Her hand caressed my cheek again today.
My burning lips they tremble every time;
And every time it takes my breath away,
To see the endless beauty of her shine.

She whispered in my ear again today;
And guided me into a floating dance.
Her touch so light against my waist, we sway
And swirl, succumbing to the weightless trance.

She kissed me on my lips again today.
A breeze against the heat of my old skin;
And I gazed into her eyes of shining grey,
Pleading to release me from her sin.

She beguiled me with her eyes again today;
And caused a stutter in my willing heart.
I sob because I need to get away,
Even when I don't want to be apart.

Her voice sang me to sleep again today,
where she's almost within my desperate reach;
and in my dreams I am the queen of fey;
I almost get the closeness I beseech.

Everything I touch disintegrates into a thousand butterflies,
Which makes it hard to love someone,
For I never know how to control the flamboyant flapping of their wings.

Once the tangential transformation has caused their rise,
It's like trying to catch the midnight sun
in an attempt to focus on what each of the creatures sings.

Their swanly swirling in the air causes my consciousness' demise.
My thoughts seem on the run
from reason and the yellow insects play my sensation's strings.

The girl looked through the magnifying glass
at her own hand.

That,
she thought,
will be my hand when I grow up.

She was right, you know.
Only failed to consider
the scars she would
accumulate.

The ocean was once filled with crowns.
It will tell you all about it
If you sit still long enough,
But you never do.
You see, it saw those children with their frowns
and their struggle to commit
To a world that treats them rough,
yet rarely rewards virtue.

The waves then went out to distribute
Their gifts among those in need,
So that their innocence may scatter
and be spread.
To this day they break as a tribute,
Go watch them while you bleed.
In a moment you don't matter,
you'll sense a weight upon your head.

After years of trying to find yourself
You found everyone else instead,
And found out what kind of people they are,
So you took that knowledge
And a silver ***,
And you put the knowledge in the ***,
And you put the *** on a stove,
And you cranked up the heat,
And language boiled away,
And you cranked up the heat,
And eye colour boiled away,
And you cranked up the heat,
And preference boiled away,
And after 9 days of tending to the *** –
A charred smell hit tired nostrils,
Because all that remained in the ***
Was the burnt and brown mess which is human nature,
And in the metal walls: your own reflection.

I've often wondered what's wrong
With the people daring to feel
Not sure if they're weak or they're strong
For risking what may never heal

Me, I'm not sure if the danger
outweighs the feel of a kiss
given by friend or by stranger
I'm split between “act!” and “dismiss!”

Giving my heart a sharp shove
Or keeping it safe from the drop
When my first reaction to love
Is “Oh sh*t, how do I stop?”

Seamstress of my fate, behold:
This side of my is crass and cold,
Is not unsuited for a war.
Oh, seamstress of my fate, therefore,

Could you conceive a way or two,
Concealing things that I could do,
Veiling vile things that I could say.
Oh, seamstress of my fate, I pray!

For when you sow this future now,
I would not want this side to show,
Would want a dress of flowers dried,
Where not one stubby blade could hide.

What an addiction to life one must have
To endure
This endless Now
And demand more
-
Raise a voice even
And shout for one more hit
to the teeth
to the groin
to the senses and then

to crawl on even brighter
with a smile illuminating
the abyss

I felt infinity at a minute past two
and I died with great gig in the sky.
The waves swirling over deep seas of blue,
carried me as I waved earth goodbye.
I floated around beyond the realms of sleep,
lost my tongue on a different plane.
I surrendered to the creatures pulling me deep,
into the depths of my brain.
Where I lost myself among colours and sounds,
never heard nor could ever be seen.
Slowly my self melted into the grounds,
where the most merry among us have been.

The space in between time is filled with fish,
swimming through dimensions.
They say hello,
if they see a friend,
but mostly they're just red.
All the girl can think of is colours and the wish
to pay attention
to what's moving in the yellow
abyss of distent
in the continuum of dread.

She can not perceive the reason why she'll cry,
but in her heart, there is a cloud
and in her head her own blue voice
that sings to her
day in day out.
When in the young parts of the dry
december night it speaks aloud
by twisted choice
the fish consider
what tomorrow she will smile about.

May I carry your bag?
I have been watching
It strain your shoulder
All that makeup and necessities
And the old receipts
Are weighing you down
Please, may I carry your bag?

May I carry your shoes?
I know you chose them
But your feet have been hurting
And you need your hands free
I never knew what to do
With mine anyway.
Please, may I carry your shoes?

May I carry your coat?
You thought it would rain
Down on you again
But it hasn't rained since I found you
And it  is squeezing too tight
Around your waist
Please, may I carry your coat?

May I carry your scar?
The one on your face
I know it is part of you
But you never liked the way
It made you look
I never looked like much anyway
May I carry your scar?

Then you may carry me.
With all your burdens lifted
Close the distance between us
Take me upon your shoulder
And you will tell me that
To you I feel weightless
Please, carry me.

Have you been bleeding ice again
in the past million years?
I saw it in your eyes back then,
the image of your fears.

Have you learned any words by now
that people can perceive?
That don't disintegrate somehow,
in times of loss and grieve.

Did you visit sporadically
or have you kept away?
You've always lived nomadically,
yet never found a way.

Is there a chance to meet you there?
Have all your hymns been drowned?
I really hope you're taking care
of the spiders we once found.

If I had a heart – which I don't
And it were to beat faster than usual – which it wouldn't
The reason certainly couldn't be you
Not your skin
Not your warmth
Not your kisses

If I was going to smile – which I won't
And my stomach was talking – which it couldn't
The reason certainly wouldn't be you
Not your skin
Not your warmth
Not your kisses

“I was happy just then,” thought the girl by the sea
“For a moment I did not recall -
That there is the ache of existence in me,
When the voice in my head went so small.”

“Just a minute ago, when the raindrops began,
The weight on my heart swam away.
The voices and figures, they bustled and ran,
So the showering silence could stay”

“With the first bursts of thundering, thoughtless relent,
The fever of life was relieved.
As were the teardrops, the tremors, the torment.
A flawed absolution achieved”

The burn of the past is in the pain of my fingers
as the clouds of tomorrow loom overhead.
The fear of today should have died, but it lingers
and the key to control is in the purr of a cat.

It asks: “What's that sorrow that you speak of so fondly
and profoundly you cling to in the depth of the night?”
And you cringe and you crouch and you cry so resoundly
that the stars' tumbled tears fill with wisdom and fright.

“Even spiders have hearts that are deemed non-existent,”
says the cat who's own heart has never known cold.
The traces of truth in its words are insistant,
so you crumble and crawl to turn heedless things gold.

Gesturing vaguely, requesting the waiter,
Asking for a different life.
There's sorrow in mine, and a toughness far greater
That can't quite be cut with the knife

If I could suggest – just some minor changes,
Put rue where there's ruin in mine.
The hint of resentment in the flavour of friendship
Does not seem to go with the wine.

The arrangement of garnish at the side of my lovelife
Looks lovely, tastes boring and bland.
With all your experience I'm sure you could contrive
a texture my teeth would withstand.

I am - by no means - complaining to frustrate,
But compared my meal just seems unfit.
And when you endeavour to bring me a new one,
I beg you, do not spit in it.

It flows through the veins of the forgotten.
It lives, yet has not taken air in years.
It is ashen of colour,
Hard-hearted of thought,
It lies dormant until it doesn't.
It feels lonely.
You mean it makes them feel lonely?
No. It makes them feel loved,
For feelings are love,
Even the ashen ones.

It flows through the veins of the forgotten
Where the sun will never reach it
But every now and then
A wind breaks through
And brings autumn leaves
Or spring blossoms
Violet snow
And for a day it exists in colours
And on the quiet days
It recalls

Darling, let me tell you
That those dreams you had were nothing,
And when you thought that you were nothing
you were seen.

My love, now listen closely:
All the noise your mind is making
Is just noise it is not speaking
For the world.

Remember when last summer
Your far away friend told you
That they had not been smiling
Since that day,

But seeing you had healed them;
And the way your arms had felt then
Had been all that they had needed
To be again.

You are still stuck in that winter
When you thought that you could wither
On the spot and you did not
Want to be found.

Yet to me and many others -
To your cousins, friends, and lovers -
You alone are in possession
of that brush that paints the earth.

I wander through the broken door,
the red paint of which is split.
A room I've never seen before,
in which strange faces sit.

They sit and smile, yet do not speak;
I blend into the crowd.
My face, it melts, my breath grows weak,
The faces are so loud.

I try to ask them who they've been,
But cannot find my voice.
I search the room I'd never seen
For some form of second choice.

As I navigate the careless room,
My body disappears.
I'll be one of the faces soon,
A smile forms through my tears.

Every year we fool ourselves through sayings such as
“We can't leave the house for the weather”
and
“The sun will rejuvenate us”.

When seasons transform it turns into
“We can't leave the house for the demons in our front garden”
and
“It burns, it burns, please make it stop burning”