That was me in the moment gone bland with the colour
of petrol wash,
clinging to the skin,

city bear me,
tell me I'm still a child,
tell me I have a long way, to go,
before I loose the light,
glinting pupils,
a thrill,
caused by stupidity.

Looking blindly,
strung out like sunlight,
through dirt,
distorting the view,
transitory spaces, again,
I'm not coming home.
Hand me the map to changing,
into myself,
despite the scars,
that break with the stretching of skin.

Despite your eyes,
looking right through,
me, ghostly apparition,
with no insides to parade,
weaving performance,
Joking, joking,
I will bow to no one.

To be given like that,
This strange movement,
Away from you, away from watching
What peace was,
Standing in the middle of a crowd,
And being known by no one.

Dead flowers,
Leftovers from the sudden greed,
That beauty brings,
A plastic dinosaur,
Bending it’s neck over the chessboard,
Who to change, who to change.

I will keep every good thing that’s ever been brought to me,
And bury it, inside,
Until I overflow,
With light.

I wanted to see your blood,
In the mirror,
You dancing,
And the soft sweat,
Of summer,
Making you shine,
Look at yourself,
And then look at the stars,
Bend over the fist,
Pressed right between,
Purple kissed ribs,
Bruising like an answer,
Breathing like an animal in death,
Watching you curl up,
In worship,
Or resting, in the shade,
Of branches hiding,
A sun breaking, with the glow,
Being loved, like that.

I'm going to find you,
find you out,
the long conversations,
about our own flaws,
we both know,
the punches we throw,
at our own faces,
are just becoming more elaborate.
Tell me I mean something,
you are so special,
and so human, I promise that.
Though we will discard each other,
eventually,
this is a thing we know,
because we have been in this story before.
To love is to know pain,
and decide it is worth it,
to rip the pieces of each other apart with your bare hands,
and gently give them back,
covered in tears, covered in flowers,
to steal,
keep some of you for myself.

Go home to softness,
to that feeling,
of waste, and the thick glow,
of light, cold,
on the ceiling,
don't get up for anything.
The future is only an idea.

Feeling my body,
turn over again,
fresh green,
in the May leaves,
a newness seeks you out,
it is asking,
to be held.

You, loving this like your own face,
bearing your skin to the crowd,
to be feared and entirely known,
to miss the change,
we were all holding onto the moment.

And me,
joining the fray,
Gathered round,
This kitchen table,
To grow full with meaning.

There, right there,
that was the future I wanted,
and you glowing like moonlight,
with the most beautiful mind,
The world and all of it's crevices,
are making you up,
not me, this time.