She stares into the abyss.
Lungs battling with mighty gales,
Eyes open wide and stinging from the spitting rain,
On one foot, balanced, teetering ever so slightly over the edge,
She has looked,
Has gazed upon the ultimate evil and ultimate peace,
Believing to be safe on her side of the cliff top,
Not concerned when the inky black talons of eternity sink into her skin like knives,
She thinks she will fall one day,
One day when her foot does not grip as harshly to the side,
And she is scared too,
Terrified,
But knows she would also be relieved,
For she would have an answer, finally.

What is out there, over the edge?

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.

You wonder,
ears curled in on themselves like hunched over drunkards,
when your art became objects.

The artifacts hang,
from frayed skeleton string,
stretched and whittled like string-bean veins.

Your hand itches,
like distilled water as thunder growls overhead,
and you know it is reaching for a pen.

No longer,
can you stare into the mirrored engravings,
and see fleshed out  words.

Scant nothings,
hum their prayers up into the sky,
but you do not follow.

There is,
time for you yet,
and art is not reality.

The dark eyes
of the one
you love the most
and
always forgive
no matter
the consequence
hang
silent
deadly
titled up
to the drowning sky
teeth pulled back
jaw out and
empty
for the howls
to fill

she wears black
to
camouflage
her

her bright
skin,
its canvas
is so
pale that
sometimes
she thinks
she can
carve
into her
own flesh

you swallow
in disgust
bees burrowing
down into
the rocky
falls of her
bottomless
stomach
the buzzing
sounding
so loud
from your
vantage point
of looking down
into the
fathomless
pits
of her
soul

you ache as
she
feasts
on your
raw and
tender
juices

blood is the
sweetest
wine
she whispers
voice thick
with lust
as your
veins
pound
against
your skin
she looks
like she
could
swallow
you whole

and you
feel
like you
could
let her

she licks
her lips
for she
so loves
the flavour
of
torment

she is monster
is devil blood
is canines
tearing
against the
scarred fabric
of your
skin
is forgiveable
is only animal
is mindless
is drenched from
head to toe
in the rain
that comes
pouring down
from the heavens

she is
still not
clean
she is
still
******
pretending
the lipstick
she wears
is

animal
friendly.

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?

Ants are crawling up my arms,
Biting and squirming like a second skin,
Pulling my heart from my chest in frantic tones,
Eating at my organs like leeches and beasts.

They squabble with one another,
Fight over who gets the fingers and toes,
Bring chills down my spine regardless of the donned layers,
Itch at my scalp just waiting for me to pull my hair.

I glare at them,
But am pliant and suave,
Simply lying there,
Letting them take control.

Am I nothing but a planet?
A hill for them to rest upon,
And eat,
And survive,
At least I serve a purpose for these ants.

I long for them gone,
And know if I stand they would fall,
But do not,
For uncertainty and lead in my limbs weigh me down.

The ground stares harshly up at me,
Whispers of grass ruffled spitting insults to my coiling stomach,
I see the ants crawl away,
If only for a moment,

And I miss them.

Addiction,
Oh how she longed for addiction,
that she could understand,
Like a gentle tap on the door,
A little ring in her head,
A buzzing in the back of her throat,
Reminding her it was time to sink lower,
Down into the pits of her own damnation.

Addiction,
She would prosper compared to this,
She would fly,
Wings out like telescopes cataloguing the night skies,
Pain was only a replacement,
A repression of her bottled sins,
A soul deep binding that kept her Outer Her from going nuclear.

Addiction,
If only she could let herself go back,
Take steps back down the staircase and away from heaven,
Climb down into the well and huddle in the bone deep chill of that water,
Iced veins, burning under her skin,
That peculiar smile on her face..

The distraction,
Like triple rainbows from a school bus seat,
All the children turn their heads in wonder,
Eyes wide in innocence and joy,
Sweeping away from their little lives to witness that majesty,
And her,
Lying,
Crying,
Dying,
Drowning,
In that bed of hers,
Sheets seeping into her skin and biting cramps at her limbs,
And her fingernails,
Sharp enough to hurt and pull her mind away from dark alleys and harsh truths.

It was not a world of infinity,
Not a world she could escape by regular means,
And it pained her everyday to be reminded,
It ached in the pit of that tomb of snakes, writhing around in her stomach,
Smelt of ash and soon-to-be-lit matchsticks,
Phosphate, red, burning, like the sun,
And her, with skin, as soft and white as the curtains going up in flames,
Eyes wide and begging for something else to look at,
A summer snowstorm out the window perhaps,
Anything but the digging thorns of truth that tightened around her throat like a noose.

Anything but those thoughts,
Of how sharp her fingernails are,
And how locked her door is,
And how small she is compared to the majesty of the world,
Glorious and frightening.

Anything but how easy it could be.

Do not look back he said,
into the starbursts of your lover's eyes
into the dark pits of what you left behind
into the burning sun that traces your tiny figure
into the drowning need that will wrap you home
into the drowning need that will suffocate you home
into the drowning need that will take you home.

Do not go home he said,
where the windows whine
the doors creak in warning
the footsteps echo like gunshots
the gunshots echo like footsteps
her words echo like gunshots
the gunshots do not echo.

Do not hold me he said,
like he was ghostly
pale as the moon
face pulled taught like a rubber band
eyes dark with warning.

Do not hold me he said,
for he feared the arms would choke him
the arms would pull at his hair until
he was
falling
into the arms
and he cannot handle the warmth
the buzz of conflict
the fight in their veins
knuckled up fighting fists.

Do not let her he said,
as if he could say that
as if she had not hurt him too
as if he was real.

Do not look back he said,
as if I had left at all
as if someone was telling me to leave

as if he knew.

tense and well met
bitter sweet
like dark chocolate
and old friendly
enemies

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.

Lips do not close themselves,
there is always a maker behind the shelves,
a tall and looming frightful me,
oh if only I could blink and let it be.

Do not let your eyes reflect,
the subtle sadness of intellect,
is all a lie, a gentle hack,
when you open your eyes you can't look back.

Mournful doves on willow's peak,
their braided wails and whittled beak,
do heed their call, a cry so shrill,
for in ending remains only nature's will.

She is at war with many things,
Too many to relay,
But her arch nemesis is of course herself,
The inner being that hisses insults in her ear,
The raven that claws at her insides,
Making her stomach turn in anxiety,
And her head pound in fear.

Sometimes she think she is a vessel,
Not a vessel for the gods of a vessel taken by a demon,
Simply a vessel, trapping the truth inside,
A slick skin which looks so realistic, tied all around her like binding ropes, that people believe her to be real,
Even when Inner Her is screaming out in pain,
And Outer Her believes the skin to be too tight, and brings up a pin.

Inner Her is not kind nor sweet,
She is judgemental, selfish and filled to the brim with toxic self hate,
But she supposes she has trapped her honesty in a web of lies,
So it is only right to hate herself.

Doubt is a slimy liquid poured onto her skull and into her eyes,
She thinks it smells too nice to get rid of,
And perhaps that was a lie too,
And perhaps Inner Her was banding on her ribcage, just below where her heart rests,
Screaming in righteous resentment “I hate you” over and over,
Like a song's chorus she cannot help but hum to.

She goes to the beach,
The sand cool between her toes,
Wind howling in early morning protest,
She smiles when a jogger passes her and smiles,
They smile back,
Inner Her rocks back and forth in insanity,
A thought coursing like poison through her veins “Can they see me?”

Both of them have become invisible with time,
Their skin flayed thin until it doesn't exist,
Hair pulled away from many nights trying to steady herself,
Bones crumpled under the weight of her incoming mortality,
Eyes hollowed with restlessness.

For there is no sleep for the walking dead.

Inner Her laughs,
A big mad cackle that stretches over mountains and down into animal burrows,
She points a finger held out as a weapon,
Laughing with no humour,
Only burgeoning and treasured insanity.

She has done it,
Finally.
And now Inner Her rests on the flesh of her dead enemy,
...skin and bones blown with the wind,
joining the sands of time to an eternity of darkness.

Outer Her was fallen.

When the nip
of the curled lip
reaches the rallying
surface of paper,

there must be substance

One cannot decree over nothing
sounds may not exhaust
and sacrifice their whims
for the hopes of a deserted rebellion,

there must be truth

You forget
so often your mind mutes
it coils into the half alive
semi state
of being

You forget
that this land we walk
is already compact
and finished

We live in the future

there are no new buildings
all we stand upon
is the bones of old
and the uncorporeal
ghosts
of pioneers ideas

there is no new
nor is there new hardship
every pain in your blood
has been endured three fold
by those living

or not living

But yet we party

our hearts wild beastlies
our ears cocked and pelt upon ends
the swirling swells of music and chant
this ancient illustrious dance...

do not let yourself be bewitched by the past
for one day we will be it.

He is narcissist of highest character
is sunshine that is so smug
with its
wide smile
and rays that
poison

yet sunshine is
still your happiness

he is holder of many hearts
he likes to clutch them like
soft baby skin
to his soft chest
and feel the
beating and
warm gush
of blood
against
him

it feeds him
some say
like your eyes
never could
like the spark
that
pumped
like the
breath never could

that
beating
marvel
never could

like you
never could

he tells you that he has always loved the sun
you believe it is because he
sees himself when he
stares at it
in the reflection of the
car door

it slams behind him
as he steps over the
threshold

he does not whisper
of how your lips
were the key to his

he does not let his tongue
trail across your aching chest
as he murmurs
of how

you are the sun
baby
you shine so bright
baby

your skin is so soft
baby

sometimes you believe he has forgotten
that he was once you
was once the boy who lied
beneath the hungry tiger
and let its jaws
wrap upon his neck

and squeeze

sometimes
gentle narcissist
is he,

he likes to hold you to his chest
to feel your heart
and whispers about how
beautiful
you are
and how he

doesn't care

a pang shoots through your chest
and you feel tears leaking from you
you feel as if he has betrayed you

and then he

puts down your heart
looks you in the eye
and says

I don't love you for your beauty
baby
I love you for the fire
that spurs my wind
and
darkness that
sets my
skin aflame

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.

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.

He crunches fragile fingers on brittle panes,
Eyes wide and glassy, nose flaring at the smell of blood,
He tells himself he does not do it for the pain,
No, he begs, he does it for the colour.

A crimson dark red that he can find in nothing but blood,
He paints with it, large murals of torturous beauty,
Portraits of forgotten loves and most brutal enemies,
All traced with the gorgeous acrylic, eyes deep with the brutality of raw blood.

He is a criminal, an agent of deception under his own skin,
He is a cliché, forged from misperceptions and guilt he tries not to read into,
Dark hair falls in knots, thick with dried blood just like him,
Thick with blood, waiting to be dried.

He smells the metallic paint on his skin,
Tinged with iron and red rusted mistrust,
Unbelievable in its simplicity,
Blood, plain and simple, straight from the source.

The body sneers in hatred,
Girl, she is always hurting it,
Pulling it this way and that,
Cutting hair off like limbs,
Scratching marks into the functional skin,
Leaving the stomach empty for the cold to get in,
Pinching skin and chewing lips,
Girl makes the body look like a circus act,
A crudely drawn picture littered with cuts,
Face splotched with make up,
Girl is beautiful, the body can tell,
But Girl lies to herself,
And refuses to believe the truth in front of her,
Blandly pasted on her skin like a brand,
BEAUTIFUL, even the body can read it,
Scowling as the walls rumble in starvation,
Skin itches from melted candle wax,
And eyes burn from staring at the sun.

The sun is not as beautiful as Girl,
The body does not understand why she stares so long,
The only reason can be stupidity,
And Girl is not stupid,
No matter how many times she says she is,
The body knows the truth,
Sees the intelligence behind her eyes,
Curled despair around her wrists,
Trailing up her shoulders and through her hair,
Like searching hands,
The body can feel the phantom hands,
Scratching like pins on the skin,
Drawing blood with the ghostly presence,
The body does not remember the hands,
The body had healed from it.

Only Girl remembered,
And knew her reasoning,
For the flat torso and scratched skin.

the sadness succubus
leeches on my shoulder
hissing gruesome fickle things

i crawl across the floor
lift my head
to speak

a visage of a family
painted in the door
outstretched like a moment of reprieve

held by
contemporaneous emotion
a shrieked laugh wets my face

leech to boy
boy to leech
a man's only companion

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

It hurts
to breathe
yet I still breathe
am I
a *******?

Every night
sleeping feels
like walking
to the edge
of the plank
and jumping off
Am I
brave?

I paint
with rouge
on my
flattened
torso
am I
an artist?

She closed her eyes,
the sunlight burned
at her closed lids,
it frayed her lashes
like many burning
lashes across
her back.

She closed her eyes,
and the world kept burning
the voices
never stopped
burning
she was born to burn

don't you see

she was born to burn
fireflies and
whiskey
breathless burn
fire storm
ablaze night sky
stars
crashing
she could
still see it
behind
closed eyes

those closed doors
never kept them out
the burning
voices
her skin
it was
a voice
it begged her
it pounded against her
to burn it
burn something

burn herself

burn the door
burn the curtains
burn the bed

lean against
pull around
lie down and

sleep in the burning bed

ignore the
voices
behind the door
let them
scream
you
let it
burn

she

let them
burn.

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

She is an
envious spirit
her eyes
flash green
sharp in the
soft candlelight

she wants to
burn the books
she wants to
burn the books
she is jealous
of the work
they make
the opalescent work
that shimmers
in different shades
and causes her to
cry

to think
as if
she was
not the
one.

Her envy
is borne

her envy
is born
of her
own hatred
for her
own self

it burns
it sparks
it explodes
like fireworks
in the night
the ache in the stomach
the buzzing in the ears
the numbness that overtakes
the tingles that run down veins
the tightness of the chest
the cheeks that seem wet

and burn

the throat burns

and is it?


Tears

tear her limb from limb
burn her before she can
burn those blessed books
before she

catches flint
and stone
feels the
chill of the
burning rocks
crashes one
and two
together like
orbiting moons

that spark
that falls
from within
her undulating
chest

her panting breaths
that hiccup
and stumble
and beg for
forgiveness
in the meadow
filled of beautiful
wisterias
lavender splintering
so esoteric
wisdom bred
and
arched for the
dolloped breath
of that
sunlight


which is to mean
her soul
battling
in the
garden of Eden
her soul
fighting those
calm
secure
others who

have their
heads on
right.

She is envy
is personified
feeling
of self hate
moulded to
mistrust
moulded to

action

burn the books.

You have been still for so long,
Too long,
Your muscles are stiff and unforgiving,
Heart slowed almost to a stop,
Eyes closed to keep them wet,
Throat parched and burning from the sun.

Your arms hang out as branches,
Catching rain and falling leaves as things drift down from the endless sky,
You see butterflies making nests in your hair,
Settling down on the flowers growing from the moss and dirt,
You can feel them, soft, delicate and leeching,
The pitter of their tiny feet on your brittle nose.

Your mind has drifted,
From today, to tomorrow, to hours, to galaxies far away,
Your heart beat is the only way to tell the time,
Night and day has abandoned you.
Friends and lost ancestors no longer visit your grave,
No longer plant flowers on your skin,
And you are alone and empty once more.

You stare,
Mesmerised,
With eyes that have not opened for years,
At the lone blue bird settled on your neck,
You wonder absently,
A buzzing at the back of your ears,
If the blue bird will hurt you,
You remember reading centuries ago that blue birds were carnivores,
Would you be baby food soon,
Would that be better than soft stone skin.

Its wings flutter with unearned grace,
As if it were born to fly,
And did not even have to try,
Like those people born happy,
With no trouble,
And you had thought they were only myths carved by wishers.
The bright stark blue clashes against your mossy green fingertips,
Its feathers ruffle in the faint wind you can no longer feel,
And the warmth of its beating heart makes tears pound at your eyelids.

You have not cried in millennia,
It seems,
But the bird is so beautiful.

Sunlight pours through open leaves above you,
The forest has grown heavy around you,
Rainfall no longer pools like icy seas around your toes,
The rain is eaten harshly by the soft soil,
A paradox of lift and drop, condense and fall,
You wonder if you have become part of the cycle,
Or if you are breaking it.

You can feel the stars watching you,
Burning bright suns spinning in infinity,
Shedding light upon darkness,
Even to your corner of the woods,
With solemn eyes and stiffened smiles,
They pity you,
For even they do not last for eternity.

Some hold curses on their tongues,
Tight with stiff and achy arms around their waists,
Hugging themselves until they can't breathe and can only smile,
Eyes twinkling in uncertain inane gestures.

They aspire to think that two colours means two perspectives,
Equal sight from varied shades,
One blue, soft like the ocean, a reflection of the darkened sky,
One green, the colour of ripe apples and fresh air.
They see the world through tinted glasses,
Not red from a rose, believing lands to be green and sunlit,
Nor ***** grey like blooming storm clouds, perishing thoughts of joy,
A tinge of green and blue, calm and chaos, forever entwined in ying and yang.

Anarchy reins as an agent of peace, twisted in its convolution,
The more laid waste the more spared for time to come,
Chaos sits on their throne, eyes sparkling with insight,
Clothes ablaze in a fury matched only by that of a grieving mother.
It is the only predisposition that the world shall change,
Colours ever moving and mixing on the canvas of life,
Beauty melding to disgust, hate twirling to love, more declining to less,
A world is not a world without father Chaos at the helm, steering ships into rocky harbours.

What's the point of a film with no explosion at the end?

Dreams,
The wisps that flows like tears through his fingers,
Consuming and devouring gentle ideas,
Bouncing like rubber against his skull,
Twirling in friendly banter around his curled and protective arms,
Nibbling against his inner heart until it beats in tune,
Invisible yet so corporeal to the graced and fragrant mind.

Dreams,
Follow them into the sunset he said,
Chase them down until they are upturned dog bellies for you to scratch,
Whisper them into your lover's hair he praised,
Scream them from the outside of your skin until you are tattooed in high hopes,
Race in the meadow of your possibilities, grazing hands through gentle grass stains,
Skip along the crux of your horizons he taunted,
See your dreams and follow them through.

Dreams,
Like cold butter, so easy to cut, so hard to spread,
Bright and dull and pulsing with newborn growth,
Born from abstract praise and ideation,
Birthed for the exact purpose of leading on, forwards once more, towards the hopeful past,
He had ran from himself for as long as he could,
His legs ached with the heavy weight of his guilt and confusion, eyes darkened by knowledge,
He had chased his dreams down into an alley,
Brick by brick trapped them in a cellar so they could never escape,
Ignored the harsh conscience who nagged and begged at his closed ears to stop.

Dreams,
Fountain of change,
Bringer of hope,
Pusher of people,
There was still time, he thought, as he blocked his dreams away,
He could let them out and set chase another day.

This chasm is fathomless,
it falls
deep down
into the pits
beneath my stomach
built in
bones and flesh

it tingles within me
purrs with
unruly fury
when left alone
I feed it
fill it
compress it
down down into the
dark depths of my soul
so it will not
climb up
through the pit
skeleton limbs clanking like bells
until it
finally reaches my
delicate throat
and clamps down

I feel the
need of completeness
to feel full
it likes the taste
of my torment
the feel of
pins scraping my
limbs
it likes the
bile in my throat
the alluring look
of my
swirled content
in the sink
it gurgles my anxious
singing
it swirls my
desperate pleading
like fine wine
it loves the
gentle brush
of bloodied
fingers against a
trembling torso
that twitches in betrayal

it feels full
when I am torn
am split
between the
need to fill
and the need
to live

it smiles that
cruel and
cracked stretch of its
dark mouth
echoes of
taunts spilling
like the curls
from the print of
long forgotten
love letters

it is blackmail
to have
the choice of
feeding such a
dark hole with
tears or
morsels
the guilty taste of
those morsels
free of the
confines of my insides
the shame of the
tingles across
veins and
upturned limbs
of pale flesh sparkling
with glittering glee
begging for me

begging for me

to feel so full
yet so empty
and always
needing more

Cheese,
What do you want from me?
You sticky mouldy piece of flavour,
Literal illness conjectured into 'food',
Don't try to fool me with your pretty wrappers,
Tied in a bow of plastic and laudable fashion,
Cheddar, so generic I can barely taste it,
Mozzarella, like plastic blobs of mucus I strive to avoid,
Parmazon, so snooty, hair tied back, eyes dark and elegant.

Cheese,
You are the devil,
Dressed in white and smelly creams,
Topped as some sort of ostentatious filler,
I hope you burn in that oven,
Hope your skin melts in agony,
Until you have sullied my lunch,
And I have reason to sneer and throw you away.

What self respecting food group has holes?

Its just abysmal.

She tastes
of clichés
and words
that I
like to
swallow

her cherry
chapstick
lip gloss
that I can
still feel
against me
dried like
blood
against my
subtle skin

she had
breathed hot
in my ear
and I
could still
feel the
heat in
my
undulating
chest

she smelt
of summer
sun
that shone
in my
eyes and
blinded me
but I
got used
to

she let me
hold her
let me
see her
vulnerable
and open

she tasted

so good

a whisker of tinsel
the smoked pine of Christmas
old uncle Noel is knocking on our door
so we
hop
skip
and
high jump
out the window
we are the grinches of our own celebration
burn the tree to ashen cinders
douse the smoulders in old egg nog
shout obscenery over the joyous celebration
family removal day
boxing day, ever a day early

The years we've known together,
they linger on, like words we've held in.

Reality lived up to standards I'd set only in dreams,
That conversation,
So long that we were scared to sleep,
and wake,
and never speak again.

In the hidden cracks that night-time holds,
we held the same secret
in entwined hands
and I knew you too had seen
my own enemy

A startled sensation
that travels,
skates and skimps and scampers
all the way from my bones,
to muscles,
to the freckles of my goosebumps.

What misery it is to be understood,
to finally speak aloud your darkest calling,
to be in that finest, closest embrace,

and then reflect,
a month later,
in the chill of night,

It didn't make a difference, after all.

I did not hear her scream,
from the room within my chest,
begging for freedom,
pleadings for mercy and tight sobs for love.

She did not colour me pale,
did not sap the colour from my cheeks,
paint me of sickly pallor,
skull head hung low as she yelled over and over for forgiveness.

I did not hate the girl trapped within me,
did not brush her cheek mockingly with my fingers,
crafting obscene and dying features upon her face,
she did not cry when I cut her.

I have not contained the beast,
there is no dark hole inside my heart,
I am not toxic,
she is not clawing at my insides until even blood is unsatisfactory.

I am not in denial.

She leans back,
head rested
head bumping up
and down
like
waterfalls that
sometimes
loose their
magical
glow and
get
confused.

Her sunglasses rest
restrain her glowing face
like the
headlights that
reflect from her
eyes
hidden from sight
she feels the
creases of the
plastic in
her cheeks
curling
impressions like
footprints on
the sand
into her
jawline

like kisses
she thinks
that hang
too long
on the
cusp of her
morning breath.

She had
searched
all morning
for the make up
that fit her
botched
skin tone
her arms had
been a
canvas of
experimental
design
like that
painting
she sometimes
pretends to
stare at

she is artist
she murmurs
as she
looks at
that vase
which
seems so

flat.

She
wears the
make up
not because
she wants to
be
or
feel
beautiful,
she does not want
the sunbeams
to shine
from under
her fingernails
or her
lips
to light up
like
christmas
baubels,
she coats
it as
penance
for a past
life
for the craggled
hag that
has no voice
in her
sternum
its oldened
fingers
tap on
her
waistline
like
measuring
utensils.

She wears
the make up
to
cover up
her
morning breath

the morning
sunlight
had
cast
a
brutal gleam
upon her
showing
all her
dark spots

she wears
make up
as
penance
for the
devilish thoughts
that bounce
like
raindrops
off her
steel roof

of the whispered
mercies
of the
voiceless
hag that
hangs in
her
noosed
throat

she wears
penance
like its
a beautiful
blush

like drifted
snow has
coated her
skin and
she is
now
destroyed

she covers
up the
crinkled
muesli
bar
hag that
sings
old
folk tales
in her
lips

the rogue
red
that
tastes like

his blood.

I am a reckless writer
I plan no poems
I throw myself
violent
hardy
head-first into the words
as the world roars around me
let them consume me
let my mind run

I can get
pretty cruel
but only
when provoked
and I try
not to.

Staring, casually, with equal amounts of obsession and gazing away,
Foot tapping under desks, with measured patience,
Eyes trailing over long hair and glasses,
Asking if she got the glasses fixed,
Smiling when she replies, and a conversation is struck.

Ignoring the books, a delicate balance of work and talk,
Laughing and remembering why she like her,
Spinning puns and irony into dark humour with a twist,
And perhaps staring at her lips too long.

Watching aimlessly as they part ways,
Her walking sedately off to other friends,
Trying not to stare too long as she leaves,
And look like a lovesick puppy.

Sitting on the bus alone,
Staring outside the window, breath puffing against it,
Missing the time they shared a bus,
Spoke every day in sync,
And now seemed years apart.

Her heart catches in their throat,
As she smiles at it is radiant,
Cheeky perhaps, with a half cynical tilt to her lips,
Just just as alluring.

Cry for the moon
he whispered
into the crown of
her hair

the golden light
that sent shivers
down her
open arms

cry for me
she said back
breath but a wisp
voice caught and chained

he looked to the sky
not baring to stare
into her slated and
burning eyes

they asked too many questions
demanded the want that
he could not supply
she was one of them

the moon shone so
solitary in the sky
above and dripping
light against the darkened blanket

he held shaking fingers
to the sky
looked through the gaps
that seemed to large

she wept for the moon
that reminded her
of her own loneliness

even surrounded by stars

Fellow warriors,
I hope to see you here,
in breath,
and pulse,
once more,
before I see you in Valhalla.

The prize,
you see,
could be merriment,
could be sanity,
is a worthy banquet,
and I do pray,
that you do fight,
to live,
another day.

Dark horse of bad intentions,
I will ride you into the sun,
Let it burn you until night and day are one,
And keep riding on past on your shunned ghost.

Dark horse of my heart,
I love that dark look in your eyes,
That tastes like salt and vinegar,
And smells like ocean sand.

Dark horse of many I meet,
You are a copy,
Of my soul,
As dark as the thoughts I suppress,
And as heavy as the heart I carry.

Dark horse that I would long to throw into a lake,
I do hope you cannot swim,
They do say that sunken ships are all found eventually,
Which I count on,
For when I sink into despair and meet you once more.

Dark horse that I ride into the moon,
It is sunnier here,
Where you can see the sunlight and not burn,
Where the reflective dirt tastes like moondust,
And your heart is no longer mine to devour.

halt your magic wiles
I am easily forgotten in your smiles
every time we speak I lose capacity
but I cannot forgo such electricity
I wish we were forever
and I wish I had a chance
I know anything is possible
at a hidden glance
But we live not in a fairytale
and I am not your prince
so maybe it's impossible
to hold your heart through since

Darling,
a whispered
promise
that I hold
in my heart
burning bright
and blue
dim and
recognisable
the waking moon
smothered
by the bright
and choking
dawn.

Darling,
sheds my ears
of their layers
layers
onions
******>many
layers
sediments drifting
downstairs
the riverbank
churning of the sea
scream of my
fair ocean.

Darling,
ocean,
my fair
ocean.

Darling,
send goose-bumps
up my
arms
and
wrap bandages
around
the heavy rock
that sits
painful
and cracked
in my chest.

Darling,
remembered
through
telephone calls
hidden messages
coded pictures
his breath on her face
her smile on his ear
the electricity in their veins
the girl who sits
yellow coated
donned in raindrops
looking to the
artful a n d
looming
bell tower.

Darling,
a mournful song
is it
is he
is moving on
she could remember
when it
was not an eclipse
moon shedding
grey dust
against her cheekbones
hands drifting down
down
downstairs
d
o
w
n
to the bottom of her stomach
sending sparks
fireworks
whiskey breathless
mutters
of
Darling.

She held out a dainty hand,
Long dainty thinned and perched fingers filtering sunlight,
Shadows danced across the ground, twirling in the evening rays,
She looked out upon the horizon,
Staring at the magnificence that was the sun.

She had spied it a thousand times,
A thousand mornings every morning,
Trying to find something beautiful in her broken world,
To see the orange glow bleed through the trees so gloriously,
And to try and remember it for when she fell.

This day had seemed impossible all those months before,
When she had drowned,
Toppled down, patted in mud and grime,
Looking up from the well,
Trying to see out of the darkness that had consumed her.

Back then only thoughts of change and time had sated her,
Had paused her rein of terror,
Of pounding thoughts upon her thin ***** skull,
Drumming upon it like a redundant beat,
So repetitive and meaningless.

Her stance bowed ever so slightly forward in defiance,
In the holding of her breath,
And she gazed out from the hill,
Out into the sunlight,
No longer with the heavy want to jump.

She had waited endlessly for this day,
For this torturous frightening day,
When she could finally smile with truth,
Eyes shining with hope,
And look upon a new dawn.

She had waited for the darkness to end,
It had blown away with a subtle and elegant wave of a hand,
Barely noticeable, but oh so delightful,
For she was now freed from the chains that held her down,
Even if she knew it would come back,
For now was enough.

impose,
& lose composure.
expose,
& forever foreclose.
repose,
& lose purpose.

Remember my darling,
imp,
there is no,
ex,
who can ever
re,
flect your true soul,
only jealous beggars
& bitter ghouls.

beautiful friend,
I hold memories in hand
a sunshine filtered emotionality
place to land
a sharing, a made peace
wishfulness and longing
hope, future fieldtrips
gifts abound
haplessly spiritual

Stoke the fire,
Fan the flames,
Our burning souls,
Should never dim,
If those who heard,
Did see their Grim.

take my money
take my house
take my husband
take my body
take my heart
take my life

just leave me my boy.

It is a four wheeled vehicle,
With sharp edges and soft seats,
Turning perpetually until the gas runs low,
The lights dim,
And the ceiling droops in despair.

Hands trace steamed windows,
Drawing stick figures and love hearts in the snow swept smoke,
Dotting 'i's in elegant script,
Tracing 'I love you' with insincere infatuation,
Puffing breath against the window...

So the hand-print of the one you love remains.

Cherry Blossoms bloom,
Fleeting and beautiful, gliding gently from the branches,
Pink curls softly drifting to the ground,
Velvet and salmon as they fall, clean and soft,
Only to land in muddied puddles.

They dance in the subtle moonlight,
Chins and smiles twirling with their hands,
Eyes sparkling with rain and tears,
Lips wetted from midnight kisses,
Fingers warm from interlaced palms and digits.

Summer mist pools around springtime hope,
Pulling large trees from the ground for them to walk under,
Cooing birds into life, spilling water down streams and into softly traced lips,
Shimmering under the surface,
A clearing of all that had been taken that Winter.

They part ways on a harsh Autumn's evening,
Leaves shedding like skin from the canopy,
Rain pounding with a bullet's finesse,
Puddles murky and grey from cigarette smoke,

Eyes dark and solemn.

“Goodbye my love”

Jammed
like the last clean place in the dishwasher
like the ugly foot on your war-paint totem pole
like the mollusc meets mantelpiece decoration stuck on your windowsill
Snow drifts
as fine as the combed hair on your head
sweeter than sugar
more damning than dandruff
as hard as the head of a coconut which you
hit, again and again, with the **** end of a hammer
Bang. Bang. Bang.

The sound jars
on the off beat
sounds like mars
meets
penguin feet
but you dance
caught
in the headlights
in the sway
you're your own one man James Bond villain
and you love to watch the spotlight flicker to dusk
and the end credits to roll
with that tune,
stuck
jammed
twisted like the rusty end of a bagel knife
into the rusty end of your brain case

Ba dum dum, ba dum dum
feel it
in your feet

ba dum dum, ba dum dum
we'll never know
when we might again
meet.

Do not look her in the eye
she will snare you
with her falsehoods
that seep like
oozing wounds
from those festering eyes

she is traitorous
do not look at her
when she cries
she is crying for
your attention
she does not need
help
she is crying
because she is
drama

she is queen of
elegantly saving
herself last minute
if she wants
to die
then let her
not like she
will
its all
just
fake

she's
fake

don't look at her
she will scrabble
under your own
bleeding skin
we all have problems
ignore hers
its not
like there's
no one
there

someone will look
it doesn't have
to be you

please
she is
only a
child
she needs
to be
taught
a
lesson
in humility
crying kids
don't get
hugs from
their mothers
crying kids
get locked
in dark
rooms
until they
stop crying
and start
bleeding on
the
inside

she isn't crying
anymore
just screaming
just screaming like a
banshee
she's disrupting
the peaceful
facade we have
constructed

silence
her

do it
she is
lying

do it

don't listen to her
pleads
she is not being
hurt
she needs to
stop
this
madness

please
hurt
her

see if she
cant take it

she is not a real girl
you know
she can take it
you know
its just words
you know
no marks but the ones she leaves
you know
no tears but the ones she brings on herself
you know

when she cries
its just for
silence
which makes her
stupid
because her room
is a
quiet and
lonely place
before she
starts to
make a sound

listen to that
its gone

she's gone