I lie amongst sheets
that never blanket, but only skim my skin.
The drift bites, encourages the ice
to gradually mould into me

And every night the door is keyed shut
and the window closed, blinds turned
to rule out night.

Yet I manage to smell your steps
crumbling up the bricks
and pervading my neglected presence.
Whilst I awake drenched
solely shedding tears to wash your poison
still stained my pillow.

nurtured in the arms of another's.
birthed in homes inside their minds,
and told to stay low
told we have wings -
not told to use them.
because they might fail us.

our dreams might fail us.

so our sight blocked, to only the
array of sunset.
we sleep through sunrise
- at least they do.

        but see we,
we await, we wait until the
sun breaks way,
swallow the waves
eat another into oblivion.
whisked together as the sun turns to us
when she tires from her previous scene
she livens at us.

            do not anticipate until she bares full.
do not hesitate until she kisses your iris to black.
fly out to her
and see if wings dissolve like we were told they would.
see if you are dreaming
discover if you are awake.

feel how close to death you are
taste it, but swallow your presence.
when she begins to melt you.
remember that they told you that burns will ****.
who told you the sun will ****** our home, when her end comes.

fear not. fear is your friend.
the sun  knows she can impale you so
deep with radiance.
but do not fear,

because last night was when you dreamt of the sun -
and now is when she killed you.
because you were too near.

to the dream.
to follow them will thrill.
and **** once you love them
but what won't ****.

so visit the sun if you dream of her
let your dreams burn you.
end you
because at least you tasted them.

the nights alone, spent lurking.
swimming in another man's souled voice.
is when I apologise for the aching marks I bruise upon myself.

because I've rinsed my heart, clenching my fists.
then ringed it out until there are no senses to swallow
the desperate urge for pain,
from someone else.

to numb the knife of loneliness
which I caress in the dark, then slit.

then  I dance this pen,
until it's ink recklessly glides upon bare lines that
pleaded desires sing for pain.

to wipe off this blood, that won't dry
until it has someone to scar for.

but again I'll still stay slicing.
blaming ghosts, dreams, hallucinations.
to wound up isolation.

choke out any last lingering tears
to dilute the escaping blood
in attempt to stain.
to remind me,
that I hurt for something.