If I was separated from you
By a wall
12 feet tall
With no way to pass
Or make it fall
  I’d ask for glass
    A small window placed
      At the height of my shoulders
        The height of your face.
          Only one way
            A mirror of mine
              So I could see you
                While you move on with time.
                             I’d watch you smile
                             I’d watch your grace
                             I’d see his joy
                             As you dance till embrace.
                    You would grow old
                  Gifted with grandchildren
                But you would be happy
             As I looked on in.
         As life fades from sight
      You’d remember a time
    Of a boy who once was yours
And wishes you were mine.

Back where I began

with my back turned

Unaware

I never learn

The mistakes I make

Burn

Etched into my memories

Like a waterfall

cutting a path I faintly discern

love I’d sworn

conversing in a bath tub

Return

to the time I ended up

Back where I began

With my back turned

Unaware

I never learn.

Break
Break
Break
Break
Break it
Broken
Braving the
Open.
Sudden.
Opportunity
Sees me
Repeating cycles of
Toxic masculin
It teases me
Poisons
Seeping in
Claiming what’s mine
The mind.
Weakening.
Beginning again
A grinning ‘been there’
The light singeing my hairs
As is breaks through the skin
Bleeding
Breaking
Broken
A break in
Rhythm
So break
Break
Break
Break
Break it
Broken
Braving the
O
Again.

My breath does breathe.
A breath of fresh air makes me see
All the little things that could be
Breathing heavily at the thought of
possibility and I choke.
Forgetting the sentence I wrote;
Cutting you out of my life
Like oxygen from my windpipe,
Removing all evidence with precision,
A decision I was forced to make
Else we’d both break
So I took what little of my heart I had left
And I left.

I thought it for the best
But now I can’t breathe breath
As thoughts of you have yet
To leave my head.

Like piano in the background you were a soundtrack to my soul, a wormhole to another part of the universe where we could float amongst the stars and stall time as if it was ours. Still. Amongst the vastness of it all. I’d freeze in warmth as my name was called.

I didn’t ask you to still care. I asked for the chance to let you go. I asked for the hope that one day I wouldn’t have you stuck there in my head but you know you are
                              And you know
                        And you know
And it makes it so hard. You knew how I was feeling. You could have left it there. Slowly I began healing but you keep coming back again.
              And again.

       And Again.

Stealing my peace with these wishes that one day, somehow, I will be with you,
content.

I’m crying inwards
Tears falling upwards
Through my veins
Blood pumping driving my brain
Insane
This pain is inhumane
So please
Let it out
Down
Coursing it’s journey past a frown
It reaches my heart
But there’s nothing left
No beat, no sound
She took it all apart
Like a found secret
drawer
Flipped it and shook its contents
out on the floor
So it crawls around it’s walls
Reminding me I was a fool
Through echoes
Echoes
Echoes
It shows
It shows
It
It goes
It goes
On and on
Wherefore?
It’s odd
I’m not crying anymore
Well, I am, inward.

Drip drop
Two words. They make me think of rainfall on a dark night. Cozy. Snug. Back when lines were blurred and I was a child who didn’t have to pretend I was all grown up. But ‘drip drop’ isn’t real and that’s not the pattering sound rain makes as it hits the ground, no, that’s too surreal. It will never be a slow comfort to the ears that sends soaring sears of pleasant shivers up my spine to the tip of my head. A Moment. Mine. It will never be a memory of my dad, my mum, once, tucking me in bed while it rains outside and they lean over, with a gleam in their eye, and whisper to me before sleep. ‘Drip drop’ they said. But now I hear ‘freak’.

Happiness is simple.
It’s not
A bath too cold.
  Or one too hot.
   A late bill payment
    Or loosing your job.
     Prison for tax evasion.
      A day too sunny.
       A friend ‘not fussed’
        Or even that funny.
         A day too dreary.
          Catching the bus
           Well... Almost
                    ...Nearly.
             Having no one to trust.
              Sitting at home
               Under your covers
                Stressing so much
                 You twitch and you stutter.
                   Anxiety and pain
                    When you think of a lover
                     A feeling with no name
                      As you cry and you mutter
                       Worried words of weakness
                        Wander through each thought
                         Becoming almost breathless
                          A depression that will rot.
                           Happiness is simple?

It is not.

If I were suicidal
I would want to see
  why people run blades over their arms
   is it
    like cutting, gliding, staining a shimmering
     white sheet?
      Does it let out the darkness in tiny
       ruby
        droplets?
       Or would it be pointless?
Would I be drowning in a bathtub of my own wrong choices?


If I were suicidal
            I would want to swing myself
into emptiness
            The feeling of tightness around my neck.
A faint crack
             in time.         To forget and rest.
Is that what it would feel like?
             A short drop
and spike
             in my heartbeat?
Or would I linger, floating? No quicker
             than the pendulum of regret come to
find me again.


If I were suicidal
I would want to know
how easy it would be to overdose.
1. the first, enough to give your body a
kick like a coffee in the mourning. But
thats about it
2. The second, slow progression. I'm thinking of
paracetamol by the way.
3. The third, not much will change
'till the
4.
5.
6.
7th? No.
8.
9.
10.
11th? More.
12.
13.
14.
15. th
      I looked it up
      anything
      past that is a lethal dose.
      But I regret this knowledge I now know
      because there is no ease in something
                     so slow   .



If I were suicidal
               I would jump                         on the tracks
       'Mile End' isn't far                         when you look at the
map       but that's one                          every 31 hours
             if you listen to                           statistics.
    I guess no one cares                          if you become an
                                      'inconvenience'.
If I feel like that anyway                     I suppose it doesn't matter.
But there's the thought                       of my loved ones
             seeing my body                        in that manner.

__

'If I were suicidal'
If this is the wish
how did we end up here
                contemplating this?

I hate that you are so beautiful.
I hate      that you are
                                      So
                                            Beautiful.
At a price
I say it twice
                          It’s comical
                         Illogical
                        That for you I fall
Neurological
Psychological
                        The damage caused
                       Stall
                      Stall
                     Stalled.
                    Paused.

My head now full
         Cruel.
           Undo
             The damage that has spread
To bed
To bed
To bed
     It was said
       I hated how you were so beautiful
         When for twice those words were
      bled.

Ignorance is bliss;
Sweeter than any kiss.
It’s an unfair kind of careless care.
This idea of something you missed,
Where?
A tear which never needed to be known,
There. In the mirror. Wipe away the smudges and it becomes visible,
Clearer. Shown in a smile that some would call naive. But you don’t because Ignorance is richer.
Your ears burn bright but you believe all is well, that all is right, so you continue your life like a phone in a theatre. Beating on the drum of negligence, perfectly pitching yourself as a heedless, harmonious heap; inauspiciously and ironically thinking ones self, misguidedly, meticulous. Inadvertently beautiful.
Ignorance is bliss.

In the time between things
I sit and wait,
Procrastinate.
Fate taunts me with my dreams,
Thoughts of kings, queens, and what life could be
But I’m only waiting for something small.
The ring or call.
Looking at my phone it tells me
‘We’re ready for you now’
As if somehow I’m not in control of my own future,
Just another bit of code in a computer.
At first sight just another user
In the system of life.
A video game with no guide
and I’m it’s destined loser.

Memories traveller.
I remember when I was younger and my mother would sneak into my room with a handful of secrets, revealing them to be flowers. Lavender. She said it was to help the sleepless, and that I was. Restless from the monsters under my bed she’d sing me songs, the scent and tingles she’d sent streaming up my spine were seamless, one melting into the other. She’d tuck me in cozily and I’d noticed the smell of a light purple colour that she’d crushed into my palm, a mortar, her soft fingers the pestle. So when the years went by and our time grew shorter, with the linear layout of these memories would I wrestle as I’d strain to remember what our time together was like before you passed finally one last, lost, dreary November. Then one day, as the rain fell outside our house the bushes it struck were made of lavender and I felt like I had been saved, because once again I’d found you.

Again.
You leave.
Leaving me lifeless.
Life’s lessons are learned
Like this.
Through crisis.
Through hurt,
Through grief.
Heartbreaks make a survivalist.
Burnt out from the time I was
Seventeen;
Burst,
My heart has been set out for all to see;
Plainly strung up in pieces,
Like leaves
Hanging
Precariously on a tree,
Made from the bones and ashes of lovers
I’d never meet,
Each new year bringing a wind that rips
them from their branches,
A wind that dances through my memory.
This year it was you.
Turning me golden like maple leaves in
autumn my mind’s marked me as a dying
season.
And you,
You treated me like a poison.
Times testaments teach
To forgive
...Within reason.
You were a part of me
And I committed treason.

Wondering here like a dream;
  The moon to my left,
    Sat here on my balcony.

                          A soft breeze brushes my hair;
                        Calm as a kiss,
                      My mind drifts in the air.

      A cars headlights glide over the horizon;
        The darkness finds comfort
          Till it hits lights at London;

                                  Red sparkles glisten and glimmer;
                                Shivering remnants of life
                              In an empty place for sinners.

                The opposite shine up above;
                  Stars in darkness,
                    Thinking love not enough.

                                          The only way to come back down to earth
                                         Is by looking up at night
                                       To be lost in a universe.

You see, I write but no one listens
And it’s hard
In a world where so many do.
So many express.
Depress.
Not because they feel the world needs to understand them
Not because they throw a blanket of empathy around them
Not because the real world doesn’t appreciate their detail
But because it’s all a get rich quick scheme.
A sale.
But I don’t care for nepotism.
I don’t care if you’re waiting for me to like your ‘quirks’.
I don’t care that if I don’t you won’t like mine.
Because that’s how it works.
A trade.
A shame.
Someone always ‘sacrificing’ by being the first in the game of it
But that’s not a sacrifice
The sacrifice is not caring.
Liking something because you like it
Living life because that’s what you want to do with it
Freely sharing
Being a good person for no benefit.
Not out of fear that others won’t give you what you need.
Not out of fear it won’t let you be what you want to be.
Happiness is not found in the wants or greeds of others
But in listening to your own heart
And knowing
Deep down
What you do for you is all that matters.
Then when you’re loved by people for your truth
There is nothing better.

So be a good person
Listen to this work
Like it
Please
Because if you don’t
I doubt I’ll like yours

Everyone was right.
But stopping is like being on train tracks,
  A locomotive going at full speed towards
   A cliff.
    The passengers you brought along
      Scream at you to stop it

       But you cut the breaks long before you
       even left the station.

Love is a pale man on a horse.
          Ill looking.
               Tired and alone.
Was it ever felt more than in parting?
                'Distance', the horseman's mistress,
                                   is heartache.
The man roams the vast wilderness,
his ghostly glare bright beneath the starry night.
A sensation caught betwixt sleep and wake.

Death is a lady.
                Old.
                  Lost, but in company.
            a kind smile stretched across
          her shrouded face.
               Shadowed with grace.
       Sat by the fireplace
                   with her children she waits.

                                                    Some say for the day
                                                    the rider makes it home.
                                                    When Love will hold Death.
                                                    For the peace they are owed.

In the heat I hold my breath. I’m drowning in waves of sunbeams and guess as to whether the weather will wither me away in tiny droplets through the holes in my chair, collecting in puddles beneath, on the shadow hiding from a universal stare. I’m fair, unfairly treated, and in time this cycle is repeated and no one cares, like you did, now you’re not there, needed. I’m melted.

I can’t do this
Thoughts like mist

a fist.
Fog.
My minds missing a cog

a clock.
My eyes are burning

Hurting
My thoughts are turning

stop.
My stomach

in knots

A rot
Inside out
all I can think about.

stop
Falling over me like a wash
Of molten lava
Melting me from the inside

Out.
Hot.

The Devil my master.

Monster

food for thought.
The heat you feel when the cold
Won’t stop
your soul’s been bought.

Hot.

Heat makes for

Heavy
Breathing.

Heaving.

Heave


Heaven.

Stop.

There was younce a ong man named Billy
He knew his brilly was so srain
He went to the docblem
And they told him his protor
Was heartbreak.

His wuddled were now mords
And young Boubled was trilly
Because love would never be the same.

He smiled a smile I forgot existed.
A child grinning like the sun had risen for the first time and the shimmers and glimmers of a shining haze which might have been stalactite-like light, bouncing off the walls in rays, reflected all the joy of the world back into his puppy dog eyes. Wise to their existence before their time, typically to be lost again when falling in line with what society tells them to be. A crime to see but it happened to me, to you, and yet this little smiler chewed away at my heart until all that was left was a pulsing goo used to spark the ignition to an engine that motored my mind into gear saying ‘wonder. Wonder is a beautiful thing’ and I knew then that I had found my Neverland. And all the while thought it would never land so clearly, right there, in a child’s smile. So sincerely.

Because of her you neglected yourself. Subjected yourself to neglected all else, and now all you have are apologies. She’s gone and you were left with the sorries that need to be told. Worries of being left alone while their tone on the phone is stone cold. Your depression is an excuse they say, unsold. So like a piece of origami you fold in and around yourself till the paper is thin and time turns you old.

2018 - I see you smiling at me while we’re watching a play. I get this feeling I’ll never know your name.
1918 - Returning home from war to find you with another man. A story in a story, a sadness in the sad...
1818 - Now I’m a Frankenstein tormented by a monster.
1718 - I arrive in a New Orleans where soon I forgot her.
1618 - The execution of one of the greatest explorers makes my heart afraid to find a new lover.
1518 - I’m in Italy now admiring a Michelangelo, passions are burning and you’re my new antidote.
1418 - In Florence there’s talks of a new cathedral, competition in design yet to you there’s no equal.
1318 - From the English the Scottish fight for independence but I would sell my soul just to be in her presence.
1218 - From Acre I leave for Egypt, a crusade of the soul, but I gave that to you not too long ago.
1118 - A new pope on the throne holding a king like he’s owned but you’re a free spirit and your name... I won’t know...

Tonight was nice
Not splendid
Not great
Just nice
I guess
We underestimate
The word ‘ok’.
Everyone makes it a competition
To be better,
A description of
‘Not the same’,
But I’m doing alright
After today.
No prescription.
I felt fine.
No assistance
To make each breath mine.
I make my own way.
I cary on through.
So don’t make me say
My time was spent better than you.
I’m allowed a simple ‘ok’
And you are too.

A boy once,
who loved.
                                                                                                     Now a man,
                                                                                                     little chance.