she says
my heart is too big
it barely fits
i say
i can feel
the veins
slithering down my
wrists i was born
with walls so thick
no human eye
could see where i
began and where
i ended i
could feel
my heart hammering
away at my ribcage
it wanted to get out
when they tore
down the walls
and brought me into
this world they
didn’t cut deep enough

she talks
in pulses and palpitations
and every time
my heart flutters
she loses her breath
i tried to tear
the walls down myself
i couldn’t cut deep enough

she says
something
a thump a thump
thump but
my heart is too big
it’s the only
thing i hear
the only thing
i know there’s not
enough room for two
i can feel
my veins overflowing
i can’t cut deep enough

my heart
my big, big heart
spilling through my ribcage
it wants to get out

*if i want to let you in
i have to let it out

for those nights when i shattered at my wrists  
looking up at apathetic skies
blinding sunshine moonshine
stars matching the layout of
the cones in my pupils


i remember the tears pooling at the corners of my eyes
as i looked down and up
clutching my wrist
digging my nails into deeper impressions and
grooves left by knives past
biting the inside of my cheek hard enough
and the days when i used my hair
to hide my eyes


and dodged around people
unable to bear
with putting on a face
strong face happy face getting-through-life faces
those days


i felt barely human
for those days


i remember impressions left on my feet and my hands
as i stared holes into them
through the blur of tears on my eyes
i felt the clench of my heart and my stomach
and i remember digging my nails into my guts
trying to hold myself together
and the struggle of remaining upright


trying to not crumple into a ball
into as tight a space i could manage
under tables beds metal frames
left dusty with spider webs and mis-
disuse over ages of forgetting
for reasons better known to those others


for those days
when i could barely look into someone's eyes
and acknowledge myself as a person
or a human or a thing or a creature
and i felt like a whisp on the
shadows and springs of death and blankness


those days
when all i felt was the grave the tombstone
of my body
as i carted it around
the world and the whole world
leaned in but i leaned out
i leaned out and
and my spine was not strong enough to carry this tombstone
but my shoulders were
so my shoulders hunched and my spine broke
and i carted it around anyway


those days when
everyone
came back in dreams and nightmares
of worlds falling apart
and people lying dead in ditches
people killing themselves in hidden roofs
where i had once resided
and i recalled a
a particular
peculiar impression
of orange smoky skies
with menacing black jets over my head and i thought
i thought
and i believed-
"This world has come to die"


and that wasn't even the scary part
the scary part was when i
i stood and opened my arms wide
laughed and said:
"i've been waiting"
i remember those nights
i remember those moments
and my stomach crumbles
my eyes cannot handle their weight anymore
my spine shatters
my shoulders overflow
my wrist shatters
and i


i look up at the blinding
sunshine moonshine
and i open my eyes wider
and laugh laugh laugh

mark us
like sheep
my fleece may be
store-bought,
washed clean
of all
identity
but i’ve got
a patchwork neck
spotted and dotted
with broken
blood vessels and
i’ve seen the
girls with pennies
scraping at their
skin trying to
get rid of him
one stroke
at a time
(his lips were
just as rough
as the ridges
of their coins)
and
i’ve heard the
girls with pennies
their marks may
have faded
but their pockets
jingle with
each step they
take each move
they make they say
his tongue dripped
gold and
silver and
bronze all over
them but all he
left was
red

mark us
like cattle
my ears may
hold rings and
not tags
but i’ve got
skin so fair
you’d never
dare believe
that beneath
i’m just
another collection
of broken
blood vessels and
he may be
gone from the
surface
may be
easy to remove
but i still
bleed
(and the girls
with pennies
scrape at my
neck one
stroke at a
time)

mark me
like property
my body may
be a temple
but your
prayers will
not be
heard here
you say
the girls
don’t need
their pennies
we say you
have no say
in the way
we heal

our vessels
may have been
yours to break
but they are
not yours to
mend and you
can pretend
you never knew
what we went
through when
you decided
to leave
your signature
on our skin

but we promise
when we look at you
we only see
red

i have known nights
where men walk the sun
and the stars count people

sheep huddle together
in grassy fields
dreaming
of fences
worn down

see, the funny thing
about nights is
at some point
you can’t tell the difference
between the first
and the last

(And hey,
****** ******
The cat’s lost his fiddle
Orion’s got a belt
Round his neck)

the lass
on the moon
plucks planets
from the blue
and decorates
the tangles in
her hair

see, the funny thing
about dreaming is
at some point
you can’t tell the difference
between what hurts
and what doesn’t

(The cat’s started drinking
Orion’s stopped thinking)

dawn
decides to sleep in
for just
another hour
or two

see, the funny thing
about nights is
i have always known them
but know nothing
of you

(And the fiddle has gone out of tune).

i apologise,
i'm well aware
it's illegal to use
pictures of people
without their permission,
but your image
wanders through my
fantasies with no
regard for roadblocks
or boundaries, and
frankly, i'm tired
of throwing photographs
away.

The Sandman has gone out of business,
he says that he’s closing up shop.
Yeah, the Sandman is leaving us hanging,
he’s givin’ his clients the drop.

But the black market promises quality,
claims it’s made just the right stuff.
Got some back-alley dreams for the takin’,
well, if you can pay enough.

Now Grandma’s returned to the sixties,
she still rolls the best jays in town,
and I’ve entered the family business,
soon she’ll have to give up that crown.

Yeah, they call me the Sandman round these parts,
and I still haven’t slept worth a ****.
But if you need some dreams, for a reasonable fee
satisfaction is guaranteed.