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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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 .

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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 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.

12/12/23
Maybe I can begin to tragically write this pursuit of heartache just in the lifecycle in where it is slowly forming, slowly cracking out of its shell. When the honeymoon destination has not yet dawned but I wake up at 7am to you worrying and questioning me already.
When I’m lying vulnerable in the arms of a stranger who I met last week and I just pretend and I reassure on pillow talk that this is my this I my honest whole self I am not lying to you. I swear ive not been begging not been on my knees by my bedside praying hands bleeding as I write prayers to the guys up there to give me a vessel of affection and attention. You wrap my hair round your fingers and I start to crochet your emotions in my bare hands where you cant see. And I laugh amidst it and you ask me why I laugh and it brush it under those covers playfully as I play some more.
And I don’t play I don’t gamble but I gauge that I might begin more, who is deceiving who I can’t figure it out because I am so bleak in my heart. I was praying for you to come so I can feel something and be more than a machine I don’t want to pursue a career in acting I want to be real but before I see it form into any beauty I see it burst in flames. And your grey hair alludes to your need for security do I make you angry that I am so young with so much of the world to see with so many possibilities under my sleeve. I am comfortable in your presence in your quiet street and the quiet walk home when I look homeless. I listen to these songs in anticipation of reminiscing what we have started.
I like to write I like to feel and you have reignited this within me but you don’t know what ill say. I want you to be so sickly addicted that your downfall is at my length. Im being dramatic im trying to play a villain in the prequel of events because maybe the roles will reverse and my ego will be bruised and im always bruised but its too delicate to hurt there.

17/12/2023
I love and I hate the reignition of feeling you have set alight so so so nonchalantly you are so dim so quiet I gnaw for loud screams. I long for you to show me how violent you can be and slap me and then plaster me in your arms  and kiss my bruises.
I’ve been dropped on into the town centre of liminality my heart sits on the brick wall of the station waiting. Waiting for the train to pass and the moon is kissed to tightly into itself I tightrope across and seat myself on the edge. Pierced, it impales me not like you do it reminds me a bit. I scratch the skin off my hands I have never been so anxious so sick over a body I don’t even know. You heard me you heard me write the other days and you took the cards, you slit me open when I slept under you and you gouged the cards from out my chest and stitched them onto my breast on show for you to play and stroke. And manipulate and tease. And took your fist and shoved it so deep down my throat that I cannot fathom a sentence to collect nor am I heard anyway. You told me you are not a narcissist but I am no clown and now I am. You are the king of swords you can slice me anywhere from any place and slice my skin deeply. I’m agonising from the inside I am powerless my hands you tied them behind my back you sick. It still lets me to prevail the streets numbly oh im just so numb so monotone ament I.