I.
He doesn't have a
harmonious voice but he
does know what soul is

II.
She hated his song.
But, secretly in love, she
forgave him for it

Dry eyes,
cloudy skies.
A kiss on the cheek
and we say our goodbyes.
  
But I don't want to.

Lonely walk back,
along the cobbles and cracks;
Better not step in them.
Now I'm lost.

Wet shoes.
Train goes choo-choo.
Cows go moo-moo.
I don't have much left.

Think.
I think.
And I can't stop,
but I mustn't drink.

I know what happened last time.

Shut the blinds.
The sun is out.
I am in.
With you, I'm without.

The covers are not your skin.

In a daze,
every day.
Autopilot,
I guess you can say.

Time flies without your voice.

Pathetic boy.
Focus on other things,
help someone.
Make someone smile.
Have their joy.

It doesn't work

I am torn between loving and unloving you;
Burning bridges and closing doors
Or jumping into the void
And perhaps;
Learn how to fly.

It rained the whole of last night, dearest.
The banyan tree beyond my window
swished and swayed in the storm.

How bleak the wet luminance of my wait!
No streetlamp blinked
on the riddle of your returning trail
over the desolate stretches of the night.

My eyes stood sentinel,
the whole night, dearest,
for the faraway flicker of your torch
hurrying home...
Only fireflies wheeled lost and hopeless in the gale.

And there was lightning too, dearest—
white stallions carting the chariot of faceless shadows
down the valley of my gloom. 
My-heart-leapt-at-each-thunderclap...
Did I hear,
muffled in its rumble,
your fumble at the gate,
knock at the door?

Podium

That’s me on the totem pole,
with the face paints and cigarettes.
The smoke burns your eyes.

That’s me on the pedestal,
ears to ground and eyes in the clouds.
The rain soaked your skin.

That’s me on the platform,
with the rucksack and treasured artefacts,
The timetables melted your mind.

That’s me on the podium,
soaked in sweat, medal around my neck.
The track broke your heart.

That’s me at the finish line baby,
maybe,
we could go back to the start.

the roses on her grave are dead,
so am i
the ground is frozen solid,
can you hear the deer wander
reincarnation
can you hear the flutter of the butterfly wings?
abandoned tea cup in the shed
now a spiders home
i'm alone

im pinching at my skin
trying to grab away at all
the surface area you have traversed

pulling at my neck trying
to rip off the marks
from your warmth and comfort

biting at my own lip
in attempts to rid
them of the love you made

my heart is aching for you

fortunately my body parts
are the only piece of me
that is still physically touched
by you

they say skin tapers away
and a new layer can form
over itself

coincidentally i am hoping
to still be able to feel
you every blue moon

but where is the new layer for my heart

to cover the scars
and salvage anything that may
be left

where is the fix for that