Eyes.
Those eyes.
Your eyes.
Eyes of the iciest hue,
Guarded by a row of
Dark, thick lashes.

I’ve seen them in
Many states.  
Creased at the edges
By a wide grin.
Red and weary
From salty tears.

You don’t see it.
How beautiful you really are.
If only I could take my eyes,
And replace them with yours,
So that you can see for yourself,
The beauty that you possess.

Thick, charcoal hair,
Pale, velvet skin, a
Set of soft pink lips,
Teeth like pearls.
A face that is perfectly
Carved and flawless.

Your eyes have a sparkle,  
The kind that I have never seen.
A shimmer like the sun on a
Sapphire ocean, that I
Have drowned in so many times.
I’m lost at sea.

They say that eyes
Are “the key to the soul”,
And I have seen your soul
Many times.
Laid bare and raw,
On the soil beneath my feet.

I am hypnotized, every time
I gaze into your two
Cornflower kaleidoscopes.
They are like magnets.
Drawing me in,
Enticing me, tempting me.

Even when I am old,
Infirm and my memory
May be fading, that fond image
will never age, never decay, never rot.
It will be forever imprinted on my brain,
On my heart, on my life.

We sat on the grey, dust covered shelf of Russell’s.
Day after day, sets of eager eyes would admire us:
giddy children, eager teenagers…
Yet, why did nobody want us?
We sat together, for months and months,
asking each other that same question.
Even the crisp white sticker marked ‘REDUCED’,
was not enough to ****** some curious being.
Until, one day in late August, our luck was changed.
We were wrapped in rustling tissue paper and tucked safely into a box,
ready to start our new life.
We were rejuvenated, relieved and renewed.
We gleamed with pride as the girl pranced up and down
the cream and beige tiled floor of her kitchen,
proud to reveal us to the world.
Her very own set of Ruby Woo jewels on her feet.
We carried her through splashing rain, and resentful snow,
we have roamed through Europe, and her own native Isle.
She never failed to love us and care for us,
our destiny was fulfilled, and we left our print on the soils of this world.

The Sound of Music pervades the air,
As the Nowhere Boys and Uptown Girls,
Come home after A Hard Day's Night.
Isn't it Tiffany's turn to make breakfast?

She bleeds silently
Into a bath of melancholy tears.
Exoneration is but a mere hope,
As she floats to the darkest depths
Of her own affliction.
She wilts as the smooth surface
Of her satin skin is punctured
By the briars of her thoughts.
Why? How?
It was only a kiss.
A brief, but fatal kiss.

Facebook's not a journal,
Twitter's not a place,
That's the massive problem
With the current human race.

Your mood is not a hashtag,
'Selfie' is spelled with an S,
We're really all addicted,
Which we know, but won't confess.

Our kids will play computers,
They'll be Apple's biggest fans,
But what about the authors,
Who wrote things with their hands?

Dickens, Wilde and Hawthorne,
I'm sure would bear a frown,
For PAPER was the only way,
They wrote their stories down.

Hazy recollections of friendly faces,
Shards of glass, empty bottles.
*****, whiskey, ***, wine.
Laughter, music, happiness, relief.

Yet, she feels nothing but pain and anguish,
After swallowing the last drop of bitter gin.
Tears break the barrier of her burning throat,
As it permeates every vein, cell, atom.

She sees a reflection in your cornflower eyes-
A reflection that is unrecognisable.
Instead of rosy cheeks, a crescent smile and a pair of sparkling brown marbles,
She sees grey skin, liquid mascara and a trembling lower lip.

A stranger to the others, but not to her.
Her mask of contentment is now cracked.
She can be seen for who she really is.
She feels exposed, and she hates it.

Next time, she should just stick to rosé.

I really ******* hate it here.
I can't stay here anymore.
I wish that I could ******* leave
Through a small, mysterious door.
A door that leads to a magical place,
Through which you cannot stand.
A door to take us far away,
To  wondrous Wonderland.

**** it all, let's run away,
Go anywhere we can.
I want to dance among the stars,
Like Wendy and Peter Pan.
I want to leap and bound and jump
All through the cotton clouds,
I want to yell and scream and shriek,
And curse them all aloud.

For dreams are not just make believe,
We can achieve them if we try.
My dream is just to fly away,
To the Land of You and I.
A Land that only we know,
Our special secret place.
Where we will dwell 'til Death arrives,
And greets us face to face.