Twisted bed-sheets
Reveal last nights deceits.
I'm sure many "I love you" 's
Ricocheted off of the ceiling, into wallpaper
peeling.
Marks upon skin, rarely sink lower
past those deeper walls within.

But you don't want a lover anyway.

you have taken root somewhere inside me.* *The petals tickle.

peace comes in packages we sometimes can't find strength to open

peace comes in millstones we can sometimes release ourselves from

peace comes through doors we open
and sometimes reveals itself
once we shut and bar some from entering

peace came and laid down arms in the name of forgiveness

peace came and lasted

peace

i would, I wouldn't, I could, I couldn't.
----------------------------
nights thrown away
casually
these
unrealising, unrepentant, ungrateful
hands.
ephemeral friendship.
and
the moon was snuffed out.
these hands.
---------------------------
give me a chance
to be alive with you
to have these reckless hands held
*once again.

obsession hopping became a bad habit
symptomatic:
collecting / chasing / creating / crying.
but at least
i'll have learnt
how to properly juggle my haphazard heart
burned into muscle memory.

we were watching the river drag away cigarette ash
the smoke rising into visions.
divining meaning was always hard
when eyes are blurry and clouded.
  "once there was a prince who fell in love with the sky.
  he never grew
  tired of his blue, grey, black, orange, ever-changing lover. till one
  day, he awoke but couldn't see, his eyes were clouded so he cried.
  he cried and cried and cried. the sky began to cry too.
  they washed out all the colours until the prince swore never
  to love again."
 the smoke clears and your face appears, teary-eyed with
 heartbreak written so sharp and jagged on your lips.
  "i'm tired of loving someone that won't love me back."
 i would have kissed you in all of your shattered pieces.
 but i didn't.

I wanted attention-
scratch that, love,
from the moment of our hazy conception.

I wanted my fingers to trace
the curve of your face.
Cheekbones. A jaw.
All made the bad thoughts nevermore.

It hurts because i know it's a dream.

these fingers'll never lay upon you,
your lips never crushed to mine.
but because i love you i'll be fine

better to deal with nothing
cause hate-filled wary eyes
will **** me a thousand times.

leave my heart to rupture and burst
because to me our friendship must come first

i am better than no one
                                   no one is better than me.
i'll set the Earth on fire
then drown it.


in the sea....

putting my headphones
before my house keys.
       *it doesn't matter if I sleep rough
       as long as my head is drowned of thought...
    
       *that alone is enough.

i appreciate the
connection. Did you
see the speaker? The way they
gave it everything in this conference
really resonated with me. My names Oskar
by the way what's yours? Oh really, how lovely
are you from a different department? Maybe one day
I'll come and visit. Oh yeah definitely, what's your Linkedin?

I should of
   punched her.
       Made the blood awash
                with the concrete floor.
How dare she hurt you.
Lay her pathetic, puny hands that pry and peer
upon you.
I found myself biting my tongue
where I should've made her bite hers.
SMACK
came that connection all too fast
and where was I?
Lagging behind-last.
To rewind that cry, escaping your mouth to
shove it down her throat- choke and choke.
                
                                         ­              "Don't worry about those things"
I am your friend
you are my best friend
and its never happening again.

the Moon is made more alive
by the waves
in ponds.

not unlike You.

whose beauty is held captive
momentarily
in every reflective surface,
whose fingerprints leave ichor
love letters
and a laugh like a forest fire.

i am bewitched. Lunacy.
yet it's a sad fate.

as it is impossible to attain
the Moon.

*Not unlike You.

next to the flat
the neighbourhood
tabby swatting at
the drain.

sinewed fur-lined,
feline; finding
some poor animal
in a cage
outside its making.

i can’t see
below the earth.
the poor thing,
fighting.

With a thud you landed.
acting as if you planned it,
but we all knew your *** was hurting.
You were smiling still, a scrapped knee
but when you looked up your grin only got through to
me.
That was cute, till you asked for a hand up.
Didn't realise my mistake, when your wolf pup
eyes shimmered-pulling me down too.

Maybe this is why I fell in love with you.

There wasn't any malice or cruelty.
But neither affection-which hurt like hell.
See, I don't have a big tale to tell- but if I did
you'd be my opener.
Cause audiences love a one sided story.

Grief is not a simile.
It's a metaphor.
It's not crashing like the rocks of the mountains
But falling above, destroying the peak with your body and finding the last parts of your soul in the new creases. The magma beneath becomes your breath and you fear to speak for eruption paints scars you'll leave behind. The new land you'd never thought you'd see becomes the land you used to be. You don't need light but feel the rocks made of you under your feet. You are not like stone. You are stone You are granite You are obsidian you are every unflinching untouchable unfeeling thing.
Grief is not a simile
**Grief is a metaphor.

Jumping over cracks
dizzying heights of
curbs and
solid roofs. Window sills
are platforms. doorways.
tunnels
hidden inside the dishwasher,
the bedroom's a stage
looking skywards to find
flight paths of cyclists
rushing past blaring bells
playing chicken with trees'.
swimming between the branches to cliff dive
onto faux concrete
arms that.
suffocate.
*so lovingly.

Are we running
because you're afraid of me

or the starting pistol aimed at us both.

It's funny
Cause once upon a time
I believed love wouldn't **** you
But save you.

But now I know to respect
Love's
A serial killing paramedic.

"Red wire, Red wire;
Oh won't you let me go to bed?
The days' been so long,
the nights' too
and I'd like to rest my head!"

But no- The Red wire replied.
The clocks yet to tock,
the stars are yet to align
and the moons not yet sighed.

"Oh Please," I begged
"Red wire, let me sleep.
Take my arms, my legs
or my heavy heart instead!"

I see, the Red wire said,
Snaking around my throat.
My lungs filled with dread.
"I will make you dream.
Dream.
Dream.
until we are dead."                          
                                       So i dreamed  with your silky red thread
                                       where i wished for your hands: to be led.

i taste like smoothed out stones.
washed over and over again
made shiny by dew and pressure.

i taste like snow covered tree's.
smothered by an icy blanket
but still rough to the touch.

i taste like sparks leaping from anvils
burnt out beauty
smoldering smoke.

i taste like home.
but
i do not know if

i want to taste like you.

Why is it harder
to write in a mind-set
NOT befuddled by the bad things?

Why does my tongue
struggle to find the words
whenever the violent phrases and curses
are NOT escaping my throat?

Why does my pen
fail to slice open the paper and bleed,
whenever it is NOT under threat
of snapping between my fore-finger and thumb?

Why is it always harder
to say what i want too
without inexplicably
NOT BECOMING YOU.

9:07                    Egotism and Wants
9:08                    Futures with eyes Gaunt
9:09                    Childhoods and Taunts
9:10                                                                what are we doing.

9:11                     i gave up asking awhile ago.

i cant throw my body into the arms of another.
my tendons
the ligaments, the muscles
my heatstrings lie in tatters between your teeth.
                                     behind lips that never
                                     had a nice word for me.
and if i wasnt so sad
to find the pity in this prose
id of thought im happy
                                                *though i guess im not, i suppose.

It's been an honour to break in front of you silently again and again but I've started to think that maybe it's lost it's intended effect-I mean you can only watch someone pick up the broken pieces and promise  it'll never feel hurt again just to crush them in palms that will never hold another's hand and feel them squeeze back without the blood slipping them just out of reach but not really-

a couple of times.
then it just seems desperate.

i am living in

the gaps of your              sentences.
waiting on each
intake of                                 air
trying to figure out

the right time to                breathe.

You
      Could
                Of
                    Said
        ­                   Goodbye....
                                                     ­                                                     BUT
                                                                ­                                          NO
                    ­                                                                 ­                     YOU
                                        ­                                                                 ­ SWORE.


Never again, again.                                          NEVER AGAIN AGAIN.

                                      Your Heart Bleeds
                                            Our Glass Beads.