sometimes, all you can
really do is
give them a big smile
and wave them off,
hopefully from your life.

and yet again,
they've added too much sugar

it boils over, pink
and bubblegum,
artificial reality,
plastic face

but behind the masks
of dazzling white teeth
and teacups

lie the lies,
and the yellow black
shadows of teeth
and bitter, bitter coffee

Then I might not have to hide my tears in the space between the wall and the bed.

One day the world will look kinder upon us,
and when the wind takes the ash by the hand
and sweeps it into uncertain horizons,
they will see that I have taken the fire they set

and made her my own child. I whisper to her
that she does not hurt me, that even the sunrises
on the horizon covet her colour. I remind her
that wounds are opened in anger but burns are
borne of grit and hope, the unwanted spawn
of pain and desire scarring itself into a dance
of fire and flame.

Then I might not have to hide my love in the space between my shadow and yours.

as we hide behind locked doors
we are locked within hidden doors
trapped within the dangers of
our own mind

no one can save you from yourself
except you.

make your own keys.

open all those locks.

set free the captive mind

and set free the beautiful souls.

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?

a
mutter
in the empty
corridor echoing
to and fro all the way
louder, faster, stronger
a cry now, a scream a SHRIEK

silence.
and a mouth sewn shut.

yet
again a
shiver, quiver
a rumble deep down
aching river flooding over
quiet streams burst into tremors
a broken voice now NO MORE GLAMOURS

silence.
and a voice long gone.

but
just but
just once more
the shift of air into
the hollow larynx the
beating heart slamming
against the unyielding ribs
the haunting melody fragile
but unbroken ringing like bells
the tearful shudder itching to break
free once free again as it rips out and
away an echo no more a song I will sing
into the skies a chorus of UNENDING HOPE

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

it's almost as if I'm underwater
glassy eyes, haunted stare
I can't breathe, but I haven't ever
if I could, I wouldn't care

tension and suspension
fear, silence in contention
like atmospheric death
not a single breath

spoken thoughts are now
unspoken words, a bow

what I once felt is gone
that's it. this time you've won.

the waves roll and crash
and my sandcastle
is gone.

pick up the
shells, sticks
seafoam sickeningly
salty

grain by grain
a new reign sets itself
into the ever-shifting shore

and yet again,
the waves roll and crash
and my sandcastle is gone.

pick up the
shovel, stones
silence so, so
scary

pain by pain
a new dawn, a new day
sets itself into a city of night

and yet again,
the waves roll and crash
and roll,
and crash.

but the day has set,
and the night is still very, so young

like melted wax
in the tub

1. Marinate thoroughly
i soak my fingers
dip them in blood poppies
till they're wrinkled
powdery white

2. Add water
take a deep breath
underwater, take a big
gulp of dead grapes and
melted wax

3. Boil on high heat
swallow bubbles whole
as you bathe in debt

4. Bring to a simmer
i am everywhere but here,
nowhere but there
and the blood poppies
and dead grapes
and melted wax

5. Plate.
head on a silver platter,
i hand myself over and away

When I open the door again I will find
that nothing awaits me. In my mind
the fires of hell are quelled in a flood
sent by impossibility, reeking of blood.

I will see no longer a reflection, I will cast
no longer a shadow, I will take the past
by his throat and the future by her neck
and I will drown them in a tide of black.

Clothed in the skin of time, I meekly revel
in my loss of sight. However far the travel
presents itself, I have known that twisted path
will wind back to the beginning in wrath.

I am my own torturer, but I cannot yield.
I huddle not in fear, but in a tall grass field
where I am but a stalk in the wind,
and I am just a sock in the lint.

But even with my eyes closed, I know
the hallway will never empty. A dim glow
from beneath my door comes as a warning -
I cannot escape what has always been coming.

The monster lies not under my bed but
just beyond my door, the threat of knowing,
the risk of being, the consequence of hoping
will always, always make the deepest cut.

I shy away from the light of fires
into the dark of the night.
I tell myself that sleep will bring me peace,
that it will cover my eyes, that I may hide
in a temporary shelter of my own creation.

And yet I refuse to succumb to slumber,
and I incinerate my retinas with the light
of pseudo-intelligence and I tell myself
the day ends only when I fall asleep
as if I have the courage and the bravery
and the arrogance to even hold time
between my palms and away from my face.