effortless
I fall into my
empty trap

bait set
widowed wills
I release the catch
and lock myself
in

It is the double skipped heart beat on the record player,
I repeat (repeat)
the stutter of life,
the chitter of teeth,
we're cold but the burn is so heavenly.

A fall from grace,
big wide plastic lenses
that frame the face 360 degrees
angelic, is one name for it
dweeby, another
I love the mathematician hidden in your briefcase
I like to open it up at inopportune moments
and let myself bathe in the light

You're a 'yes' man,
an optimistic optometrist,
helps me see who I want to be,
(yes man, yes, man)
Long lion's mane that plummets
and tugs on heart strings
I always was an accompaniment
to your instrumental
I long for the day that
your stiff collared ape-father
lets you palm the pulsating heart beat of
an electric guitar once more

Take the strings out of the boy
he's no longer a puppet
but the song plays on
(yes, man, harmony)

Her name is Red.
Red from the cuts that drip lower and lower until her sleeves get longer and longer to the point where they sweep the ground.
Red from the imaginary glint in her eye, one that is anger, one that is love, one that tries to burn back the black paint of hatred that threatens to consume her.
Red from that time she remembers following, thinking, 'for once I will be brave', that day her cheeks are bruised red from embarrassment, she is not a friend but a stalker they say.
Red from the thought in her mind, buzzing over and over until her ears can only hear it and only it. How can it be repeating so often when it sounds so insincere and incomplete?
She names herself Red, pushing away the other things she calls herself, trying to drown her failures in solitude and a new brand.
Red is a strong girl, with too much heart and too little sense.
Red has a clean heart, clean eyes, clean shirt and clean arms.
Red has no problems, other than that she cares too much.
Red locks it away, boxes them up, cups her ears and ignores the screams from the chained toy box in the corner of the room.
Red is a child, she clings to innocence with the grip of a wrench and the tenacity of a monkey.
Red does not count the people who whisper sweet sorrows behind her ears, but the people who pull her into half-in half-out embraces.
Red picks and chooses her thoughts, thinking of only positives, and screens all nightmares and attacks and faults.
Red is faultless, infallable, invincible and incomplete, there has never been a day that she was not happy, and there has never been a when she dreamt of her insecurities.
Red calls herself Red for she cannot call herself 'I', she is as impersonal as she is broken.
I am not Red, for Red is not real, even if I don't wish to accept that.
Let me be Red for a day and you will see hours cut and sobbed down the drain.
If it were Red she would be a half-happy half-girl with half-days and half-smiles... Half of Red's days she never even sees for one so limitless and all powerful cannot be maimed by a real person's problems.
Red shows no weakness, no sound, for Red is the colour of self-deceptions, lies and unlit badly sculpted illusions.
Red is blind, deaf and dumb if she cannot understand what is occuring around her.
'Ignorance is bliss' she never heard the phrase, for Red is uncultured, unlearned and speaks no language.
Red is an unforfilled idolised symbol.
Red is me, and I am not her.

static spacial raindrops
interspersed in my gloomsome mind
listen to the press of gravity
feel the natural release
i make music of these moments
and give my best
to my weekday beast

Run boy

let the wind
rush wish
to catch up
with your
motorised limbs

let the
sun set
falling want to
coo as
quick as
you can
race your
weary
smile

let the sky
and the
nighted blanket
have envy
of your
magnanimous
retreat

remember
the starry
eyes of
that boy
you
whispered
goodbyes
to
on his neck
like kisses
like
gentle breaths
like promises
the whiskered
kitten in
your heart
which purred
as he
held
your hand
so tight
you
could barely
stop the
wilted
smile
and
flooded
heartbeats from
drowning you
whole

he held
your hand
so
tight
you thought
he
wanted
to  
run too.

Nail
half crescent
imprints
of fossilised
hands
they hold you
you trace the scars
they hold you
and you
wish they
would keep
on holding on
as you
run.

Run boy
run into the sun
let the
memories
of open fields and
flower chains
and dotted kisses
trace your
heart with
strength
let yourself
run
until the
city walls are
snowflakes
against the
mountain
until your home
is only
a house
in your dreams
until he

until he is
only a shadow
on the
horizon
and you can
keep on
running
with his
words
on the backs
of your feet.

'love you.'

Run boy
so one day
you can
run on back
and

take him
with you.

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.

She is traveller,
is sailors boot tied
until the leather
pinches her skin
tight.

She is moon gazer
star stealer
eyes bright with
adventure as her
limbs turn like
windmills
against the
setting sea.

She is tilted axis
is turned to the
stars that are
turned down
to watch over
as she swims
on an
ocean that
always remembers and
never forgives
that curdles her
insides
cuts at her
soft flesh
like razor blades or

human
nails

that curl in her
insides
she has no
hand hold
to dock herself
no boat to
lay her
weary feet
only
cursed waves that
reach up
up
up
u
p
into her
chest
that squeeze
at her
heart
and lay

dormant

in her
stomach.

She is hunter
darkened eyes that
reach down
into the undergrowth
with feathered gracefulness

gratefulness

that is reflected
in her
many scales.

She is

what she

is.

Nothing more

Nothing.

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.

the precarious paper pile
builds up
I see the precipice shudder
in uncertainty
my gut lurches
pulled by gravity and
terror
will I drown
in my
mountain
of work?

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 am in love,
I say
as if
I know what that means.

Shame spits
on
my cheek
and I
let it.

I let
the door
open
for the monsters
and
now I
am sad that
they came.

Its
a crap
party.

Bright star

of open shine

large lungfuls

of Christmas pine

Bright sun

sandy shore

never forget

remainder's moore

Bright child

with hollowed skull

the only wish

to resist the pull

Bright coin

shiny skin

pretentious gleam

of wealthy sin

Should I feel like I have won?
When the battle was only within myself,
And no one was keeping tack of points or victors,
And there was no prize other than stakes of land on my body.

Have you given up yet?
This eternal war we have declared,
Only for bragging rights,
Of I am okay or I am not,
Or saying nothing.

Why do I feel like you are waiting?
Like a trap winding inside my ribcage,
Ready to snap a bone on exit,
Ready to pounce out of the jungle and into the arena,
Waiting for me to fall asleep and for you to slip into my skin.

Should I be afraid?
That you will win and I will be left without structure,
My strings like a violin played by you, so consuming,
When I am a puppet and you are my spine,
What was once bravery now only an adrenaline high.

Should I be afraid?
That I will win and I will be left without what makes me myself,
That my fight against you stole all my desire and I will be empty,
That I will realise you have become me,
Are me,
That I will realise I have lost something you will not return.

Are you a thief?
Who has stolen the girl I used to be,
Who has stolen my bed and body,
Walking around in my stolen shoes as if you were me,
Who has stolen my goals and ideas and drive,
Who has stolen me car, perhaps, as well.

For why not that too?
When you have stolen my body,
Seduced my mind,
Staked a claim inside my room,
Piling bloodied tissues and needle packs like flags.

Should I try to run from you?
Pack my bag away in the night,
Kiss my family on the forehead one last time,
Even when you reside within me,
Even when that means I would be running from myself,
Even if I know it won't work but will try it anyway,

For I will try anything to be rid of you.

Are you a disease?
That has soaked into my sheets,
Slitted blisters and burns into my skin,
Dug crevasses like homes in my mind,
Burrowed deeply in my heart so you can make me cry all the time.

Am I doing enough?
With my some-day-never therapy and robot listeners,
My unwritten diary which lies lonely and neglected under blankets like shields,
When I do not know if I have a problem,
Or cannot admit to one,
Even when I say I so,
Like empty words,
But I cannot believe it.

Will I give up soon?
Since it is easy to,
Since you want me to,
Since some days I want me to,
Since no one is listening for my sanity to come back,
Since I am not sure if I care anymore.

Are you my character?
My basis for being,
My summed up understanding,
My morals and drawn lines,
And is that a synonym for distraction,
Or block,
Or love,
Or enemy,
Or addiction,
Or... destiny.

Why can't I quit you when I want to so much?

Some questions don't have the answers I want.

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.

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

It is a sharp pain
stab-like
intense and
unaccountable

The boiling bubbles over
A crow taunts from silken skies
I SCREAM outwards
shockwaves trembling at their own forces

But it is a pithy pain
an instant retreat
the anger fizzles like steam smothered by rain
I smell the indolent petrichor
this after-taste of after-rain
and the doleful waking death returns
a smooth decent to sleep beneath the flames
the choked-throat ash

I am the biblioklept of my own diary
and as I scour the stolen words,
I cry,
because I do not recognise their meanings
the one limpid fury has dimmed
to such dolour and that all colour is sapped
and the world, painted in shades of grey
in its own dilatory helpfulness
does not bother to weep for me, either

I reify this idea of living
as if life is actually a moving form
but in these bewitched static seconds
of frightened rage to doused sorrow
I see the blackness between the stars
and the finite that lingers in the infiinite's wings
like a shard between ribs of steel

and I recall
in my words of fulsome wisdom
that even steel one day melts
and only but rubble can remain

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.

the metal strainer fizzles
as it comes in contact
with the flighty liquid of
adventurous spirits

muzzy and discontent
not so insincere
not so friendly
to make amends
just yet

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.

****** 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.

He is
mystery
curled in
dark eyes
and a
smile that
makes her
want to
sing.

She is
suspicious
of his
glances
that he sends
like
birthday cards

she believes
them
obligatory
and
non representative
of his
true feelings

she is
cursing him
like
winter storms
that
curl around her
wrists and
tie her
to the
leaking ceiling

he always
says
hello

she wonders
what it means

she knows
he
would never
look at
her

she is
not much

but she
cannot stop
her
heart from
squealing
like some
babies
favourite
bunny
as he
shines
so radiant
and

sincere

in her
direction

she thinks
she might
hate him
for being
so
god
****
lovely

he is
too similar
to the
warm
wind that
crashes over her
like
waves
the warm
water
that gives her
gold dust tingles
the gentle
hand that
rests
on her
cheek and
slowly
drifts like
icebergs
down
with small
fingers
to the
crest of her
smile

she
thinks
his
sparkling
eyes
are
her
worst
enemy

The words sit heavy on her tongue,
she has held them in too long,
it is too late to speak,
if she does it will come out rotten,
the fruit will be pasted,
she cannot speak like this,
it is not her right any longer,
she does not care if they want her to,
it is not okay to say it is not okay,
she does not believe in hope,
it pools in her throat like soured milk,
she feels the symptoms of a cold,
the reddened eyes,
the congested smile,
the curled in bed,
the stomach ache,
the heart that beats too much,
the running legs that do not run,
the eyes that can't seem to close,
the fingers that,
tap,
skip,
hop,
dance,
always moving,
on the move,
she needs to move,
she has to run,
it has been too long.

She thinks that no one could believe her,
for it is not true,
not really,
it can't be,
it is only her feeling this way,
she must be wrong,

it is the only answer.

She cannot seem to say anything beautiful,
all she can do is,
close her eyes,
shut her mouth tight,
curl her arms like
reaching embraces
hotly pooled down her throat
a blush upon her
mottled eyes
and she is
sparkling
heavenly
curled into a
dance that
she cannot control
limbs
jabbing out like
sparking
fireworks
sparkling like
glittered
eyelashes upon
evening lakes
sunset bleeding against
her
bleeding reflection
she is

she is

silent.

The words don't come out right.

They come out stuttered and garbled,
she does not think they would listen anyway,
she cannot seem to understand,
she cannot accept,

the moon is not
forgiving of her
plight
she stares
beseeching
to its
empty
gaze and
it does not
reply
to the
whispered
words
prayers
pleadings that
choke her
stick upon her throat
and
she
cannot
breathe

her lungs fail her once more
it must be her fault.

she never thought she would have to
it had never been her
she still does not believe it
it is not true

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?

Words creep up
my arms like
many knives
aiming for the
blue railway tracks
of my
veins
they always
pump too loud
in my ears
I can't focus
on the
vitriol
thoughts in
my head
which demand
so much
that I
cannot give

I scream for
mercy that
I
do not
deserve

for the shadowed
woman
on the wall
to lay down
her gun
and hold me
so our
hearts sync
and the
world doesn't
hurt so
badly
anymore

I pray for
the
demons in
my skull
and chest
to
quit
their
racket
and let me
sleep

perhaps

eternal
sleep would
be
the
answer
but I am
competitive
and I would
hate
to let
them win

I ice my
feet
so when
I am
running
on the
thin ice
that holds me
like
chicken wire
fences and
tight skirt netting
so I can
slide through
the candlelight
and
emerge
a glorious
beast in the
darkness of
the nightmares

I look to
the
window
on my
left

hands
banging
incessantly
on the pane
I feel the pane
of bruised
fingers
and gums
as I
grit my
teeth and cage
the
screams that
long to
escape
I hold a
prisoner
in my
chest
that dances
like the
stomping of those
elephants
the beating
of my
breathing
living
consuming
heart
it pulls me
under

I let
it take me
down

until the
city lights are
reflected
in the
darkened
swampland

that is the

body of my

body of my

lake and
I swim
deep past
the
other
corpses
to the
sunken ships
and
skeletons with
hollowed eyes

I can
only stare
as my
life flashes
in sparks
of engine
ignites

of stars
flickering
twinkling
in and
out of
existence like
the sparkle
on the teardrop
from my
lover's
starburst
eyes

Stigmatise me baby,
pull your words tight across my skin
until my heart aches
mouth burns
and ribs cave from the pressure.

Pull me under darling,
sweet fortress of my soul
burn it to the ground
take down my walls

wasn't like I needed them.

Turn it into a joke
holder of my heart,
make me chuckle
at my own breaking down
of the dam breaking
of the water flooding my lungs
of the dreams that
never stop

never stop baby.

Hold your tongue gorgeous,
while I fall
while I jump
while you question if I
was pushed
by you
keep your voice soft
whisper it to me
let it sink into my skin
let me scratch it off my skin

scratch you off.

Blame me sugar,
let the blame flood over in waves
the crashing
like my crashing
the car crashing
the city falling
the crashing of those waves on my cheek
like the almost slap
it doesn't hurt baby
hit me as hard as you can
do it baby
I dare you.

Its not like
I care
anymore
baby.

He walked out as she was leaving,
Brushing fingertips and sleeves as they pushed past,
Eyes roving over their futures,
And never once pausing to look behind.

Her first job was done at the pace of a tiger,
Sight set on promotion,
Not once breathing in the low tide air-freshener,
Feeling feet tapping in impatience to move.

She perched from her ivory tower,
Gazing out at fortunes she vaguely recalled,
Mind hammering against her skull,
Screaming for more, for change, for evolution.

On her wedding day she strode down the aisle thinking of tomorrow,
Veil hanging limply, arch curled overhead and entwined with red and white roses,
Perfectly planned, to the seating placement,
Artistically sculpted smiles on the spouses.

She gazed into eyes,
A brilliant blue, stark and bold,
Staring back at her with might and purpose,
Lips parted slightly in breath.

On the birth of her daughter she thought of colleges,
Of names that would forever define them,
Of twisted last names threaded into the title of her offspring,
Of little girls with blonde hair playing on swings.

She let out a breath at the funeral,
Arms hanging limply as a man she hadn't known fell silent,
Another veil over her head,
And an empty future blossoming in front of her.

Tea drained down her throat, thick and soothing, like a mother's touch,
The porch creaked beneath her, sunlight shining shadows through autumn leaves,
And she smiled,
Never once thinking of all she had achieved.

Only the beauty of that autumn day.

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.

I'm seeing nooses in the shadows on my walls,
Shadow puppets dancing a mournful song,
Flashing visions of a knife over my veins,
Of my eyes closed as I accept the unacceptable.

Terror seeps into my skin as I realise my thoughts,
Pools down in my gut like acid,
Burning rings of fire through my stomach,
And I know I will think it again.

An itch on my neck keeps me awake at night,
Hissing in my ear of the pressure and release,
Tugging at my skin of how flimsy it is,
Of how temporary the pain would be.

A dark figure lies next to me,
Hot hissing breaths against my closed lids,
Whispering sweet nothings of taunted half held hearted promises,
Cooing as if I were a babe easily swayed into their arms.

So easy
It wont even hurt
Relief
An ending
An answer
No more pressure
You could be free
So easy

And I lie there,
Stiff as I pretend to sleep,
And the monster in my bed curls arms around me,
A lying mimicry of comfort.

My eyes clamp shut,
Nose flared in fear and exhaustion,
Arms wrapped around my torso to protect me from the enemy inside,
Blankets pooled in chains.

I will get through the night,
Ignore the whispers,
Sleep, I pray,
And repeat the ritual tomorrow.

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

Dried tears taste like salt,
And spit,
And snot,
And bitterness.
They stick to the back of the throat like a frog,
Burn when they come out,
And leave tear tracks of pain and sadness behind,
Like twisted presents.

Wetted cheeks chafe her skin,
tears pull agony breathless from her chest
the salty taste of the
ocean in her heart
reddened bruised blushes
upon her arched bones
the tang that
tastes so
delectable

but at what cost

the trade of her heart,
as it pounds
like many drums
in her
open cavities
the curled
elf ears
that quiver with her
unused shaky
smiles
the quiet
tremble
of her lips
and eyes that shine
with that wetness
as she

as she

she does not cry,
she is warrior
she is princess
she is
steel bars
bent and curled
malliable
around her
crescent arms
that hold her together
she is
whole
holy
she is
moonlight upon
the
antidote of
her sickness
the shedding of
skin
the snake's bark
and the
brown mercury
of that
sweet
and
tangy

tear

that
she is torn
she tears
it
breaks
under her
calloused
fingers
nails pry
at the
secrets
written on the
undersides
of her limbs

it is not skin
it is not pain
it is not hers

it is not tears
that she
wrenches
from her
breathless
chest

she is

not

teary.

Mercy my mercurial madman,
thou t'will tame the timid treachery,
or one often offends others,
when we wilt wooden wisterias,
and assault an aviary's attachments,
don't dare die,
for friends from forever,
will,
never,
forget.

Vindicated words
hang
like chandeliers
from the
cracked and
aching
ceiling

it groans
in protest
as the heavy
glass
glimmers
with deep
and
gloating
insincerity

the words
feel like
the most gently
brush of
poisonous
knuckles
against the
curve
of her
jaw

her teeth ache
and she
thinks
the cause
is not
one to
investigate

the poison
gently
romances
its
way
down the
train tracks
of her
pores
through the tunnel
of bridge
down
into the enamel
of
fluttering
chin

it seeps
into the
teeth that
clench

not in pain.

they can't feel it
yet.

the gums
quiver
as the
smile
pulls chapped lips
like small shards
of hard glass
have been wedged
between the valleys
of soft and subtle
skin.

smile.

doesn't hurt
to smile

the voice
that asks her
is not one
that truly
cares whether
she agrees

it is a voice
that only wishes
to let out its
sails
and
swim
on its own chords
to let the rumble
in its chest
disperse
from thought to fact
from the desire to the tangible

its only longing
is to be corporeal
to feel
to exist there
to be palpable
to be the humidity
that squeezes
ever so tightly
on the bone
until the blood
evacuates and
all that is left
is bleached and

alone

exist,
its easy
its painless
there is no cost.

the lips
never
promised
that they
told the
truth

“delusions of grandeur”

the boy
in the silk suit
black slick skin
a penguin's belt

he is nameless
or unrecognised
or in one universe
he is both
he is neither

the sun
is cut into shards
they spike
a slit throats
but we love the sun
even if it is cancerous

do not blame the sun
it doesn't mean to
we need the sun
it is up to you to protect yourself

the boy
buttoned up
to the neck
past the shoulders
down into the ground
up to the ceiling

he is more buttons than boy

he stands right
dead centre
in the circle of
sunlight
as if he were a deity

the boy feels
the air in
tight cuffs
around his wrists

he is free now

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

My suspicious brain is counting faults again
Like time, that ticks, so thick and true
I can count on my silly brain, and you
The twisted truth that haunts my glow
I am the oldest antidote
That lingers in my own flesh and blood
Litter lips, frittered love

A milky veil trickles across your window,
it has the same consistency as cloud,
and as fingers run from edge to edge,
you sigh, as if pleasured, by this translucent skin.

Your body is as still as stone,
neither lungs lifts its arms to heave,
rather you are stagnant, and dead,
like dust.

The room is round,
you wonder if rolling along the walls is,
a bit not great,
but still descend down the ***** of portrait to portrait.

There is no depth, nor charity,
within or outside this room,
but somewhere, in the walls,
you once thought you heard a voice.

It was silky, and thin,
like the air swallowed at the peak of a cliff,
huffed in and out like last breaths,
stale like last meals, except it was perfect.

This hollow chant does not pass,
it hedges on the oval of your palm,
and as you splash your face with
milky flesh, the life returns.

Most winsome,
most fresh,
appealing
so delicious
to the naked eye
and
naked flesh

gorgeous skin
that reaches
so far
not an inch
that is
not captivating
is not
alluring

so provocative
the stance
the eyes
the glow
the dimmed fire
the heat

so entrapping
let it linger on your tongue
let the taste remain
decadence at its
most
entrancing

the dance
the swing
the pull and push and shudder
lift her high
lift the disembodied
leg
up as you sway
let the dip
reach the tangled
ends of the
soiled floor
let grass leech up
grip tightly to your ankles
as you twirl
connected only
by the most
finite of toes

breathe,
honey badger,
through the nose
let the smell
waft
like summer winds
and winter rains
the sky blooms green for you
aurora aurora
'tis not science
but magic
evanescent in its passing
only a flicker in time

she holds the moon in her arms
it falls heavy like a babe's head
it murmurs against her hairy skin
her smile is not quite a smile,
but a charm,
it twinkles,
tinkles,
crinkles,
chimes and sings,
as the wind rubs against it
like warm farm hands

the callouses
have such candor
care for such softness
one would imagine that
it was not
only a visualisation
not only a whisper of the night
but tangible to be held

all you see,
is all you get,
and all you get,
is only half true.

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

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.

We have all the time in the world
She coos to herself
Trying to pull herself out
From the pit she has buried herself in.

We have all the time in the world
We have forever
With such a cursed double-edged sword as life
Giving us freedom and pain.

She claws her way with
Dirtied fingernails
Chapped lips
A crinkled smile like a chip packet
Out of the dark hole.

The sun is too bright
And she cries out like the
Monster
She has become.

'I have everything'
She says, because it is true
She holds love like a dying bird
Smothering its freedom in a hope to keep it with her
She strangles knowledge with
A dark mind
Which thinks of nothing but broken records and the
Repeat of
'I hate myself'.

Life is beautiful
She muses as she spreads her darkness with her
Tainting all those she speaks to
Even with a glance they become ruined.

Why do you love me
She swears like it is a
Foul curse
As her mother stares at her
With too old dark eyes
That speak of ignorance
And biting knowledge.

The wind howls
'I hate you'
As if it were consoling her
Maybe it was.

It sweeps her off her feet
And carries her out to somewhere else
She had been standing too long
Almost looking living
And now needed to die for a week or so
Bury herself again
And wallow
As if her world were imperfect.

She walks to school
Always tugging at her sleeve
Always wondering if they see it
But don't care
If they see her
But don't care
If they whisper about her
But don't care.

She wonders if they care.

'Look away'
She lies
She wants a hug
But she also wants a slap
And a shout
And for someone to say
'Snap out of it, you're not a child.'

She is a child
Even if she is not
Even when she is
Her eyes are old
Yet she has seen no war
Or violence
No one hates her
No one that matters
But yet her eyes seem to absorb the elderly
As she looks around her
Stealing life from others.

'I curse my empathy'
Even when someone sneers she wonders why
She pities them
She wishes to understand their hate
She doesn't heal her bruises
She longs to heal other's bruises.

Yet she is still innumerably selfish.

The cow.

She looks behind her
Someone is there
Always there
Paranoia, hypersensitivity
She sees people who aren't there
Always about to tap her on the shoulder
And she spins around
Heart racing
Breath catching
The anxiety throb in her leg pulsing again like clockwork...

No one is there.

What do they want
She thinks loudly
Hoping they can hear her
And she won't have to say it out loud.

Truly she is selfish
Even if they asked her
She would deny them
For she hates them
All of them
For they are happy
And she is not.

Why am I angry
She whispers mournfully
She should be grateful
Look at her house
Dog
Friends
Parents
Cuts
She is so lucky
She should feel happy
Doesn't she have it all.

It is not a question
She bangs out nonsensically
Drumming away
Her fingers tapping in anxiety
And fear
And maybe sadness
And maybe cryptic malevolent amusement.

She climbs back down into her pit of despair.
Its warm.

How oddly comforting.

Hold it
close
hold it
let your hands
shiver ever so
slightly
the tiny quake
like a ripple
of water
dropped against a
roaring sea
let your hands
clasp
grip tightly
you may fall
do not fear
grip tightly
your tenacity will
serve you well
do not forget
that revenge
is a dish
best served
with tears and
shaky
quaking
quivering
bitter-sweet smiles
hold it, baby
hold it close
right up
until it pools
under your shaking bones
under the bells that clang
so loud within the holster of your heart
the rattling of the skeleton's smile
so crooked and old
worn and torn
white, pristine teeth, that gape from that
holey
presence
hold it
tighter
until the tips of your fingers ache slightly
bruises bursting like cherry's blood under the skin
feel the pulse
the throb
the reminder that you are alive
you are alive, darling, hold it like a baby
a newborn
soft, darling, soft and full of possibilities
let it cry out for you
let it call out your name in garbled language
let the eyes open to look into your own

and then
let your fingers lax
your eyes flutter shut
half lid your lips to part, gently like the first opening blossom of the first springtime bud
let the child go

fall

down like water
from your tight embrace.

Deep breaths.

Its easy.

The poet,
Notice how none call writer,
Notice how she does not call herself,
Notice how the poem plays on when she is gone,
Notice how poet does not recognise poem.

The poet,
Words do not make it so,
The rhyme and rhythm is secondary,
Speech is a privilege not a commandment,
Defined by inside not the pretence.

The poet,
Expression comes in many forms,
Of late night lunches and barely hidden smiles,
Grimaces painted like cold baritones in her chest,
Poetry is not what makes the poet,

The poet,
Is made of daisies,
Is curled 'round buttercups and beers,
Is twisted like fine wine,
Is mountainous drops of emotive chills,

The poet,
Is not alive,
Does not ask for forgiveness,
Does not read the grateful limericks,
Does not walk the line of truth and ignorance.

The poet,
Is an animal of freedom,
A whispered wisp of breath,
The closed eyes of the girl huddled to the fire,
Is tears upon his cheeks.

The poet,
Is not afraid,
Not a monster,
Not a hero,
Is only one.

The poet,
Nameless beast is she,
Forged from her sight,
Trees broken down to fight,
And holy mimicry.

In every poem
I have ever written
there is a character
somewhere
hidden beneath the folds of text
and enjambment

The sleuth
is its name
gained by
the unmistakable nebulous nature
of its very flesh

I have never
in all my shallow time alive
been witness the sleuth in
a natural habitat

for the sole reason
that the sleuth
this hidden unfathomable
being
has no nature
or preoccupation

It is alien
of the highest calibre
and will exist
long after
my poems
stop
unfolding
their
wings.

capriciously switching the channel
left, right
right, right
left, right,
left, right,

the dull din of an ache we cannot suppress
it isn't hunger - that's already solved
we are all listless idle beings in the vacuum of excess
No, it tastes like fury
rising up like a single cloying voice in a night of thin breath
the lungs rattle like maracas
it sounds like music, a single note, a dull thud
sing, says the rising tension
dance, it taunts, even though it knows you've left your land legs behind
you can't walk in a world so uneven, all you've learnt is stumbling in the guise of fluid steps
it's a tango, truly
play the part
fake it 'til you make it

You like this switching,
left, right,
foot, wrist
sleep, death
an open sea, a dusty field
production and consumption,
the pinwheel rattles like your skeleton's breath and you howl at the moon,
it wanes now, but you know it longs to grow fat and plump once more
it can never decide, just like you, always growing, shrinking, gasping, inhaling, sleeping... sleeping...
Not sleeping never wins, for you always sleep in the end,
your time awake just waits for your eyes to blacken
asleep, you dream without limit, time slips away

left, right
open, shut

indefatigable
they say there is a wall
tall and strong
with thrall and throng
and every single being
who breathes and beats the breast of Mother Earth
will hit this wall
and they say
voices reaching crescendo
strangling clinging notes
of condensation
that the wall is just a pounding fist away
that your hand, bleeding and bruised,
black and blue and all the colours of the rainbow
needs
NEEDS
to pass through this wall
and emerge
in genesis
a new born being
from the slippery tunnel of a brick womb
hair crusted with clay
eyes closed with brimstone
mouth choked with dust

what they never told me
was how many bones
were broken in building that wall
how many bodies we buried
beneath the gravestone of our wall
how many bonfires lashed out
how many beatings we took
clambering over
digging under
pounding through
how many fingers I cracked in my wrist
a shattered screaming withered skeleton
begging soundlessly for the wall to let me in

and what was past the wall?

One wise merchant:
once tried to sell you a concept.

There you were,
lounging on the street,
like any half decent loiterer,
when this haphazardly placed shawl,
bumped you to a wall.

Tattoos fluttered along their brow,
their mouth shimmied from one thought to the next,
and this,
gypsy of a fool,
was trying to sell
the thought
that you would die.

Knife to throat,
fist to rib,
eye to eye,
it was a convincing proposition,

but ultimately,
only a salesman's pitch.

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.

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.

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