hit me with your words
like you wish you could with your hands
but you know this'll hurt more.

it's like you said
"friendship has to be mutual care"
"and who would care about you?"

these words do not surprise me.
but i am left wishing
they would.

"Come"
Back? To where
your papercut smile,
sliced our story into
shreds?
                               "Back"
                                   To midnight maliciousness?
                                    Painted eyes with those
                                      pathetic words you call "Promises"?

                                                                                         "Please come back"

                                                                                     Here we go. Again.

To hear your sob story.
Poor you? How about poor me?
All this venting, letting my patience out
soon warm wise words'll turn cold.
So don't get pissy when i start to shout
another thousand times your tale'll be told.

i shouldn't have
expected anything less;
deluding myself
is what i do best.

Soon, i may be forced,
to look upon this false sense.
Of security called- You.
Pick up the memories,
and refer to us in the past tense.
Finally realizing it's true.

Better not to dwell on those things.

the taps rusted over
but i'm yet to know if the beer tastes any more bitter
than trying it as a child.
sat in a dingy leather seat
with the ribbons of cowhide at my feet
after some animal had
its way.
where the people perspire through conversations
about the weather
and the tax man
and the never changing politic.
staff and regular alike
do not remember my mothers name
like the stint she pulled was lost to myth, my name
meant nothing.
maybe that's why i sat in the pub my mother used to work
once upon a time,
to see if the atmosphere could conjure her
like the football brought fleeting happiness
five rounds in.

playing piano
along your arms
is somehow my
sweetest tune

its dragging my feet through the snow in an attempt to make the journey easier for those behind me.
not answering the hardest question because there is someone somewhere milling it over and will suddenly understand and bring joy.
about the late nights looking over balconies for the lady who i'm sure will one day look back and wave because she's lonely.

but i've never thought about such things.

instead the sun brings with it smiles and the clouds rain and scowls but come umbrella banter or parasol proddings the day has to pass.
it has to.
there's a beauty somewhere within your eyes and looking into them a little too long has left me with one of those purple rings that never want to stay in sight.
i guess you hide in them too.

which of course is fine. its a little lonely being the one who only looks.

come with me one day to the hill where the ground turns to the sky and the tree i fail to understand how it hasn't fallen.
come with me to the river that once i fell in and prayed for gills to swim away and find the sea.
come with me to my room where i can make you a bit more real.

you have given me your memory. i will take you with me.

i mourned
us
on the train back.
North East to London,
Norfolk into Suffolk into Home.

England,
a green, scarred patchwork,
blistering apart while i sit.
A woman opposite tries to coax the
context
out of me; the entertainment,
before we're pulled into Liverpool St Station.

to credit my memory -
it frames itself nicely, my mugged up
glasses.
a sunbeaten, reddened, ruddy face -
holding back.  swallowing the
outburst -

"i let myself believe for once."

we sit.
the quiet unbroken.
save for the sounds of me
steadily
getting further from you.  

the sounds of me steadily getting further from you.

i mourned us once again.
ten months in and now
six months out
filled with immeasurable moments later.
there was no woman this time.
and only without her
or us -
i found the truth to say

"i let myself believe, for once."

As I walked down, on my way
back from Camden Town- some sights I saw.
The squabbles on the streets,
the dancers with two left feet-
I saw the smokers blow rings,
upon cobbled stones surrounded by courts-
like kings.

Then the rain came pelting,
yet the old lady kept belting.
Out her soft tune.
The cats came to listen,
but the rain kept on glistening
till shelter was found.
What a day to go missing-
even if the downpour's *******
on my way home from Camden Town.

kiss me so the vines in my veins can snake out to hold you

"its as if the taste never leaves my open mouth"
"that kiss only coming about because leaping into your body was easier than crawling"
"and the need to breathe was so strong"
"with the mint smoke that rose into the sky surrounding and smothering"
"lips/neck/teeth/tongue"
"everything the eyes could swallow without fear of choking"
"because feeling complete was more important that simply living in distant agony."
            
                
                                            ---------- "Excuses"---------

Fear not; The thought of loveless life.
For even the Moon is kissed by the Sun.

You were Sheet music.
or Braille.
or Latin.
Indecipherable surface level:
Tension, felt through the page.
Slowly the notes unwound,
then
bumps in the story smoothed out,
leading
to me finally understanding what tense we were in.

And i would Relearn all of You;
in a Heartbeat.

i already cut my hair once
to feel like progress had been made;

and every new year isn’t December
it’s March.

wonder if you still recite my name backwards
the vowels around a tongue;

remind me
that things broken open may never lock again.

THE TIME WE SPENT WAS BORROWED ON BAD CREDIT.

1. We both knew this
2. I didn't care
3. You saw this ending
4. An end that wasn't even fair

so now i'm not speaking and yet you still fight

cause you know that means i would win,
i would be right.

You are poetry spoken in tongues.**
I do not know how to understand you
I do not know if I'd like too
I'd love the sounds all the same;
regardless if
the meaning escapes me.

Echo illicit idioms,
into my ear.
Speaking ***** always was
your favourite pitfall.

But maybe getting trapped
would be best for us
both.

Who needs sunlight anyway?

There are no blackouts for us
transitions; seemless
one waking daydreaming monologue to the next
no cut or redo
for me & you.

Deuterogenists.
Astrology and Escapology;
You dream and I disappear.
but it seems that we were casted together
This isn't stage fright- its fear.  

It's rude to say the extra's
weren't needed. But its true.
I guess the light always burned brighter,
when it was just us two.

Act I through to V
lasted our life
encore? no more.
I'll retire a gray fox and you my partner in crime.
Lets see what our final scene
has in store.

couldn’t keep
my finger off the photo
could never keep things in.
mourning is just having,
a lack of
trigger discipline.

How ironic to drown

In a sea of voices

Yet hope for

The lifeboat of your laugh.

In a different light,
i'm sure i could see you
in this strangers' face.

With another drink,
i'm sure you'd taste
the same as this stranger tongue.

With another day..or two..
i'm sure your laugh (your laugh)
will fade into this strangers' throat.

BUT IT WON'T.
with another, another with.
      cause we're both.
without each other.

The plan was plain.
Me the bait, and you'd take aim.
I doubt there was hatred
when you shot him dead
cause even the worst emotions can't pass
a bullet to the head.
Bam!
Ivory concave called a face, split
revealing drenched red teeth-all due
to some petty thief.
Darkness dazzled briefly
as the the muzzle embers burnt out neatly.
That was that, to you. A crime
No more, till we saw the carcass slump to the floor. In our minds, dreams-years to come.
But a trigger pulled can never be undone.
The haunting ain't the issue, don't worry.
But here's the thing.
The barrel of a gun is one big ring.
A cycle of death- cruel merry go round.
But we're both still waiting
waiting for that sound.
Bam!

I.
The Sun.
and you the
Moon. Yes. We tend
the rabbits true, but they
die in obliviousness too.

When I was younger, through many nights I felt my dreams
turn to premonitions.
When I was younger, through the days I felt my actions
turn to decisions.
But now I deign to lay my head.
For no longer are my dreams, dreams-
But you instead.

And who knows what I'll prophet,
without the Suns rays to stop it.

I have a migraine.
So i won't feel shame,
if my tongue doesn't d-a-n-c-e
for you.

I have a migraine.
So don't you dare think
i won't help sink
your pathetic pity ship.
                                      I have a migraine.
                                      your touch is only keeping me sane.
                                      but soon you'll be gone
                                                                      a n d  it's pounding pounding.
I have a migraine
so throw the 'killers
cause it'll start again.
                                               No waking from this one.

deleted your location
from my phone
as the little green dot that represents
your distance from   me
is no longer accurate.

It's.
A trap,
the little lady
sings sweet cyanide songs.
Drawing lost lambs softly, quietly.
To slaughter them. Quite rightly.

Their names'll be forgotten anyway.

i
am born with an emptiness that is unable to be translated into words.
struggle
through nights without looking inwards for fear of never looking out.
without
knowing the best way to patch up this piecemeal pockmarked heart.
you
the planned escape route to run away with once it all turns to dust.

                                                  its funny how we always see the wrongs
                                                    just that moment too late.

They're a little itchy.
But i think they're off-puttingly
pretty.

Little raised bumps, reversed scars.
oscillating lines
skin stars.

Leave a couple more before we flutter away towards another canvas storing whatever we stole to give and give and give again.
To Another. (I think they're off-puttingly pretty- little love stain.)

Thinking.
Dreaming maybe?
Ricocheting repeated words
Bullets. Let them fly,
Fly, fly in sync-locked.
Together we'll set ourselves alight.
Writhing, sighing...
Our forest fire at midnight.

you don't have to bother
apologising, i've spat out worse
discussions
after speaking to myself

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.