I cleansed the knife
you stabbed in my back
and cauterized
my bleeding wounds
with it.

I am from
the old brick house at the bottom of a hill;
from a small, sunny backyard;
that twilight taste of cigarette smoke from my neighbour.

I am from midnight walks through the park,
snow angels in the snow,
a house among the trees and hide-and-go-seek on rooftops.

I am from lots of bed time stories,
another one, mommy. Please?
Sitting on the staircase, contemplating whether I should ask to sleep with them because the monster scared me away.

I am from cousins and sleepovers in the summer-shed;
swinging for hours in their living room;
playing minecraft way longer than we should have;
from tag in the woods and more hide and seek down by the creek.

I am from waiting in my room 'till midnight just to make sure he got home safe and sound.
I am from watching the smoke from chimneys in the night,
from thinking that the park was on fire.

Going to twenty different places,
seeing oceans and mountains and adventures,
missing them.

From my first ballet class (and hating it),
from all those competitions and ribbons and costumes,
promising it was my last year every time and finally regretting it when it really was.

I am from going to Grandpa's house everyday after school.
I remember him in his rocking chair, with the cat in his lap, treats waiting our arrival.
He doesn't sit there any longer.

I am from wishing and watching and waiting for nothing.
I am from piles of paper and journals hidden in the corners of my room, scattered with words and memories.

I am from my sister. My mother. My father.

I am from flowers and forget me nots and daisies and lupins.
From the books on my shelves, half of them unread.

I am from staring at my ceiling fan, asking God what was wrong with me.
I am from my Black Book, where those heavy feelings linger.

From those first two weeks of quarantine, reading so much I actually couldn't see properly. And not regretting it at all.

I am from denial, denial, denial was the truth.
But hey, Grace, it's sitting right there in front of you.
Might as well embrace it.

I am from being the sentimental one.
Keeping those shoes that don't fit because I wore them on my trip.
I am from almost diving in too deep.

Sigh

I am from letting go. From love. From memories.
But where I'm from, is letting go.

Wear your pyjamas and stay in your bed
No need for alarm it’s a cold in your head
It’s not the ‘flu and it’s not beri- beri
What you should do is eat and be merry
Resist little germies; take advice from your Mum
Phone up your worky and say you can’t come
Hot lemon and whisky tots flavoured with honey
Loosens your cold and makes you go maudlin
Put on your  music, Bob Dylan is calling
When you are well, he feels kind of sad
When you are sick you agree with your Dad
Bob is the best friend that you ever had
Never wear headphones, annoy next door neighbours
Send your Mum shopping for Lemsip from Savers
After a while you’ll start to enjoy
All the care and fussing you had as a boy
So when the certificate comes to an end
Work is a no-no; a don’t want to go-go
Spots on your face will keep you in bed
Your belly is scarlet; your face is all red
Under the sheets hide a *** and a pen
With luck you won’t have to work ever again

Corona seems such a sweet name.

The howling wind is passing by
When they bury the men
and the  people cry
So many lifes forever changed.

Lockdowns all around
Nothing more the same
A crown shaped virus
Is to blame.

Corona doesn’t ask  
what’s your color
what’s your race
what’s your faith
not even what’s your name.

The whole world
for once together
suffering the same
So many hurt
So much  pain remains.



Shell ✨🐚
.

- [ ]

My mind feels like a graveyard of trees.
Every fruit of confidence I bear
withers away into a thing of
self doubt.

And because it is the only fruit I know,
I indulge myself in eating it,

And because you are what you eat,
I too, eventually wither away.

By night, I energize
from destroying the souls
of innocent lives:
my bloodlust takes flight.

I revel in the cloak of darkness
and shy at the bright of day,
Celebrate the taste of blood
and wish the night would stay.

I see behind my eyes
the cries of suffering
my human form sings
while the blazing sun is awake.

I feel the echo of self hatred and horror
at who I am
and what I do.

By night, I shift and bare my teeth,
tear apart raw flesh and fresh meat.
Break bones and eat marrow
and dread the dawn of tomorrow.

I exist in contrast
to the thing that pathetically
weeps at day,
and forever wish
I could eat it
away.

All of my good memories
are stuck far up on the shelf.

They are books that I know exist,
but may as well be useless
for the dust that they collect.

I wanted a love
that I could smell, feel, and see.
A love that looks vibrant red,
feels like a swollen heart,
and smells more piquant
than the salt of the sea.

And finally, I found it.

The pit of my stomach
clenches when I am around you
And my eyes search for yours
but instead they look through
the empty sockets in your skull.

I hold your heart in my hands
literally,
and it drips,
pouring love's fluid
all over the floor.
And your eyes, I find swimming
in the corked jar filled with formaldehyde.
To preserve them, so that I may always
know the ocean blue.

I bask in your fragrance
as it consumes the air around me;
stronger and more pungent
than the scent of sea salt,
but oh, so pleasant.

I lay myself next to you,
and let my touch
sink its warmth into your cold skin.

This love looks vibrant;
As vibrant as the red
that sloppily coats my hands,
Feels mushy and swollen,
like this heart of yours I hold
close to my own,
And smells sharper,
Sharper than the knife I used
to gently, and with care,
cut it out.

When did I get so old?
In my 20s, 30s and 40s I had life
by the tail, active and productive,
breaching horizons and
accomplishing significant things.
Thought I had all the time in the world.

In my 50s I could still run the track,
bench press 225 and make love with
all the passion of a younger man.
Old age was never on my mind.

In my 60s I could still walk without
a limp, climb medium mountains
and date woman 20 years younger.
Trying to ignore my bodies ever
increasing aches and pains.

In my early 70s, old age descended
upon me like some pernicious thief,
diminishing and stealing my physical
and intellectual strengths.

And yet at 75, in my minds eye,
I still think and feel like I am 25,
or so I try to delude myself.
Though my physical body does
stubbornly, remind me otherwise.
Dating women of any age is definitely,
completely off my mind. Preferring a
single man's life of unchallenged tranquility.

In the sum total of a persons allocated
few decades of life what remains are
wonderful vivid memories, of love
given and received, of children born,
and of natures beauty seen and felt
from climbing lofty mountain peaks.
Of a life lived that seems all too brief.

Make no mistake, life flies by like a
speeding commuter train on a one
way track, with absolutely no return
tickets being purchased or issued at
any worldly price.