My reasons are mellow
music notes
made of bruised yellow
and print pressed flowers.

They're desperation mourning
a melancholy mood.
Intangible,
conflicted,
a mismatch of muse.

My reasons are trivial things,
books and tv,
good food and drink,
     notes in the air,

                and a pen on the brink
                                    of something important to say-

but the music fades,
the notes turn to dust,
and the reasons,
they fade away.

A friend of mine
told us goodbye tonight.

Said she's fine but
I thought she'd die tonight.

I'm not going to rhyme tonight,
I can barely breathe tonight,

I don't want to repeat tonight,
I don't want to repeat that night.

And May is inching closer
with every breath I take.

And every breath I take,
Feels like a mistake.

There's the rhyme,
I lied. Like her.

A friend tried to reassure me,
"She said she's fine."

My brain promised me,
"They wouldn't tell someone."

But my heart begged me.

"Not again
Not again
Not again"

Please.

I used to be terrified
Of fleeting shadows
And moonlight patches
The dark swirling around my feet
And the creaking house whispering dreams
But now I switch off the light
Long before I'm beneath the covers
And ask that the monster grab my feet
Reach from underneath my bed
And pull me under
Because that monster
Any monster
Is better than the one in my head.

The lyrebird sings,
and the hourglass flows,
and nobody knows,
where anyone goes.
And the signboards have crumbled,
in this blackness of mind,
a blackness so empty,
so silent and kind