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

drum drum drum she pounds
on my sleeve, upon my neck ; in my dreams.
but we adopt resistance to feelings that hurt us.
now I walk through this art gallery blind I can’t see but I think those paintings are of us

it’s the strung of the first few seconds. open a portal to when these words swarmed like flies in delusion, whithering onto your name spelt on my phone. Whisking dreams in my head. I should have turned off the light, dimmed the hope; so that they would fly away.
I hold the song in my palm as if an artifact. funny as I go to write artifact my keyboard suggests artificial as if it knows

because that’s what it was and that’s it raw. and as for me it was me who tied ribbons around the lyrics to be a certification of  us that never was. it was the only part of you I could ever have when I was alone because who was I to treat you like a friend when everyone was your friend.

I’ve untied ribbons and stepped back, so far back that I have reached a time before I had known you or before I had claimed you in my mirage.
apart from tonight I gues

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

but that feeling had lost me some time ago now.
but yet,I had missed the innocent despair of hopelessness;
it just coincides so perfectly with the isolated night.

it’s lips poured spirits and wine
- fresh squeezed-
into my hands, into my system.
And it walks behind me sober. Watching my slurring stumbles
whilst an old sense of strength from inside me
poured from my mouth, spilling on concrete.

my legs fail me and I fall a trance. Into it’s arms.
But only for a sweet second -
and now I’m smothered lying in stone cold slate, it’s so nippy, the cold.
and it’s shadow blocks the streetlight floating above me.
Wait; streetlight is glaring dim orange again
now that it has dispersed away, down the pathway.
With open arms, it’s searching for a sober.

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.

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 .

Baby is lifeless baby is used out of her control. baby’s mind is drenched in spirits, baby’s whole soul is intoxicated out of her power. Baby can’t feel a thing.
Baby likes attention, baby likes eyeliner to morph into her god.
Baby likes to party; so baby can conceal weaknesses that she can’t attend to. Baby has lost what’s inside. Because baby is tiered, and baby hasn’t anyone by her side to tame her. baby likes to see how far she can pull away from care until she is lost. Until she is crumbled by the side of the road thrown out by the cab under city lights which shelter baby’s innocence. Innocence she longs to annihilate to prove her strength, independence perhaps.
Baby can’t feel; baby has her tears inhaled by spirits before she can let them treacle down her skin. Damaged tissue, layers of fatigue from stranger’s touch. Baby thinks she is a toy baby lets herself to be played with because she plays with those toys in reverse. She mirrors those she fears and hates the morning after.
But baby is grown. And, baby can live to forget and baby erases the regrets in her ego and her laughter. Baby thinks its okay and baby says it’s fun, but this baby is lacking nurture, milk. Gilded milk of age. Baby grew up lost, baby grew up a clown. These nights, these repetitive nights are countless revenge upon that foetus she hates. Foetus was a clown foetus had no power foetus was a peasant to beauty. Baby is a slave to beauty now, baby loses time for beauty. baby just needs validation.
Evil begins to spawn within her in the disguise of self-defence, as baby grew, she wanted to hurt, her ability to hurt was her weapon of retaliation to all those who rejected her. They become her victims in a new life, played by people in the night. Those she attacks, she pains by absence, ignorance. Baby simply wants to reverse roles baby just wants the power. Baby likes to think she needs no other soul in this world, her ego convinces her that alone is a soul mate itself and that peace can only be found within. Maybe love awaits her in another life. So baby inflicts pain instead.
Being alone, baby self-sabotages in an act where she is most social, as her liver suffers from poisons and she smiles through her teeth knowing her head might shatter within in any moment. Baby pretends its fun and baby soughts to find fun in a new body to conclude her self sabotage. When they touch her in the wrong places during the acts of the night baby hurts inside. but baby pretends for a moment that this lust is love as she abides to her plan. Her plan is a success when she questions herself in regrets the next morning. Regret is forbidden so baby laughs instead. I call it a romanticization of a lack of self worth.  Actually no I’m just intoxicated.
Mother observes from above and mother scolds’ baby, lectures her to swear to never put herself through it again because her baby is so golden. But baby always flees from her mother and baby hides it all from her mother. Mother knows best but baby can’t understand. Because how many times did mother say that this cycle won’t erase loneliness that this wont compare to the love her baby deserves. And how many times did mother give baby false expectations because baby still goes to sleep in a cold bed every night.
Baby stops for a moment as she writes to search for the full moon. It disappears. Was baby dreaming did baby just want a full moon to liger upon her for dramatization?

                                                                                 -
It hurts her to say but baby is gnawing inside to find a cure for the lack she feels. Although ego holds strong above the water, seeking to drown people to reach land, but under ego she bleeds she lost her compass under waters. Love and lust pull her feet under water, creatures of desire bite and ceases her float. Baby drowns in this ocean of lusting.

                                                                      -
Baby is me in the night, baby is my alcoholism and baby is my ego my weakness my ongoing search for validation or love. Mother is my soul mother knows this is a vicious cycle but baby escapes home and escapes from mother.

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.

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.

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

Blindness bright emerging
all-at-once

You catch me, a deer in the headlights.
of your headlights - head-lights

but the blue ones - that linger in two on your face.
the ones I let myself see rarely
the crystal ones that I swim in
amongst a daydream. that sometimes I drown into.

You brake as your presence ****** the surface of my skin.
didn’t mean to bump that polished shine on your car.
(Your teeth are shining)

Brake, the gears,
-hold back-
whilst I’ll waver on further,
back to my subtle distance muted in the dark.
sorry I’ll go faster. return faster to where I was heading,
before your lights outshine my being.
See me run back to shadows under dulling streetlights -
before I let those headlights consume me whole in blaze.
Look then I’m gone, unharmed.

So go, continue with your ride. I’ve left you untouched
forget it. maybe until next time.
when perhaps I’ll want to play real victim of a crashing collision.

bathing myself in this thirsting quench
and now I’ve come to see you
as a drug. a pill.
but not prescribed.
     
Staring blackly at me
on my bedside table
                  and it’s teasing me.
teasing me with the sugar cane
that erupts when it skims my tounge -
I drool.

alluring my own deception  with your
succulent crescendo
that unravels it’s way down my whole
     voice until there’s none left.
And its just the way it sets me so ablaze
that I cremate casually  in your
immaculate ignite.

                       Knuckles clench to restrain that
                 sentiment that nostalgia
             that world that lies behind your door I always see myself
            linger through ghostly.



I’ve never been

my duvet once hugged me, now it morphs
into chains
that coil my bones to themselves and fix my fingertips to my fists and I swing my arms behind me clasped.
anything to keep you clean out of my system you see.

the night which once was dreams,
now  a prison.
the solitude confining me in shrinking walls and a drying mouth whilst my eyes tear open by the pounding crave.
the red slithers through their frail veins until the aching urge sends them to close;
to sleep.

morning you lie vestel. but your taste lumbering in my gum

- I wouldn’t say I’m an addict:
but you make it far too easy when you lie in the palms of my hands and dance in electric through my skin.
your hopeless pervading detains me from rehabilitation.

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

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.

Before me you sat framed
infused hypnotic eyes
with your liquor of sorrows parched at your left.

Tracing your fingers as they clenched each card continuously -
as if your mind was programmed by your own demon.
As each one failed, you were stripped of your dignity
your worth. You would then seep further into that chair.

Still I would watch, incase you drowned.
Then again the cards would pile upon the dusted table
and you threw them so feebly, so hastily.
And I held your time in my hands
remorsefully as it poured out my own creases
like sand.

You told me you were hurting,
the sight of this ripping paper, shredded by your eyes
only reminded me of how you once tried me.
I didn’t lose it for you, nor did you win with me.

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

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 way in which goosebumps electrocute and run down my skin when I awake, to shield from the cold mornings -
Is the same way I cast myself closed when your presence threatens me, so I don’t melt into my weakness.

Mum turns the heating on but I still shudder.
You slip away but I still suffer.

he splits the world into two
half into illusions, spells of daydreams. coated in love stories and poetry. sprinkled in lustful gazing.

other half, the dawning reality of the nothingness that has so many pages. I flip through needlessly to try understand it all . I never do.  I try to pull my head out of clouds, I never can.


its not real it won’t ever be

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.

Extract the blood,
the metaphor for this euphoric movie I had directed under the fall of night, alone.
The film began to develop as the bottles began to pile
and thus I began to envision these delusions which I lust would become a reality.
We were a movie.
Especially when your smoke filled my mouth and you fed me love off of tables.
Made me hazy it smelt so gentle it burned so numb.
Tacky hands rode my skin,
engraving scars of diamonds.
My ego erupted; became so ******* rich.
Illusion said I could buy your love
but your eyes were guilty of unfazed.
Debuts don’t faze millionaires, we just look like more money.
Millionaires don’t watch our movies.
11 August, 19 03:37

A black is wading with my blood
it’s no longer red.


You’ve left me here to heal with wounds raw open.
Left me to love without showing me what it was
( remember I can only learn from demonstration)
And left me to cry without any more salt tears - because you drank the rest after dinner.

Now I spends days with a knife inbetween my sweet fingertips
searching for the blood, that you have left me without.

I search kitchens for a substance so overpowering
that it will strip my insides bare and wash them clean of your toxins that have spilled in places I can’t reach.

Then find me caved in this void
where I pull the trigger at my head (metaphorically)
countless times a day until my stupid thoughts leak out
and drip onto the puddles.
and all that turmoil inside pours down me,
showering me in your illnesses.

Lights are put out by the last exhales I breathe.
you winded my lungs out of use and now I sit in dark.

I’m barricaded in  deafened voices
which I do not hear over your
pounding silence.

Hands are worn numb
from ripping up pages which have your name imprinted on each line in fantasies.

Senses drunk from words you forced to run down my throat and my body is flooded by your lips and I find myself bent over,
vomiting the **** you fed me.

In bed I’m cradling myself to sleep in peices.
Don’t you dare let me see you
in a dream tonight.

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.

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.

If we sped one night in your motor
in ghostly sleeped streets.
Onto a highway, overtaking nightshift drivers.
Their anger would only echoe and
bounce of your back screen window.

Street lights would fade
into roads which passed their trails.
And your senses would dissolve into the music as we rode.
Your fumes polluted the air so much that night,
but I left you forgiven
because it was your last.

The last image in my iris of you flashed,
as my skin was scarcely stabbed.
Your cigar was put out by the force
before your lips could ever taste it again.
It’s last fire was gushed out
by my bottled tears which spilled on the surface.

Then I seen you impaled
your heart oozed out onto the steering wheel,
that had steered us to the end.
Your fingers were the surf that melted into the ocean.
As were your eyes,
enclosed in a forbidden sleep to ensure that
you never awoke and remembered.

But each night I wade with the birds
who sing at the cars looting by
and I inhale their fumes, crying because
they still have miles left unlike you did that night,
when we sped
and you stopped.

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.

As if I’m going to wash my sins,
by finding a substance so viscous - to annihilate the acid
that seeps through me.

Perhaps it’s you refilling my first glass,
which is dried up by 11,
and replenished by 5 past.

Must I keep forcing it down my refusing gut,
so I can bare the stutter drooling,
crumbling, out your teeth.

Till I’ve sipped needlessly on your lies
and fell drunken on your delusional fables.

Now I’m slurring in my nights,
awoke, still high on your acid.
Eyes are bulging, bloodshot
from you firing bullets of your decaying  burden.

-

As I walk I stumble,
diverging around solum streets.
Crows peck at my skin, to prompt me at sunrise.

Now and again I revisit
the morsels I had collected from the bottom of your chalice.
Savouring as I gulp down my regret.
Desperately urging to be hungover your reveries
one last time.

Because
With me, I walk blindly forward as my mess is overturned behind me as I sulken dream. To turn round eventually I find all that’s been done, with me left to tidy - to replenish and erase the mess that has already *******, spread rapidly into every corner of my insides. The lights go off when it burns off and the ashes tend to tell of time wasted of thirst and sense of waiting for his return.
I’m then diving into the spiral of aftermath that leaves itself to solve without answers. Heart stretches further and further away from its halves to avoid being engulfed by incoming wave which floods of knowing I would never have you.

And now
the pen I resist from daggering into my wrist so it’s ink can bleed into my insides with mellow wordly turmoil.

- See though, alone I thought I was safe. But those words that dropped out her mouth so unimpeachably illustrated you breaking into me. At that very moment. And unleashing the demons from their cage. I think I feel them gnawing now.

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.

Stop being such a cacti.
I’m only trying to move you into sunlight,
to let you learn, grow.

You were such a cacti
because you peirced me with your blunt needle.
yet I still bled,
because it still peirced me through, and skimmed my bloodflow.
I didn’t cry
because I realised that is just simply you.

You were such a cacti
when I tried to water you, my dear.
I only wanted to keep you alive
keep you radiating.
Keep you, as you.

This time,
your dagger imapled me.
From my finger and gushed into my left chest.
I now understand you
because you won’t hesitate to grow without my nurture,
and won’t hesitate to peirce with my love.

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.