I'm learning how to find the stars in my own eyes.

What is our most prized possession
If not the chamber of memories
That we so fearfully keep
Within the confines of our minds.

Every inch of our power
Lives in a constant struggle
To guard this chest of fading treasures
From the writhing hands of time

Yet we have become so caught up
In this twisted dance
With the ticking clock,
that we have forgotten
these memories are naught
but disintegrating ghosts,
whom desperately cling to us,
as a shipwreck survivor
clings to driftwood,
hanging from our thoughts
on trembling strings
-soon to snap.

Despite all our efforts
They will never be immortalised
-and so we are condemned
to drown
in a sea of nostalgia.

Line up my broken bones
over a floor of frost-bitten marble
so that you may brand their ice
with the bruises
of your lips.

Sink your teeth into the river
that floats through
the blueness of my veins,
and lands as a stranger
in the velvet of your mouth.

Let my wavering sigh
travel down
the treacherous nape
of your strained neck,
as you trace
the freckled porcelain
of my skin
-to map
the city of my dreams-

-in this ghost town of powdery breaths,
you will *****
the tallest
the greatest
of all monuments.

So hear my plea and
immerse my vision
in the echoes of
your uttered promise as
the tearing muscles
of my desperate heart
reach to grasp
your empty words.

A world map puzzle rearranged,
haven for the lost,
home to those too strange
to the outcasts
to the insane,

Where hearts collide
and children of the sun thrive
because storms
can’t keep them
inside

because
here
they find the moon
in their skin
rain in a stranger’s eye
and know that they are kin

because
here
there are no borders
to separate our brains
we are all one
yet never the same

because
here
culture runs deeper than blood
in veins
in its palm this world
where spirits roam
and dreams grow


-kisses
drawn
upon nurtured souls.

The failing use of my right arm,
Isn't actually the failing use of my right arm.
It's just a way of keeping time.
And time is ticking.

He says he loves me.
He swears on his life that he loves me.

But love, I've come to understand,
Isn't warm like I'm told.
Love is a trap.
A greedy monster preying on my hope
And feasting on my unanswered prayers.
It's take and don't think to give back.
It's pushing until I have nothing left.
Nothing left of even my own.
Love is never looking in the mirror again,
Because you're disgusted with what he has made you into.

Long sleeves and high collars,
No plans on a Friday night,
Warning looks and cold eyes,
Bruised ribs and shattered breaths
Hands above my head and legs pinned under him.
But, still, he swears he loves me.

The failing use of my heart,
Isn't actually the failing use of my heart.
It's just a way of keeping time.
*And my time is up.