There is this hell inside me where the flames are mesmerising

it’s shape fits your outline

it grows and shrinks
                                            every time you walk in

walk out.



Tell you what

i’ll be the empty house

and you be the ghost


I’ll keep my favourite illusions about us in tiny glass jars

                                                           ­               (like portable mausoleums)


What do you want for dinner?
                                                         I'm leaving you


Shall we watch The 7:30 Report?

                                                        ­ You’ll never see me again

I’ve made your favourite dessert

                                                        ­ You can keep the house


Did you know you can be crying for years

and not even notice


The funny trajectory of feelings

They rise up      
you take note  

                                they fall away


some don’t fall away
becoming embedded in your bloodstream

and there’s my only enemy right there

inside me

and no matter how much I vacuum the cracks in the floor
my childhood just doesn’t change

but maybe
just maybe

if i do everything the opposite way i was taught i might survive


I thought you were the face of my survival
                                                                ­             (silly I know)
                                        
I thought you were my very own swashbuckling hero
like the one's dreamed up by Spielberg and Lucas

but after awhile getting your hopes up

becomes just another extreme sport

If only i had known

the best way to keep our romance alive
was never getting to know each other

Refunds for emotional disappointment should be a thing


and weddings
weddings should happen under water

the suffocating non-air
can break you in for your future

You’re working back again/What’s her name?

You know, there’s a freedom that comes with being forgotten actually

I can relax and become a mountain again
                                                           ­                 free of perfecting myself

to outshine your golden girls
all of them competing for the crown in your secret world

I would cry about it
but i bought 80 pairs of shoes instead

It will show up on your bank statement

There was an old world
that turned on it's head,

and turned out it’s pockets
and shook out the dead,

and shook off the living
and all of their stuff

til' all there was left
it considered enough,

and all there was left
was a world upsidedown,

and wind and whatever
had roots in the ground,

and fish with a warning
to stay where they be,

down under the waves
of the shookabout sea.

Somebody bundled
it into a clock
and slung it up high on a wall,

with numbers
like bars between us,
where there had been nothing before;

before,
my days had come open,
open and endless like sky,

but boxed on the wall
there looked no room for all
of the rest of my lifetime and I.

Leaning on the grass
like the late September breeze,

she traces as a path,
the pattern pressed into my knees

to where the lines are thickest,
finds my fondest memories,

and softly drops her kisses
like the falling autumn leaves.