Check.

Relief.

Check.

Relief.

Check.

Relief.

Pause.

Don’t check.

Un-pause.

Sudden and devastating irony that one’s skin can crawl, yet none of their limbs work.

The only animated parts being my heart as it hammers against the rigid, perspiring cage that it so desperately tries to keep alive.

And my lungs, as they desperately gulp for air like they may never taste it again.

For who knows if oxygen exists in the darkness that lurks at the epicentre of the collision between fact and fiction.


Check.

Check again.

I’m not quite sure how I got here,
Or why your stare makes fear feel safe.
It's like you can read the aura of me,
Though, maybe you just read my face.

I'm not quite sure I deserve this;
To have butterflies shatter my pride,
And you perfectly see the broken parts
That for so long I've had to hide.

Yet, It’s not in this moment

I know that I’ve fallen,

It’s the one-hundred in-between.
All the times I’ve played 
"connect-the-dots
'
With freckles upon your cheek.

All the times I’ve stared in the mirror,

And I’ve cursed at my reflection.
For the face I see
Doesn’t seem like me;
Just a trick, or some deception.



And then all the times I pause
.
And all the times that I think
That the view I see I’d love with glee,

If you were stood there next to me.

I'm not quite sure I'm courageous,
As when our fingers intertwine,
You unveil the curtain of boldness
I so often cower behind.

Still, you cling on tight to that hand;
Search for secrets in it's embrace.
But, you'll find no truth in reading my palm;
It's all written upon my face.


Sureness is a fickle thing,
love is constant and still.
And right now I'm sure I love you,
And I hope I always will.
And if I'm not courageous, or if I can't be bold.
Well then at least I know I'll always have your hand to hold.

I'm not quite sure how I got here,
Or why your stare makes fear feel safe.
It's like you can read the aura of me,
But maybe you just read my face.

You cling on tightly to my hand,
And search for secrets in it's embrace.
But, you'll find no truth in reading my palm,
It's all written upon my face.

I'm not courageous, and nor am I bold.
But hey, at least I've got your hand to hold.

The winter sky saluted me,
As I let my mind rest into daydream.
A brief moment of beautiful pause
To create faces in the clouds.

It was then that I realised
That just the sight of your face,
Soothed all the burns upon my skin
From all the time I've tried to cleanse myself
With the isolation that so often erodes me.

The air was cold, my lips were blue;
But still, I couldn't fault the view.