Once, twice, three times too many.
Sounds and shapes controlling the contrary.
Darkness, blackened abyssal, all of the above- Tricks and deception-
the leaving of love.
Lusting after loosing;
To find courage after fear..
Wishing and wanting those who once were dear.
Of course you'll find
your heart in pieces,
Not just one's two's or threes.
You'll find that a soul simply shatters
in a muted ambiguity.

was discovered
prematurely.

all the careful punctuality
consciously conceal within this
carelessly
placed note,
has allowed it to                         resonate
by
flushing the pain

out of organs

like they wanted donated once
                                                      they were gone.

Scratching these words out
drawing blood from stone,
Will you read 'em? No doubt
but you'd prefer to read alone.

My "a" s have gone gray
maybe a few times too many,
still I'd die to hear you say
you like these poems plenty.

I think you're annoyed,
told me so fair few times.
But you played and toyed,
let me commit a few crimes.

One day I'll look back.
With your face all non-seeing.
Knowing that look in fact,
was all due to my being.

                 You never really cared about friendship
                  really the opposite to me.
                   Guess your heart prevents it
                     Nothing taken personally.

The only "Truth" is what you believe to be.
                                                                          Truth in fact, is but the Title.

I'm sick. Not
physically. close enough though.
because
you're not close enough.
To heal. Me

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?

saw             a                smile
caught on the c h a n n e l s
of the WiFi
like      w a v e s                    goodbye

It was simple at first,
No harm intended.
Who'd of known you were a curse.
I'd of died for and defended.

I build homes in my heart;
with bedrooms, bathrooms. With kitchens and attics.
Winding staircases- gardens.
They beat in time with my blood
and with each pump, become a little larger.

I am the only resident.

The Agrophobic Architect; never invited elsewhere.
never to know another's heart-home.
never invited in.

So i built homes in my heart
and slowly
the foundations decided to b/r\e/a\k
apart.

so in my spare time
after a days studying
i stand on the pulpit
and talk to an empty room
shouting into the corners all the words i have written for people
who are not listening

like therapy i record these speeches
and play them back to remind me of the flow
of words
that could fill chalkboards whiteboards and lecture notebooks
but carry no weight

sometimes pray that the room is being captured
so someone can tell me to go
or perhaps the security guard finds some satisfaction
in seeing a heart unable to say no

If i could,
rewind time i would.
Not to change, or mess,
**** or bless
but to relive. Again.

The same mistakes and goals,
patch up the same holes,
live the bitter nights and
love the little fights.
To live. Once more.

There's one small issue.
Time travel's standard issue,
it's my heart will find you again.
When time's rewound and love's
refound, all good things must come
to an end.

Maybe one day, when i'm old and gray
you'll visit me.
to relive MY love
one final time.
Then once again. And again. And again.
Till no longer.

It's okay. These words'll fall
on deaf ears, but act like you're listening,
anyway.

It's not okay. Carrot and stick.
Couldn't i have been your,
first pick.

WE'RE OKAY. BECAUSE THE FLINCHES
THAT RUN THROUGH YOU
WHENEVER MY HAND MOVES.
tell me a thousand words more
than anything you could say.

we're not okay. i pushed my love off
onto the canvas called the sky
to paint you a clearer picture.

I'm fine.
You're fine.
This has happened BEFORE.
but don't worry

Soon we'll be....

coulda let you hold me close,
love saw something deeper I suppose.

we hand our hearts
to people
who know not, what they hold.

are we not the fools
who blame it's breaking
on those
who never knew what they held.

I carry a notepad:  
                                    Not to
                                    Bullet point
                                    Out
                                                            My existence.

But to document;     Resilience.

pack up your clothes
remove your scent
this bed can be remade
this heart will be unbent

"But no."
The Sun said to the Sea.
"We cannot be close,
You cannot accept me."

"Why?!"
The Sea simply roared.
"I only reflect you,
and so my love is assured!"

"Fine."
The Sun said; and so down it came.
evaporating the Sea.
"Now we will never be the same."

Nothing's changed.
'cept that smile. Now, leave's a weird taste,
of one part pity, two parts haste.
Sorry for subjugating you to this foolishness.
Guess saying "no" was for the best.

We agreed, did we not?
On the way we'd love.
Till we got caught
when your heart became tough.
Hammer came down with a thud.
Crystal future to mud.

Take me home, it's too painful
lull me to sleep- is this what we came too?
Still you promised me.
Guess all love leaves eventually.

After, your heart
opens to me.
My mouth'll tumble out,
every single sweet story it knows.
Just so those eyes- ever gaze to mine.
I'll leave that ******* called time
To his own lover.

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.

Such a shame
"I love you" Can't contain,
the true extent
of these false
feelings.

"can we pretend that this never happened? can we pretend that the photo's on my phone, the pictures on the wall, the poems in my book the endless number of calls, the days out, the days in, the days somewhere inbetween, the nights, the lessons taught, the stories told and retold, till we both know them better than the back of our hands that touched when we didn't want them too, but i did, i did, i did."

tear it out cleanly.
it can heal i can deal with the scars i'm not afraid anymore
but i can't sustain this.
do not resuscitate me.

There is a snake.
Its many beautiful scales criss-cross over
my heart. I. I. I.
promised to never tell a soul
and hoped to die.

I'll be swallowed whole.

Boa-constricting inside my head
until the ink coloured poison drip drops till
i'm dead

perhaps you're hell-sent.
these false feelings
words never truly meant.
                                                                                with bruises
your hands may intend.
because you're precious
you're my friend.

“fear
he who reaches into
the core of a heart
and makes
its cavities
music.”

i can't go stargazing anymore.
i mean; after the moment was ruined by a not too snarky comment
"They're dying- it's not beautiful-"
you wouldn't expect it. now i look to ceilings
with cracks and caves from upstairs dances, naming constellations
from memory

wishing i could look at my night sky stars.
without you.                                                  
                                                                          "-but this is. We're beautiful."

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.

beat into me until i'm broken and the feelings
alight the layer of skin just below the outermost,
like the lining of a jacket, catching aflame.

scratch out the remaining worries with the spines of your teeth.
rake me upwards, shred the doubts like old sunburn peel, and peel and peel the layers of mistrust off of me till i'm raw, pink and ready.

never has this body not been scarred
without first feeling excitement.

since you pierced it, now you're responsible. I'll chase that ownership, mutually owed, to the end of all meaning. till the sensations are the only bits that still make sense, and then you can make up for everything else.

only after this, after everything else is spread across a blood splattered floor, can things start again. only once you make up for not returning the parts of me. only once my remaining organs, now calcified, have been cracked to their inner ichor, and you tip me gently into your thankless lungs.

only once the prostration, the words left since butchered into me, have been flayed by your regret, and raised to the height of saints.

hang me up.
swing by my legs and wrap around the root of me like you once would.
debase yourself inside of me again, learn to build something again. dig deeper than needed again, strike copper in my veins so I can oxidise again. watch me alight again, at your briefest touch.

there was an old building
wooden and decrepit
filled with secrets that the children
traded in.

now it's smoothed over.
casted concrete or something similar.
it's the ghost of a house that's gone.
it's eerie how it's inviting.
It's eerie how it's inviting.
but now it's missing.

Come and follow.
down, down this hollow.
Tree, tea and other such triviali-
ties?
Let us land in this lettuce land,
swapping vegetable stories
kissing better our sore knees.
Maybe if we try hard enough
we'll find love.

A spark, a candle lit- as
we share our candlelit dinner; whats on the menu?
Deceit pies, cream lies.
and other some such tasties.

We're too hasty.
Just me, talking to just me
or was it Justine?

We'll never know- a beautiful mess.
I guess.

Too busy
thinking I'm yours

to worry about loving from another source.

i am living in

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

the right time to                breathe.

Polaroid mimicry
A grin, spreading ear to ear.
Cheshire cat wannabe.
stay like that for a little while.
cause your rare, rare smile
needs more than one photo.

Good morning all, this morning i awoke
and i wanted to say something.
I got dressed in fibers made in who knows where,
traveled on a train made of who knows what,
to speak to you fine people probably thinking
"Who the hell is this!?"
but i wanted to say something.
You see, i'm not the brightest kid in the club,
the sharpest neither-
can't make a universe with my words nor build a story with my soul.
i don't have that talent but
i wanted to say something.

There is no greater moment
than the moment just gone.
These words, fleeting like grains of sand from my mouth
i want them to take root in your hearts and build a thousand sandcastles, so i can proudly say i made a beach out of the intangible
and no amount of sea salty hatred can force it to
perish.
i wanted to say something. something you wouldn't forget and
something i wouldn't regret.

I wanted to say something.
so, good morning everyone
what kind of story shall i tell?

beginning:

playing football
in the communal
playground
pitched between
mountains of concrete
brown brick office blocks
blockaded high street shops
council housing kingdoms.

memory;

taking potshots at metal
goalposts slicked with
the rain and scabbed spray paint
till the olders kick us aside
basketballs in hand
for freethrows from the poverty line.

unlearning;

to think
love like marble
too cold and rich to touch
in fear that it’d turn out to be *****
like two boys
looking at each other for too long
can leave stains no amount of febreze can air out.

end;

i still can’t sleep in your arms
but you never stop searching for me
in yours
all there is left to do
is let
myself be found.

i haven't seen you stay in one place for more than a few days,
like laying some roots will result in some catastrophic meltdown
like being noticed will cause sirens to scream out
"i want to be wanted, i want to be wanted, i want to be wanted".

isnt this the point, to pop up shop and take what little charity those
who know what being loveless is like can provide. in short bursts a heart can be mended, the wounds sewn up and put up for sale like a clean bill of emotional health.

till the view begins to stagnate and the bones of all the half-healed ex-lovers begin to ache inside, the embers of a burnt out husk in the chest smoulders with the promise of "it'll be better elsewhere."

"they might want me elsewhere." "someone will love you elsewhere."

To the God which determines the lifetime of Poets i ask,

let all the poets die with their hearts no longer on their sleeves;

but finally in their throats.
so in our final moments
all the words never written
can, at last,
be spoke.