words and pelting
them like missiles
obliterating the remaining confidence and security in our souls

'sticks and stones may break my bones'  
'but words will never hurt me'

is a false statement because when those words
come from people you trust and love
it seems like nothing
can ever rebuild the cracked porcelain

that is your facade...
Atticus Feb 2018
as a child i believed in monsters
magic
and innocence
but i have learnt
over my years
that life isn't all sunshine and rainbows
we are canvases marked in colour
from our experiences
some darker than others
some lighter
but all of those brush strokes  
are a picture of beauty
our highs
and lows
acrylic on graphite
soft pastel hues
on angry slashes of colour
water colour wishes and charcoal sorrows
Atticus Feb 2018
your touch is like
a match lighting
the fireworks
in my body
golden dust
that falls on us
in the rose garden as you
say goodbye
you leave my kingdom
not by choice
but by the cruel hands
of fate
and all i suppose i can do
is hold onto that memory
in the rose scented world
gold dust raining
down on us
a honey tinted view
of what we really were
Atticus Feb 2018
lost boy where do you go
when the sun is hiding
lost boy
you say your'e alone
but you aren't willing to let your fear go
lost boy
i hope you know that i will be here
and won't let go
lost boy
i see the black crow
latched onto your weakened soul
lost boy
that crow he tells you so
that if you go no one will know
oh
lost boy
i hate that crow
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