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.

stop watering it,
these roots are getting flooded and they have no life to withstand.

please don’t let any more words
drop out your sweet tongue,
my insides are expanding in agony.

this seed you planted,
I built a fence to protect it from your  rain
and harm,
so it  may slowly die.

yet life has broken into it,
and the wind was screaming last night.
I didn’t realise until now.

until I came to find your walls were shattered,
and to my realisation my fence was melted.

that’s when the pain has began
brewing, foaming.
leaking into each vein and intertwines around their blue tunnels.
I am sick at the thought.

these roots stream into my nerves,
closing my sleep, my words
as I only inhale yours through my pipe.
then engulfing this seed
that seems to shoot further up me,
when you are furtherst away.

You’re not, влюблен
But you adore when it tugs on your hair
when he’s behind
and eyes can’t meet because for long now you have been
strangers  and you’ve tied your gaze away from it
-the vison

I take I’m saving these tears for when you strike me full
and it’s you at the other line of the song once the words thread through.

When I’m on my knees, left scrubbing you off of me. Washing you out with rivers of piano chords and trembling voices - that haunt me of you
which smear the floor black.

Your mess overturned as you slip out.
I cry for the love I cried to show you.

I had left myself open for you, my doors were slammed shut in weakness by your hands withering to push it back.

you could say that
she is the moon that hides in daylight’s glory.
the moon at night when you see no other light.
the torch on your phone when it was late and alone.

But she was
silenced by your presence
awake by your absence.

you are the words flouncing out her hands
shapes from her pencil.
music when you were bored of speech.
direction when you glanced at a compass.
a match you sparked when you lost your lighter but needed smoke.

she will be his sun in the morning
stars at night.
for you will be her eclipse when she wanted less light.

like bait you swung before me
as my eyes drooled upon  your every contraction.
tempted with mindless illusions
until you were ingested
only to find your ashes rot upon the glistening surface
of my bones.
and the rest of you
staggers to diffuse out my skin.

Its when it gets to the point when you
can physically place your hands on me
And just zip down the seams
that have caved in fears and neglect
from them all.

Unleashing this wind of fire,
that streams out my chest and
burns you to the core - crisp,
with relief and thanks.                    
For escaping me, and pulling my souls out
from turmoil ashes.

still I find to feel
my arms swing
my hands clamber over
as my fingertips hastily wrap round the letters of his name.
which ink refuses to write

until it forgets his face, though sees how my eyes shot rays
of iridescent blue
and feels how my stomach would indulge to engulf my heart
until it was shredded and pure.
erased and framed back into its place when it gave up.

those letters bleed through the paper and I toss it into fire
they age and crumble
ashes settle but blow.

and I find them on my palms,
which reminds me...

you ***** it in so easily,
it's always been there - holding on by its last edge.
but you twist it in further and further.
until its impaled,
because now it seems you've broke through already
as its slowly piercing, infecting;
invading my every layer of sense.

so you're chirping away at me,
so ghostly
because your presence lacks.
but see, you're ruthless
with that cradled hammer
that you clutch in your left
as your right mangles in empty air.
you're pounding it,
down into my skull.

tell me, because I don't know
when your hand will stop its manic.
and I don't know how much,
you desire to poison me.

see, I don't even know
if you watch the way in which you
compose your hands to ravage
deeper and deeper
into this head of mine.

people around us fade
long days wade.
And the clouds stay golden tipped
but they look upon a withering world with suffering lives and pained hearts
living in a burning nature
a shallow fog polluted the air and
arrogance engulfs the helpless so deep that they are forgotten.
We dissolve slowly

Romeo threw stones at your window
Tomorrow he will throw bombs and ****** you beautifully
The bombs explode with a fragrant odour so you fade gracefully in the smoke
He knows you’re alone in that home that once safe haven he alights in beams
You are trapped as the smoke crawls through the gaps as he once did under the sheets
The fire burns quietly at first as if it was simply his cigarette that he was lighting
Alas then it screeches and it reflects his screams he attacked you with once his bottle was empty and you said the wrong thing
Everything about this fire resembles him within the flames
Everything within this death resurrects his presence

Everything you doubted he was he is and he shows
Behold and brace the pain , this anonymous pain.
And it hits you at once, the flame licks your nightgown
coinciding with the first wake of dawn, the sun dwells behind the curtains and lets itself through the inch you left to separate the light from the blinds.

I’m resting my head on the surface of your knees. my face only skims
and my fingers are curled in the coarse denim of your jeans.
my palms sweat effortlessly.
look my prize is in my hands,
but my efforts you foresee.

I’m enshrined but your eyes glaze views ahead, no blinks
blind to the tug on your skin. Numb, you are
so am I.

The shirt pasted to your chest, you nudge. Uncomfortable.
see I’m so helplessly sewn into the frail hem of your pockets
and I’m senseless here I can’t dance.

Then I’m woven into the smoke infused cotton, and it’s so sweet.
it sours the salt dripping from my tears.

you balance with your knuckles and emerge from your seat to stand.
and I find that I melt into the carpet as you trail me behind so violent
I rot down into the lips of the floorboards.
not yours.

i float on a frozen surface,
as my heart bathes
in a stench
of streaming lonesomeness.

One day I’ll reach the end,
my mind’s weapons put to ease.

all I can ever ask,
is promise me you'll play this on your  record
to yourself
when you're alone - before you sleep.
blanketed in blackness.
and your veiled demons begin to lurk
when they tune into your open void.

chords ******
apparitions of me pervade the ambiance
the rolling base
that rings through you veins
and those lyrics that seem to melt into your blood.
which drips,
drenching the demons that are wading to ****** you slowly.

I couldn't say that
I didn't **** myself they same.

I seen it crawling up my shoulder
as I realised it consuming my shadows.
Thickening and emerging upon my gaze
- as it settles softly into the creases of my shirt
and I imprinted with your selfish.

Since that bomb left your palms,
its flooding the steps upon me.
your gas stained my skin lifeless and pierced me numb.
leaving wounds that won’t close
because they don’t know how you did it.
So much so, that they cry
tears of red and regret for ever nearing close to you again.

Whilst I thought
that you only threw on battlefields,
these deluded bodies around me -
awoke my realisation.

As I inhale the same thin poison
on their skin.
which I feel is dying me.

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.

my heart is empty because you burnt it dry
leaving my love limited,
because half of it burns away slowly under your sleeve.

I need to show you, the way that
you are slowly
hammering, pounding, crumbling me
into ashes.
That I know will only hopelessly scatter behind you
as you leave again.

Write you a book,
with as many pages as days,
that you have imprinted my dreams.

Frame every single photo in my heart,
which you have seen through your eyes.

Extract this turmoil,
which hurls in your blackened head.
And then fold it neatly by my bedside,
unfold each crease gently
and feed it pure, back into you.

she breathed in her nightmares,

exhaled them onto paper.

so she’ll revisit what messed her

if you cannot tell yet;
I have poured you  out scripts, testimonials, fantasies
- libaries
I question myself at every letter.

For what reason I write,
              For one who can’t read.
Who was I to have you inked into my skin,
who was I to ever think it was all right for me - when I was blind.

Who was I to write
when I can no longer spell.

for so long you
lead me by the hand
convincing me that I'm almost there.
that the sleepless nights you diagnosed me with,
would heal.

if you had only told me those visiting demons,
were once yours.
so I didn't have to waste my night ******* time concealing
and disguising your distressed nightmares.
since then they've been amongst the dust
which I swallow in my sleep.
then in the morning awake, with the taste of you
gritted in my teeth.

The knife I stroke in my hand
I wish I could lash open
so violent and so cynical,
so carelessly
each vein in my body.

Until each drip of thought of you
runs out my skin in deep red.
Staining every white sheet of naiveness
that I would shield myself in every dark,
since you invaded me

When I call on help,
they are blunt. I am left on hold,
as my room floods with thick red.
Because they say that they are in urgent rush
to stitch up your scars,
and neglecting the ones that you spread onto me

we pursue to confess sins that
have not been sinned.
rather than repent to ourselves
to bathe and soak in guilt that lurks amongst blood.
It’s okay if it keeps you awake
but sins is nothing but a disguise we put on ourselves
when we feel
that we have wronged the world.
We never do.

I think I know exactly
just how you’ll kiss me.
I can already taste the aftertaste of your lingering regret.
See they’ll touch
and you’ll gulp as you swallow
my every last morsel of skin.
       At this time each nerve alerts the senses to stop.
they know I’ll soon be left to burn out.
They don’t think you like the taste of me
because as I float down each of your pipes
I only sink deeper into your sorrows.
As if I’m a safety ring that you’ve swallowed to stop yourself from diving any deeper. Into your own
sickening blackness
        And I understand now
because you are so desperately trying to
regurgitate your last actions.
Only so that you can spit,
Spit my soul back onto the ground.
When you smell her perfume.
                That’s when you allow your footprints to walk
and stain
this white dress that blanks the inside of me.
And that’s when I stand to my own balance,
to trudge so many steps away from you.

Their teeth caressed skin like dust flew Around the room. Simultaneously spirally, unidentifiable and so quiet. His eyes never saw.
Their claws tore him open and his skin shed without blood and his bones were armour  and out came wings. The wolves caressed the wings with their tails they were so warm so pure they did want him to leave .
He painted the wolves white and they were so beautiful they scurried in the woods killing everything and everyone who trespassed ( their mentality).
Their hinds took them over miles of land, such bare land everything was the same ; under the cliff there was water and they bathed until they drowned . They found wings and emerged from the water. They were no longer white the water washed them gritty washed them plain. He rode them home and they slept, under the moon which howled louder than the wolves ever had. We never woke up from this trip we are sleeping dead still until we find ourselves until the moon leaves sight until the wind never blows our fur again.  
He woke up inhumane his skin was grey his eyes were stricken in the middle and he no longer knew his last lie. His pack lay dead around him as he cried for his sacrifice. He was soon leave and he left them sparingly behind he never thought of them again. Though they raised him he was not them. His selfish glistened in the sun and his isolation blew upon the trees and to this he bathed needlessly. He raised himself reborn alone, deafened .

Take off your shoes
because she didn’t want
any traces of the dirt
leftover from the days you spent without her.
Drops, from the water
that night that you had drowned
in the lights of the ocean
with other souls.

take off your jacket because
her perfume is still stained
on the collar.

They parted
She left because he always looked down.
He left because she always looked up.

Of course she always looked up,
meaning she would pass strangers faces
and follow life through it’s guide.
It was only she who tasted the stars and the sun and the moon.
She could look at who spoke when she chose to listen,
and looked at smiles and floated through souls.
And read herself to esacpes,
understood brush strokes which formed the art that whispered to her through the rhythmAnd was bitten with dreams
and was thirsty to drown in every ocean she could.

Yet he still never looked up.
He never seen her fully
nor did he discover what was above, infront of her.

She left because she knew
when she looked up,
She was still tied down to his roots.
So she caressed a knife, cutting herself free.

When she looked above now,
her eyes were open brighter and her soul blushed at the winds.
Roots at her feet grew and planted themselves wherever she pleased.

As she left he was blind,
For it was the first time he ever looked up at the stars.

But it was the last time he would ever look up
To see her leave.

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.

I like him like this. He is a beast towering over the feeble souls, knowing we are in his power.
I lose sense of myself and act within his fantasy,
reborn each night.

There are too many hours in his night, he rejects the clock, tears out the handles, discards the rest to the fire. It consumes a false reality in its blaze and the dark lasts for years. We never age but we have lay here for so long. Mentally, I have become more youth, he extracts any knowledge I had in my ****** life, any experience, all my opinion. Violently he injects me with a stream of his blood to drown it out of me. I bathe in a red glaze which treacles orgasmically down my flesh. I am his clone, part of him always pervades within me. Nothing is real, I live in his video game.

watch me scatter the solemn ashes of my youth on these trails
A mind so mindless; so enriched with allure pink skies and withering dreams.
One so naive so bluntly ignorant to the cruelty that buries itself under the trails of a rooted fate.
watch me wander watch me waste time

time drips out my eye and slits knots and crosses on my cheeks of the days I have left here on this ground.
air ***** seconds out of my pores mirrors the way honeysuckle spills oudor over the pavements
life evolves around my mind because we know no better and lead to believe we stand alone in this head because you never feel sufficient healing from another body.
there wont be anyone to hold your balance over the hill when the wind speeds through the strands of black which you believe now cover your weak.
there will be no one to tell you you are enough because no one can gather the small linings of this complex mind which layers the life you live.
there is no one to hear you wail in the night as others liger under echoes of LED tones over open windows which stare below onto ghostly pavements.
no one to touch you like you would because you are overdressed and your skin won't be torn open by any other broken hands. feeble hands.
no one to tell you the names of the buildings you study upon you because its no one's concern where you spend your 4pm Sunday on a metal bench parched over the blurred skyline.
people surround you but you are so selfishly blind that you forget they exist.

you will never awake from this elusive state of mind until the reality of life shakes you to stone then you melt into the sheets and forget what daylight feels like on your damp head.

the bench will stay empty and those behind you too one day will disperse into the gravel
your mark has been made here and you life here in this life that you had seen in your visions

don't know how to feel how to speak how to look or how to behave because who are all these people anyway

don't show weakness because your ego is the only thing keeping you strong, hee, present.

and you are one in this world that pans out to illustrate the movie you have thought you are dreaming.

He was beastly restless I wanted to disperse from the room, throw myself over the ledge which gaped onto soulless streetlights.
The LED would have made my black hairs so iridescent if you let my lie down there dead, parched neatly over the drains.

Then you slapped me and I was on the floor in between your legs, my hair wrapped around your right hand and treading over your knee. I was ornate in red lipstick, I was your doll, you were my player. I was the robot I was the programmed one I was a cell paralysed in a body. He sculpted his arms around my torso, his fingers melted into the curve of my jawline. As if to kiss me, yet the cigarette **** disintegrated into my left cheek leaving him permanently there. Pain or pleasure I forgot; I was so immune to his presence forever lingering on my skin in scars.

It was when you would bruise me gently to the serenade of the sunset and the pink skies darted into your gaze and it was hypnotic.
I was locked within you and you slit me open slightly every evening. Wounds healed quickly but the bruises stayed, I have always wanted tattoos and you were such a beautiful artist.
You policed me but you pleased me.
We acted in our movie and you caressed me in pearls you found on the ocean beds in a past life.
I look right, those books pile up and collect our anger in particles of dust they are so grey I have forgotten the titles but they complement the smoke which cascades down the once white walls that I smeared in lipstick every time I wanted you to die.

The walls are an art installation they reveal all that is evil in the world, ending the life of another and slow suicide from the smoke that frames your lungs.
I hate how you carry that knife behind me, but I love it when you cut my hair over the bath and shower me in rose petals.

when a sense of thought leaks into the mind and I observe the father let go of his children in the morning and it shoots something so warm through my skin.
everyday you subconsciously fore+get more of the past that you have seen. what counts as experience, is it that of which we see or does imagination intertwine with this story we call life. our sight before us does not differ with our internal visions, nothing is tangible when one stays silent. those people you pass in the street have eyes of their own but what have they thought of what do thy do where do they go after we lock eyes for second. people don't age matter just progresses and stars fly further and move over and we age to become lesser humans in society we age to become relics of a vision that we once had and when we age too well all that of which we see will disappear in atoms. are memories also molecules of atoms. how does one retain a memory in a cell. its an energy a force that consumes us. we spend an untangible number on matter that we feel will drive us further to happiness or to survive.
within hours the moments you think are present fade into seconds that will never repeat. in a second, one scene of the world occurs infinite actions are composed at once by infinite minds. all this world is are minds with a vision. relity is not tangible its a thought its an image we face when we awake what if we don't awake. dreams are only as real as the present just close your eyes.
master the means of the universe the atoms the matter the dust that you are made of and the years you have came from

heart pains of empty
it's as though it's thinning out.
everything that she does to her body
deprives her of nourish.
her heart unravels to bones
we call it *****
no meat no skin, no warmth.
maybe feed on love, or emotion
a substance so foreign
not consumed yet in form.
food poisoning.

the ***** must continue to trace until its flesh spills through those desperate bones which engrave through her chest
for the attention to then be brought.

"the dangerous capacity of fiction to appeal to such an extent that it engenders a sense of dissatisfaction with real life"

The light catches his hair in the most perfect way and It’s a movie
The blond tips look like wings under streetlights
I flee from that perfection because I sense illusion
I sense danger I sense blood.
I flee with a gun in my right and scarf in my left
The AM is always so cold the breeze may **** me .
Town clock strikes 05 and it’s time for the night to disperse
I thought I was alone but I smell your footprints and I s was your shadow to my right
A black ink pen I grab from my pocket and scribe onto my hand what sight surrounds me, a commemoration or our last hours spent under streetlights I try to write yet the ink smudges simultaneously. A sign to warm me that I won’t want to remeber this night.
Alas i was correct, he was an illusion. My warning sought truth.
Blood dribbles out my head out my mouth
I drool needlessly hopelessly at his smug silhouette above me.