an armistice of the soul
we learn to forgive ourselves
the aches of sins covered by the veil of night
our eyes dilate
- in love with an infinity of stars
possibility opens up
its arms akimbo to our own
opposite the heart is the hard of health
- our breathing stutters in time with discordance
we love the burn
just as much as forgiveness

rocked up on distant shores
agedness personified coos to heavenly heathens
heaving and hulling her breath
we all hold hands in the indefatigable oceanic states
beauty by fire; burn the sea to salt stone sacrifice

Fluctuating sentiment
Settled and stocked
We breathe for security
For the ebb to stifle
For the burning chest to breathe.

when the timestamp on your watch is
3:33
and for a split second
god shines down
from splintered heavens
and the breath that is silent
expands in my lungs
like a million sighs
like an enlarging balloon
racing to the explosion
I see the rapture in my digitalised smile
the bleeping raises to the crescendo
I feel the robot veins
I feel the steady hands
holding wrists
like ropes writ ready

god smiles like an enlarging balloon
hot and heavy
with bountiful love

but the timestamp flickers
from its devilish perfection
3:33
off the edge
cleaved down in a cliff face
I race on the blade of it
the seconds of sanctimonious breathing
coming to a stop

3:34

what begins as a game
always ends as war
as I forgo my speech
twist tongues to silence
such an act lives in danger
what begins as rebellion
always ends as a netted trap
my arms are the panicked fish
bodies flayed as they drown in oxygen
I breathe in my idiocy
not to speak
it is to surrender blissfully

Stop personifying our oceans;
pollution set adraft like lopsided grins
the eye of the storm within the palm of a breaking seascape escape
the white horses, live and vivacious upon stormy greys

Stop humanizing the catastrophe;
thou should not subject
poor innocent ocean beasts
to the pain of humanity - have you no compassion for searing tides?

passion upon a roaring sea;
sailors know the waves settle some
            but the storm must first pass;
            a predicted impossible.

salad swirls
I peer into your depths
lettuce leaves
splayed seductive
unpeeled forest green liver skins
green thumbs
red palmed
'tis only a Sunday brunch

we are all only lonely girls on park benches
legs entwined, swinging unbridled, as we peek through long shuttered lashes

the man swallowed in fading greys
he is prostate on that bench
peeking through bars of oak and endless views
he dares not seep from reality
gripped by wood

old aunt crazy cat
she was once such a man
engulfed in pipe dreams
and she doth peek back
through stems of newly birthed bench bamboo
waiting for lovers to enter their woods.

the pain blooms like a newly wed
- a subtle rose which ripples in my cupped palms
I breathe in the red
lungs expanding
with summer sibilance
as if your rose tongue still curled in mine
- our mouths holding hands

I leave my window open
god
I never pray for
may creep inside
in the night
rescue me from
this figure
inside my skin.

It bears no name
my hollowed shell
for the best
as with a name
comes power
and more sway
over the tides of my fluttered grip
over the glint of such ceasing sharpness
seizing spluttered breaths
throwing down a maiden's gauntlet
for god fears this spectre
more than I
its tangibility precedes its face
and I feel the icy fingers
long before
I pray.

whittled song hath hollowed my bird bones
it seems like every embrace of night heeds my wails
perhaps it is but a flight of neverending destiny
that I would collide with an usurping infinity

the feeling is fleeting,
it skids,
ice melting under tacky bubble gum shoes,
on the boundless plains of ire in my mind,
clean swept,
I observe this foreign invader,
trace its figure for clues,
has it come here for me,
or is that too self assured?

it is a brilliant yellow budgie squawking out in the dawn,
its beaded eyes reflect like sharps for dappled sun,
the girl with the yellow raincoat twists her hips,
she imagines the budgie's wings could cover her skin quite fashionably.

The wave lilts,
lulls and ebbs in time with morning croons,
we all shelter our tired eyes,
watching white horses as they race to their dooms.

the ulcers in my stomach twist in tune with your lyricism,
my ears twitch, unbidden, heed your call of candy,
your words, my teeth ache as if you had scoured me dry,
I lick my lips to try and remember the taste,

a mystery would be if you had stayed,
your absence, rather, is a settlement of expectation,
I humble myself when lying down in your indentations,
the bed still holds the impressions of your body
- yet my memory fades

I squint my eyes in the dark,
so long, so tuned out, that they ache,
in the dark I can also see the exact shade of your eyes,
but come morn it fades to whispers.

transparency slips, incandescent, into the lock,
this sweeping tilting feeling sinks lower,
we sway on the obelisk of an eye in the sea,
the storm whirls with madness unbidden,
yet the film of venerability burns on,
a spluttering candle of stone will

we bask in the poignancy of rising stress,
it is the eye of the storm,
a swirling magenta of rage kept pressed in,
the box rattles but we feed off the energy,
there is power in the first wisp of tension on the cusps of our cheeks,
a veritable sea breeze of seduction;
to yearn for success, the fear transcending to the drive.

draft me for the silken dreams
raft my hopes on a desolate ocean
allay the terrified cruise of waves
magnify heathen's hope tenfold

and yet I spare the allocated freedoms

this sea of serenity,
floating eternal and faultless,
plumes of drifting tranquility,
is but a hair's breath from its inferno,
the rising tide,
and crashing irascible consequence of such drowned passion.

I have plundered your ebullience,
dipped my talons in between the breathing slits of your vivacious presence,
I hunger for such exuberance,
my eyes widen with euphoria,
a leech of all that ripe and tender effervescence,
a singed wick upon the temple of your tranquility,
I will not let you be,
O I am truly your misery.

I read your letters
deep into the belly of night
the beast claws at my bruised eyes
sleep is savagery beyond measure
fatigue follows close behind
but the words sink claws into my skin
and I cannot help but reread and remember
when those claws were more than phantoms

We walk the road of truth,
yet evade thy scenery,
i saw the ****** in your eyes,
but rerouted past your ammunition,
the one that held your hand as the trigger clicked,
the truth lacked space for their voices.

I never understood people who ran,
the burn in the lungs,
ache in the thighs,
pain and restless aftercare,

the people left behind,
the solemn faces that never cease,
the memories you can't escape.

I run into the night,
a wild blessed thing.

a sonnet springs surprise
over the ovular
eyes of earthly elves
angels.

There is beauty in the cracked half moon imprint of your smile,

it is blood red,
painted on,
like the fastened belt we hang over my door,

it is a warning sign,
that belt,

that in this room people are *******,
by the waist,
by the wrists,
one time by the neck,
but we mustn't speak of that,

we leave the belt to hang there for the perceptive,
who never realise that this is a solitary palace,

and we gift the belt to the gormless,
the ones who come for shackles or silence.

A tuckered bucket of preening primroses,
satcheled over the left-hand shoulder,
eyes hooded like awnings over bread tinged luncheons,
its been eons since rendez-vous took your shape and form,
perilous verbosity rots away on my tongue,
my eyes are a hostage on your figure,
the gentle malice is almost imperceptible from here,
or it is but an illusion of my grandeur,
that you and your majesty had ever broken down my door,
moments leave us as prey to the day to day,
the regretful palm out gesture is unrelieved and we part,
like the single stem of a shredded begonia, petals astray and seeped.

Likened to a wave,

the overhead cloud ringing out
mutterings of daffodils and burps of bees
the land resists, smooth and indefatigable,
persisting tirelessly,

rolls of sharpened grasses
rising up in an unheeded swarm
the breath halts in the chest
like a grand mistress unsheathing her sword,

we siphon off the dregs of courage
bottle out the bravery
there are mountains of battles to fight
and only a mind of resistance tonight.

Little slips of lies
Never hurt a soul
Cradle pills of omission
And swallow them whole

i cry on the inside
it burns and it burns
i wished for the world to change
but mercy has no holding

hundreds of scrolls of poems leave my lips,
but to read is to surrender,
thus the song plays on.

Treachery is unbecoming,
fateless without grace,
my betrayal becomes itself,
loses itself within my space.

I begin to carbon date myself,
but surrounding stone cold hearts have no charity,
comparison of the self, to see if I have expired,
it lacks vital sanctity.

Thus, I pray to the moon,
when sky shelters pitched night alone,
the nameless hear my croons,
but their humanity does postpone.

IF there were a child,
small and speckled,
like a fallen star,
wrapped in the skin of an angel.

THERE are questions echoed,
bouncing off the walls,
a song in tune to melancholy,
driven by their high pitched naivety.

WERE it to ask me,
about the fullness of the house,
the converse of myself,
the paper thin skin.

A response comes from ether,
it flows from deceit and devilish nature,
I feel the lie fall like outward breath,
so easy, yet growing more burdensome.

CHILD has no name,
for we do not label innocence itself,
it would be insanity,
and I would surely die before...

The muscles ache,
or it may be bones now,
and I am but a host,
for their pulsing complaints.

Today the motion will never cease,
I am the brain within the body,
and the world cannot be silent presses,
or it will rot away.

****** out arms,
like the conductor of a grandiose majestic orchestra,
fingers sooted,
as if lisps of coal had swept into the cracks of a smile,
and what belies the truth,
O sonnet of beloved decibels,
do cry and masticate from the heavens above,
O roar me with your shaking lungs,
crescent moons of red blood - eyes but a shimmer,

do corral your final motion,
blackest pledge for harrowed heroine,
the soul lives on.

This is where I am,
the music thrums like a heartbeat,
sudden brilliance spills from flickering rectangles,
my fingers beckon me further through the pipes.

There it sits,
a single rectangle,
the black letters blare out,
a decision of fate,
hell sings me closer,
I let my eyes gaze,

let me see
let me be

Not even a letter,
less than,
less than a breath,
a zip of light upon flickering boxes,
yet holds control over the push and pull of my tides,
I am but a slave to this unenveloped call

read on.

untasted words leave the lips of the mercury man,
he is slim and sublime,
attenuated to the bridge of his nose,
but his trunk is thick and sturdy

he holds impermeability,
is too still and stubborn for lovers,

mercury man slips through my fingers,
but danger remains.

myself is an abstract concept,
for everyone action is a reaction and in prospect pause about the surroundings,
myself is for madmen
and scholars.

Honesty hurts,
Omission stings,
Regret burns,
so I balm the what if.

Answers:

"I'm here if you need me."

Answers:

"I think we need to talk."

Answers:

"I'm sorry, I think we need to talk about this."

Answers:

"Do I know anything true about you?"

Answers:

"I called them. I'm sorry."

Answers:

"Well I did it again, I had to, it never ends."

Answers:

"Maybe we can't do anything, but I'm still here."

Answers:

"I met someone... else."

Answers:

"We broke up, I wasn't going to leave anyway."

Answers:

"Hey, I love you."

Answers:

"Do you hate me? Why do you do this?"

Answers:

"I don't believe you."

Answers:

"Its me as well."

Answers:

"I don't believe you. I'm sorry, but, I don't."

Answers:

"Take care."

Answers:

"I told them, I had to, I'm sorry, I'm worried, what if it... I know you trusted me but some things overwrite trust."

Answers:

phantom touches across time and space,
we walk the tight tropes in between worlds,
the lines of acrylic is only paint after all,
the future is a facsimile of our minds,
the branches rot and stunt themselves to please us,
impossibilities fuel an eager mind,

Answers:

"everyone you have ever met is in black and white,
we hear them in stereo,
the voices mingle and copulate whilst we still embrace,

still,
embrace."

Answers:

"Nothing lasts forever,
but I don't care,
because best friends forever,
is ******* magic,
so I'm not leaving."

Answers:

I never told you.
I never will.
But some things are best left in print.

Outstretch arms,
an invitation that varies.

Chin under neck,
closure - of the door or the soul.

We sway like grass stems,
there is fragility in community - its trodden yet resilient.

The music thrums,
heart beats never end, mother, lover, heart monitor then...

Our eyes miss,
it is easier to look away than stare hoods and absence in the face.

But we dance,
forever more, in heavens above, the lovers never perish.

sandpaper smiles crinkle like foil wrappers in mellowed sunlight,
it burns a little but its as smooth as silk after a while.

puppets on the walls snarl with the nuisance of real ones,
beauty festers in their laser pointer eyes,
and my feet are cold.

insectoid eyes peer down the rabbit hole
there are infinite choices but one ending
we all know that whatever you chose, it.

The shell is quite capable of decision,
it even believes the choice is always there,
it even smiles sometimes when you poke it,
laughter is a common sight for the shell,
it is rarely given reason to fright or shake.

I want to run
until my legs fall off.

I want to run
until my stomach caves in.

I want to run
until my head screams.

I want to run
until the doors gape open.

I want to run
until the wind fears my speed.

I want to run
until I outgrow you.

I want to run
until the pain stops.

I want to run
until my dreams soften.

I want to run
until the bones break.

I want to run
until the pounding resembles life.

I want to run
until I am home again.

I began with a boy,
his traits were his sparkling eyes,
any who would behold would be bewitched,

mesmerised.

Once there, it was not enough,
I knew the fallacy of his face,
had traced his dimples,
but appearances can only stretch so far.

I told the boy, my hand upon his cheek,
"my child, it is time to feel and think"
of course the boy knew neither,
he was but a doll of my making,
a sculpture,
an empty hanging object to twist to precision.

I whispered to him, when the sky rose empty,
I held him just as the night held me,
I cocooned his ear in hot marbelling breath
I spoke of dreams,
fargone galaxies,
wonders of the world.

I told him to search, to find, to discover.

The boy never moved from his pristine shelf,
each day,
as doors rang open,
and bells clanged closed,
his eyes never flickered,
from their emerald prose.

Courage spiked my veins,
the boy transformed once again,
he metamorphed, bones twisting obscenely in the night,
I heard his silent screams,
his eyes begged for mercy,

boy became a bat,
he became a smashed supplication of glass,
he was shards on my mantle,
he was memories and ghouls awakened.

I held him as the sun ached in my eyes,
I cried into his chest but his heart gave no pleasure,
nor mercy,
he stared so empty and open,

I tried to clasp the word sorry.

We did not speak for weeks,
boy became guilt,
he left his title of creation,
he had arisen as my master,
limbs sharpened to tools of movement,
his eyes would catch me
the green deafened my sight,

the world muted.
Enchanted.

Dust settled on my frosted bones,
I was whittled thin,
hollowed out,
I held no more soul,
only yearning for boy to smile.

But his eyes did close.

one day meaning will surrender,
just like him,
and my empty shelf.

I am allergic,
yet,
I keep coming back.

apprehend your own second soul,
it is the back seat driver who makes all wrong turns,
born being upholds the simple truth of being as,
utterly incomprehensible as possible,

verbose and unstated,
skirted around concepts
like drowning dresses that skim the shins,

yet do not apprehend the beauty,
or slim the startling wiles,
for knowledge is a rarity,
and nonsense is a disguise.

skating on a thin shine of ice,
clean metal reflects only sharp eyes,
we know not how to skate,

but we know how to fly.

I marvel at the glassy sheen of auburn eyes,
burning like firestorms of fresh winter hair,
and to entwine with mine is but a gift from,
you.

mon amour,
je ne sais pas le francais,
mais je vais etudier ca pour tu.

There is a kind world,
waiting,
beneath the surface of the one we made,

just dig a little.