Why and where did you go?
You left so quickly with the breath of summer,
Like water from my own glass,
Evaporated into the clouds
To rain down once more
Elsewhere.
Regrettably added to my long list of wasted affections.
The midnight food runs,
The morning spent half-slumbering in each other’s’ arms.
Frivolous, cheap and broken.
You.
A riddle so complex
Simply beyond my comprehension.
So agonisingly pertinent.
Cutting, stinging in the crevasses of what I allowed myself to feel for you.
Gone.
Only a faded photograph in my memory remaining,
Water stained and torn.
By tears and confusion.

It's weird how he intrigues me
his soul seeming to be the embodiment
of all that blows through the windy corridors of my mind.
He embarks on steep conversations ascending a hill of knowledge,
each book, film, album, poem a step ahead of me.
Many steps ahead of me.

As I sit. In my little pool of melancholy. Watching the undulating water as each drop of despair, sadness or lamentations contribute to the waters.

In his presence I feel lost
yet brilliantly terrified.
Perhaps it comes from the knowledge that he would never love me.
Or perhaps the puzzelment, why me?
Why would he even want to spend his precious time with me

As he climbs the hills of conversation
Yelling down heroes, countries, capitals that he has learnt by heart, by name, by creed.
That he has revelled in for all these by-gone years.

I feel myself shrinking back into the corridors of my mind.
Closing the doors.
Staring at myself in the mirror.
What? Who am I?

And here he is.

Sharing his carefully curated version of reality with me. Pulling the stars down from the sky to bejewel his crown of thoughts.

And I. I. I go back into the sadness that knows me so well.
My own coal grey cloud to crown my head.
My sleepy, windy head.

God...
Who are you?
I want to see your face
Feel your love, your touch,
Your warmth, your grace.
I want to know you
But I cannot understand
Why things are
What of humanity you demand.
I love others
If I couldn't I tried.
Like your Son
He was with us for a breath
We killed Him, He died, then He left.
He left to be by your side,
Where all the saints and Angels
reside.
Or say they say.
And we will join you,
So long as we pray.
But father I do not even know your name!
Allah, Lord, Yahweh?
Father, Mother!
Unknown perhaps another?
A spirit of many an alias
Each religion with such disparity
Sharing an unearthly similarity
A belief
Seeking relief from the cruel sting of death
Or to praise you with their last breath
What are you?
You are the wind
The sun the rain.
My love, my laughter but overall my pain.
Would you really send me there?!
I? A fatherless-child
Down into the fire
Where the flames are wild.
Some say you judge by heart
Others say by deed.
This remains dependent
On the creed, they were steered to
If which they adhered to
If not would they fall into the fire
For succumbing to their human desire?
Who are you?
I want to be by your side and feel your embrace.
But I can't
I don't see your face.
I would die screaming your name!
For a slight hope
To see you again
My parent, my creator
Who lovingly assembled us in a blue spherical incubator.

and i sat there,
alone im your company
on two chairs
in a dingy cheap restaurant  
watching

you.

your blue rimmed hazelnut eyes
ticking around
surveying, tallying, everything.
everything that wasn't me.
the beige monotony of the floors, ceiling and walls.
lino, plastic, sterile, lustless.
the ethnically transplanted food and workers,
cooking distaintly behind to doorway
sweating their ambitions out in the steam gushing out like blood from their childhood pipeline dreams.

me

my eyes
searching for a flicker of affection
not even love.
mere company?
a loneliness cure?
quicksand that you can't back out of now?

in my eyes a canyon of unspoken truths and  uncertainty gaps across the table.
the weeded arguments  budding their
ugly discordant leaves among the flora.
the canyon swallows my nerves and leaves them to plummet,
down into the blackhole, where the rest of me will go.
is this bad karma for all the string-boys i kept?
that i would become your string-girl!

bearing baskets of love
terrifying, alien love.
only to be haunted by your gaze.

your ticking gaze.
    
             ticking time bomb.

searching for an escape root?
                as i fall into you.

"Science will save us" was the early diet off all education. Once the child could look around and gather some smatterings of bearings.
Armed with a microscope and the absorption of former minds work, they set off to conquer the academic world.
Their buildings glittering with the unspoken ideals of their field, a jump above and the zoning in a small nature of the universe, playing with God's laws, staring him in the eye.
And we sit back in our leaky, sun-setted windows buildings, desiring the human condition, exchanging empathies of existence and lamenting the archaic actions of ancient revising their records:
"Day 51: with these crazy apes"
The dreams, the beard strokes, the pondering lost who fear for our lives. As we watch through our sunset windows the dawn of the new scientific man. A world without our thought

There comes a time in everyone’s life, normally when you are looking to change things, that you are forced to face up to your CV.
The polished version of your education and work history that doesn’t say apathetic waitress or universally majorly clueless.
Short dates and places you would rather forget, because what can you really accomplish in 21 years?
A patchwork middle-class family and a muddled youth and disdain for high-school left me without the series of hot-winded, rattling extra-curricular. I wonder if I should put my suicide attempt of two mental breakdowns on this thing. Or maybe the abuse I got from my father.
No, that translates to empty job titles and a lack or accolades.
Perhaps my travel and brief flings with European cities I fell madly in love with yet dizzied in the concrete container.
What about being a hopeless romantic and being completely terrified of love?
No, perhaps not.
Ability to make puns? Or little children smile? Or memories entire poems? Cheer up depressed friends? Zany sense of humour? Ability to swear in Russian? Freestyle rap? Cook a meal in 10 minutes?
No

The start platform for a life with no direction or destination unknown?
Well, whatever sounds better…
An impression of me. In black ink and paper.
Stupid CVs

The day my great-grandfather deserted the German army because he was a proud Austrian and no ****.
The day my grandfather was given away by his own mother because he was born out of wedlock, and shame to the Chinese gardner.
He grew up a half cast in a white family in racist 1940s New Zealand. No kiwi accent could hide his oriental blood.
The day my grandfather stuck by my grandmother's side, two kids barley 20 and not even that. He held her hand, looked into her pale blue eyes and said "I do". While she stood in a loose suit concealing her 3 month bump.
The day my grandmother took my grandfather back after receiving a "Dear John". Only three days. Then only a few years until she left his world and the earth.
The day my mother decided to fly home to rise a family. Boarding the plane with fragile luggage: me.
These memories form tangible family members will always remain close to my heart.
Those lost in a sea of faded photographs, told not to smile because the exposure was too long.
The melodies of a&t; g&c; will build my body.
The actions, thoughts, mistakes and growth: I will inherit today.