when you throw your spears
they lodge themselves in the steel poles
and cry and shout and cry

but now you've shed your tears
there's no doors for you to close
don't shout don't knock don't die

like the scar after a rose

has taken you into its arms

like the glimmer after a star

has shone for you as it dives from the skies

like the echoes after a melody

has wrapped its slender fingers around your mind

like the breeze after a butterfly

dances for you, lives for you


the stains of beauty are but

strokes of the brush on long finished

canvases that breathe and sing,

not along hallways,

but immortalised in the scars

after a rose has taken you into its arms

the ravings of a madman
forced into words in strict
freedom

is it worthy of poetry?

a hellhole of emotion
forced into a body in free
restriction

am i worthy of existence?

crying is weakness
so they say

so now they stain my pillows
instead
sink into paper so fragile
so thin

but I’ve realised something.

tears are pearls
of our very own making
from box hearts boxed up
from the friction of existence
a beauty no poem can ever convey

tears are the answers
we’ve been searching for
the light in the darkness
the hope in the fear
the hope by fear

tears are the essence
of your very soul
whispering, always
the proof of your humanity
the true incarnation of an emotion

remember this.

apathy is true weakness.

the drop rolling down your cheek
holds more strength
than that smile plastered onto your face

it’s the dawn
finally broken
into half

the sun sett(l)ing
down forever

the moonshine fading
in the dimming glares
of the stars

i can see everything
in the imminent darkness
that is now

my tears
are black like
the sky against the world

my smile is tired
of the frowns and
the laughter

as the clock strikes 12
and i fall asleep (forever)

i am rudely awakened by
the sun screaming
into my half closed eyes

i have nothing to say.

no, it isn’t a mental block.

it is emptiness that fills me up
right to the brim.

the silence that rings in my ears,
the cold within the casket

the tips of my heart
iced over by time
and frosted by voices
in my head

an unheard echo in the void

the winds blowing in gusts
into eye sockets
of glass eyes and glassy eyes

this desolation
of isolation
and devastation
is the spark
burning out in the snow

a snowflake into insignificance

i have nothing left to say.

there’s no one to hear me anyway.