next time when
the sky dawns when sun sets when the stars spill and one day in which its not pervading me over. life again you will have. one you had before my own time ascended. we can walk past each others life as humans. the name will fade from song lyrics, the face from the blackness. I will  be empty because there won't be any more lies to binge.
I budge your arm off my body and your shattered on the carpet. tomorrow you will be so ugly; an old acquaintance.

Really all this time we drove and you felt the music in you as I did and as you danced, your fingers got knotted in my hair. then inside of me.
at night I held your arm and locked it round my back over my chest - a lock to a cage that I long ago had lost the key to. you had kissed me all night long and you were so coincidently unvisible under the dimmed lights, that you were there. you would pull the hair away from my ear and lean over me warmly; then back into my ear you would regurgitate everything I had fuelled you with until I fell back asleep.
thats why it worked for so long because I lived in two people, as false and as ****** as another. and thats why you're never in because you are sick with lies I diagnosed you in. when you look its always at me. when we pass its felt the same. - thats what the poison tastes of.

for months I painted a/your portrait. the brush would meet the canvas at 11pm approximately every night and would last until the dawn of the am when my eyes went black and paint had splashed my face pretty.
the brushstrokes were coarse and accentuated goodness in lust and shadows in the contours. the beauty was indisputable but the colours on the pallet I had not yet mastered.
so it wasn't until the previous night or two ago when I heard the child run by my half finished canvas. as I approached it, glass shattered on the floor below it. the glass reflected my face as I seen myself in pieces.
I have renamed it self-portrait.

perhaps I had found you on the other end of oceans;
with pens in your hand of our embrace under stars.
alas, when that star fell the other night; we pushed it. slightly.

what was I chasing, that had the audacity to burn fires that haunt the neighbours. that put the car on running when I was off, eyes dreaming - the wheel slipping off my palms. and then over a cliff into ocean.
maybe so. maybe it was you. maybe so. maybe I am blind

You build a garden,
a rose is planted - the most beautiful flower
a tiger is born - the most beautiful cat

they grow
tiger tears eats destroys the rose’s petals
she is bare.
rose grows thorns , will she scare?

she’s too beautiful to stand there alone to the tiger
he pervades her bloom, until she has flourished a spectacle
his teeth caress those petals to shreds
her thorns, pierce his mouth,
out pour all sorts of reds.

they live beautifully and painfully in one another

Mental health; mental wealth.
It’s riches you spend on your armour when in battles with demons,
to come out the other end bruised but not defeated.

The weath in within the gold mines in your head that the demons dig upon,
though still you find golden flakes on the surface of your palms.

That you spend your wealth on others, to save them from the debt you fear to suffer again. As you rust.

Wealth is the riches you still hold, when the demons strip you bankrupt.

you are rich, for you are still here.