I only know to cope in a couple of ways
- slam up some walls
Pretend it doesn't hurt
Move on
Innocence is a mockery on my face
My lips twist into grotesque resemblance
of long-gone smiles

It is difficult to remember
to relax
to be normal
'normal'

you come back in flurried recollections
blurs
and
heartaches

a pain starting from the middle
of my forehead
to the crick in my neck
right to my wrists
softly rotating trying to relax
i smile

this is normal

http://www.mixcloud.com/ed_coles/

I have decided to read aloud,
to project my thoughts out to the crowd.
I'm probably ****,
and I'll most likely stutter,
but it is better than leaving
my words in the gutter.

I read a tidbit somewhere
that the average American will spend
a combined six months of their life
waiting at red lights.

After I processed this,
I consciously took a breath,
thanked my debatably lucky stars
that I turned out
nowhere near average,

*and gunned it.

I love you, but not in the way that poets mention.
It’s a love with mostly beautiful parts—
those which beautiful words
could do their best to validate and describe.

But there are other parts,
like
the hot, jealous breath on my neck,
heavy and hanging over me—
a howling black cloud
patiently waiting to
rip,
pour,
warp,
and
ruin.

Other parts,
like
the craggy barbed wire ribs you wear—
the ones I take in when I wrap myself around you.
Who these are meant to protect
remains unclear.

Other parts,
like
the guilt I foster when we touch
while you remind me in a soft whisper
that you’re not mine to keep.
I face the bare wall and hesitate to accept
that to touch is simply to use,
and to use is so far from to love.

I love you, just not in the way that poets mention—
in that rigid crack between the brick and mortar—
in a narrow place where even the loudest secrets dare not echo.
I love you in that stretch of light between heel and shadow—
in the space that implies
but does not define
connection.

I love you, but not in a way that poets mention.
I love you in the silent incomplete—
the only way you’ll allow.

I love you alone.

I apologize for the both of us

you for forgetting so easily
and me for not letting things go

you for not listening to anything I don't say
and me for not saying anything


I'm sorry for trying to change you
and I'm sorry that I let you change me

I'm sorry for apologizing too much

the path is overgrown with broken beer bottles.
fairies beat their wings to the rhythm of ******
pulsing in their veins.
an audible yet muffled cackle is heard
the source is a stump swollen with cigarette smoke.
And I have five minutes more before I get home.

My path is overgrown with broken beer bottles
On my black eagle I'm goin full throttle.
It's pouring down, all around they're movin like cattle
But slipping from society is only half the battle.
My arms are ancient road maps if you connect the landmarks
Or crevices my black eagle has punctured and pecked at.
But lost you might end up if you don't get on my saddle.

Those days where cutting off your nose to spite your face
is preferable to the fake smile?
The inane chat?
The constant hum of banality?
The pretence that all in the garden is rosy?
The surrounding of people you would cheerfully ****?

Where the slightest word sends you spiralling?
Where even "friends" drive you screaming for the hills?
Where silence is all you want, need, crave?
Where were it possible you'd scream not talk?
Where you'd get your bucket of regrets, and throw them to the wind?
Today is that day for me.