Time spent with you I find precious.
Delicious seconds turn to minutes, turn to hours.
Ours.
I know not what powers brought us together,
only that I'm happy, content and true with you.

Time is fleeting, it's always moving forward,
constantly flowing, and towering between us.
Us.
One plus one, still equals one with us. We are one.
We empower each other, and lift ourselves to the stars.

We find completeness with each other.
Never needing anyone else, others may suffocate
We
Are two halves of one whole.
We devour each other daily, only to return whole.

Twenty four hours later.

When I close my eyes,
I picture your lies.
Vivid colour, bursts from your mouth,
lies painted by your tongue.
'Work kept you late'
'Traffic was a state'
'You had a headache'
When I open my eyes,
I see you mixing a drink,
I've had time to think
'Do you want one?' you casually ask
I shake my head no, plaster a smile on my face,
lace my fingers together and feign interest.
You suddenly jolt, grasp at your throat,
I sit and wait like a dutiful wife
as you gasp and try to keep your life.
You're out of time my 'darling'
Thallium has been quietly seeping into you,
growing and building inside.
Just like my baby, growing in me, one you'll never see.
Our girl with sapphire eyes

I don't want to go out dancing
I don't want to "hang" with boys
I don't want to wear a push up bra
(Not that there's much to push)
nor make out in some grubby car.

I don't want to cake on make up
I don't want to weave my hair
I don't want to wear stilettos
Or a skirt cut up to where??

I just want to write my poems
play my games and read my books,
have some decent conversation
not based around a popstars looks
(Or the *** he's *******)

I know I'm odd but please don't judge me
I'm a girl, just not the same
call me names and laugh behind me
call me ******, call me lame.

Maybe someday you will see me,
well payed job and handsome man
and wonder how I got that lucky
just by being who I am.

Yet for now you only see me
as a nerd, a geek, a jest,
Take your hot pink lip gloss, sweetie
and push that pram like all the rest.

We are born, with nowhere to go but into death's arms.
Milestones lay ahead to meet us as we get older.
Sweet sixteen, the key to the door, getting blind drunk,
and ending up on the floor.
Marriage, divorce, a kid or three, slowly you fill up the ancestry tree.
Not understanding that as we get older, we begin to get colder.
Colder and closer to the grave.
The grave awaits, if lucky to live a span of time.
But spare a thought for those that are caught
by the reaper early.
The murdered, the suicides, the accidents, the ill,
all have been called to return to him.
All have been, Born to die.

You can philosophise all day long,
this world contains more than we know.
More than we see, and in some cases
some things we've already seen.
That strong sensation of having been somewhere,
of knowing what a place had once been.
Never getting lost in new places, of remembering old faces.

This precognition scares science, they label it
'Schizophrenic', 'anxiety' and my personal favourite;
the 'dissociative identity disorder'.
Here's a straight jacket for you!
I prefer déjà vu,
such an elegant French description,
even better, they don't hand out a prescription to 'cure' it!

Déjà entendu, "already heard",
the experience of feeling sure that one has already heard something,
ever thought your name was being called?
That you heard whispers in the night,
Only to be told it's the 'house settling'?
How many of us have shook our heads,
and said 'I'm getting old, I'm hearing things!'

These phenomena don't come and go
they stay, they are older than time,
they've always been, just never seen.
Platitudes placate your puzzled mind,
but what if these things are just rips in time?
A leak from the past, occasionally a glimpse of the future?
Or maybe it's all just history's forgotten soft sighs*.

I float on gin soaked nightmares
Yoked to the liquor like a babe to a bottle
Coaxed to sleep slowly, dosed on 70% proof
and with it the night's terror starts.

Gin addled, lying in sweat soaked sheets
Memories raise their heads above the parapet
These memories coaxed from their corners
Coerced by addiction.

My addiction I saw as a benediction
A positive to all the negative.
But my submission was not conviction,
it was hell and condemnation.

Now, my nightmares torment me,
like purgatory, no rest for the wicked,
the fallen, the flotsam and detritus of life.
Stricken I can only question....

What's it like to drift off quietly?
Not to wake with a scream trapped in your throat?
To count sheep instead of the faces of the long dead?
To slumber in peace, cloaked in love?

If you can answer these questions,
please let me know.
Pop a note in bottle and give it a throw.
If it washes up I'll let you know.

I was shocked when I heard the key lock.
My heart dropped,
I was left to rot.
Forgot, mocked, and blocked from outside.
No where to run, no one to turn to.
The key had turned, my fate was sealed.
Robbed of life yet still alive,
pleading silently, "please let me out"
Would they treat my plea with dignity?
I couldn't shout, would they hear me?
Not above the hiss of the respirator, of that I have no doubt.