stains linger along the stretch of my chest
of drawers still sodden
and acrid.

minding my chill
drenched with that perpetual anathema

avidity breeds mindless self-deprivation
do you mind?

my mother used to drink
she never
talked
so much.

and during the passing of
poison to the
relevant wires
she spoke of how
great it was
to be alive
and that
most did not know this
fact.

she used to dance so wild
and free and unknowing in
her knowing of the freedom
of this
life like
the wilderness.

i knew nothing
would
sound like
you
sounded
that time
was unravelling
moments
before
you spoke
ill-willed of
heart
and of
minding my own
mind,
not to say
anything
that all
this is
forged,
forgotten.

eye shut
the one i had left,
after all
of this
no
no longer one left
right here, none left
behind me nothing
not
to say nothing
all of this, no not nothing,
not to say anything
ahead
of myself
but nothing behind, yes, that
nothing,
that nothing is right
and left.

speak of
time speaking
of time
is to not pass
the past only
now gone
now behind
nothing but-
silence.

slowly, slowly now
slower and then less
like
trudging through
mud
more crawling less
walking
until there.

stop- here, stop here
where there is here,
where there is,
nothing here
but there
is nothing.

home now dark
there it is
dark, there
is only ahead
behind there is not,
only dark
ahead of
nothing ahead.

less crawling more
lying
down,
down until no more up,
just down,
no longer down now
up rising up light
above
here
there
no longer behind,
ahead,
before no longer behind
only ahead of behind,
before now
no longer only ahead,
behind no longer,
only ahead above,
no longer, no, not, no longer ahead only,
behind
no longer behind only,
not, no,
only no longer
to say no, no longer only
no longer behind ahead but
above now less
quicker not slower
then
until up, up
away
from there
behind
there
ahead
here now
above now
until there is only
now only not now only,
no only now,
now no longer only now,
now no longer only.

I feel as if I am drowning under the weight of thousand words unspoken,
feel still lost in the I's and the eyes on the tip of my tongue and teeth in my lips in your eyes in your lips.

If I could unblock the rot and make the heartache stop.
If I could rewind the time and decamp this vast desert filled with landmines.
If I could start over again and just pretend, that this is surely not my trying to fend for myself, would you hold me with your touch, caress and noone else?

find my voice
box, speak, words
forming and foaming
mouth agape
stunning

stunned

growing
taken root
not withered
withal
without you and
me, with words,
to speak,
words
too.

an inky melody
a heart's rendition of tar
and travelling near
never to lose, to halt,
unscrewing the pen,
snapping
the cartridge
drinking down
words
lips blue
body cold.

if I spat on a tree
would you hear
that melody?

a hundred times
you've told me to
stop-
"your words mean nothing"
and on and on,
but if you could just see
wade through to me
experience what is not
going
on
no lines in the sand
that i don't need to rhyme with
or rewrite
'the wasteland'
then i think
you
would think
more of
this
end, of my end
think more
of our
end in
this
our ending.

her eyes were
hot coals
char marks marring my
soul
fiery black fists spitting
golden embers
too hot to touch
to get too close
to see the real
her.

- love is a raging inferno i can no longer help tame with your hand

yeah i was just the same
one boy trying my luck.
there was another
one boy trying his luck.
we were together
forever
absent
from each other.

he left.

roses bushes are beautiful
thorny branches
of memory.
i ***** myself.
i pricked him.
rose bushes are beautiful
intricate expressions.
i picked one for myself.
i picked one for him.

years pass and the rose bush
dies and
lives on
in me.

i keep the petals in a jar on my bedside.
i shake that jar,
petals rise.

i keep the petals in a jar on my bedside,
i shake that jar,
watch the petals collapse.

i cover my bed in all the jars of petals
i unscrew the top,
the petals float flat.

each petal is
a part of
me,
a part of
history.
A part of our history.

i keep the thorns in a jar on my bedside.
i shake that jar,
watch the thorns collide.

i cover my bed in all the jars of thorns.
i unscrew the top and watch the thorns
get
lost.
i pick them out of my chest upon waking,
a ***** like a misplaced full-stop.

— where did you go?

Crows voices ringing,
My mind destabilising,
Must be you calling.