I think of you  
In the days we loved.  

When we shimmered with a brilliance  
That made the sun blush.  
And we didn't care or fear  
If we would burn out,  
As long as we spun  
To glorious ash together.  

Take us then and lock us away.  
Pluck those short days  
From the script  
And write us  
No more.  
Let us be each other's  
First songs and swan songs-  
And we would be happy.  
To never know another soul  
The way we know each other,  
And we would be content.  

The truth of first loves,  
Kept safe from the wisdom  
And cowardice of age,  
That teaches us to be cautious  
With our hearts  
Reluctant in our affections.  

But now…now the world  
Would ruin us.  
Obsession weakened,  
Diluted by the mundane,  
The tediousness of days  
That tempers us from  
What we were  
To what we are;  
And shows us to be  
Dim reflections of ourselves.  

So I keep you treasured away  
In my recesses,  
In the days we loved-  
Where time cannot strip away  
Nor circumstance impose  
Its penalties.  
Where you still burn  
With reckless abandon,  
So as to consume me completely.  

But this time  
I will turn to ash  
Alone.

It's hard to see from so far away-
at least, from what I can tell,
you are happy.
Happier? Probably.
Lounging in the 9th stratosphere,
maybe even so far as
just past the moon.
And who wouldn't take that trip?
The most I could offer was a pig
and some ****.

Maybe I’m wrong.
Maybe you would have lived life on the ground
but I never believed it.
Never wanted to squish you down to earth
and keep you contained,
bursting at the seams beside me,

waiting for you to understand what I had always known:
The ground under your feet was as needed
as the wind through your fingers,
the sea in your lungs
and the stars in your eyes.
And that you were always going to leave.

trapped words that I cannot  
scrape from my mouth  
spread like poison.  
radiating tendrils  
running under skin.  

I stab the pen into my arm,  
draw out the black bile  
coursing my veins  

and use it for ink.  
pouring my pollution onto the page,  
scribbling the bleak and vicious  
cogitations  
the nefarious abstractions  
that dig into the hushed  
corners of my soul.  

I hope to drain myself-  
enough to return colour  
to my veins,  
bleed red once more;  
taste joy and love  
on my palette  
in place of ash,  
and the ruthless regret  
that clings to my tongue.  

I am fading,  
withering like a husk.  
I fear I will run out of ink
and find nothing red left

A to Z and all the letters caught between
that line themselves along the shelves
and rest between the bookends,
they don't have the words I need.

A to Z, and all the letters caught between
I can't fit them together anymore,
I can't make them sing,
curved lines and crescendos to ****** the ear
with honey soaked harmonies.

They fall from my lips and slip
under my meaning,
tired and worn,
crumpled in my hands.
Or is it my hands that are tired
of these frail words,
showing the ****** remnants of ambition?

I put them back until I need them again,
for something simple,
a conversation with a net.
Hellos and how dos,
the pitter patter
of banter
on my tongue
designed to hide the heart.

So I will let them rest
until they sing to me again,
or I find a new alphabet.

I thought I could bear it,
with un-penetrated walls and flying my flag.
That the thought of your smile could hold my strength,
and fortify my castle.

Those downcast eyes and upturned mouth,
couldn't that give me just a little comfort,
a little more strength?

But those were wishful thoughts
of too good intentions.
Now here I lay toppled,
buried beneath my own stone walls.

Can you not see these,
not feel these bleeding sunset wounds?
Exposed and seething behind the brave face,
that urge every fiber within me to react;
to cross the line drawn in the sand between us.
Cast off my restraints
and pour myself out to you.

Would that soothe the aching that consumes me
and return you from that stranger's lips?
Or have time and words stretched thin,
hanging our bridges on feeble threads
waiting to cut ties beneath my steps?