"Siri, I love you."

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"Would you like me to search the web for 'wine dot'?"

The memories are pinned to dry in the dark room
Chemical droplets falling on my tongue
The bruises form on my body
Giant purple nebula that twist and take on
New forms and shades
A dull pain that aches when alone
A beast chained and locked away
I swallow the key
He will find it
And he will be free
His claws reverberate as he crawls along the ancient stone floors
His moans and growls echo in the darkest reaches
Beneath the smile
Beneath the polite gestures
Beneath the polished fake surface coat

It doesn't snow anymore
Everything loses its sparkle
Under a sun that stings your eyes
And blinds you
But refuses to keep you warm
The frost retreats to the shadows
Like a convict on the run
And we'd join it
But we're chilled to the bone
And the cold sun sits
Upon its throne
We're trapped in an urban ice age
And we groan
And we moan

Aah, I love the cold
Almost harsh, or really harsh
Winter months
I love walking then
Walking alone
For miles and miles
Minutes and hours
I could keep walking
If there weren't parents
To reassure, a family,
A warm home to go back to
A dragging commitment
That is binding in every
Single link I've ever made

I could keep walking otherwise
Just a light jacket, hardly appropriate
For the weather, the temperature
Numbed by the chill
The soles of my feet sting
My feet wrinkled, grated against
My sandals, hardly sufficient
Completely dry skin, also cold
Almost too numb, maybe too corpse-like
No socks, no scarves, no gloves
No caps, no protection
Because protection is only needed
When there is an enemy

I could stay like this forever
A thought strikes me while I walk
That maybe this hopeless love
Exists solely because I am the closest
The closest I can be to being me
As I walk, and hide, and revel
Maybe even reveal Me

I silently lose myself in contemplation
Because the days are shorter
There is more space, more time to hide myself
Under warm blankets, comfortable clothes,
A cup of hot chocolate, in the cold starry nights
The sting on my cheek
That I lightly touch, can be disguised
Explained away as the caress of the cold wind

This loneliness that grows inside me
It is already so tired
Of seeing people walk away
That it is too tired, too weary
To talk to anyone, so it hides
Underneath the surface,
Appearing so much more closer
Than it ever has in these few months

I am raw, almost bleeding,
Waiting for the stars to come out
Just so they can shine on me
Over my head, down on me
With me, maybe even communicate with me
I'll pick up my drink
Acknowledge their presence
And drink to them and their beauty
Their unimaginable beauty that Always,
Without Fail, takes my breath away
My self rubs against my facade
So raw but it doesn't even matter
It is the closest to the surface
As I raise my drink and almost imagine
Myself in this lonely cold urbanscape
With all the scars, every **** thing
Not a thing out of place,
I almost imagine myself beautiful*
Revitalised but then this self withdraws
Back insideinsideinside
My facade still rubbed raw

Ah, but what a beautiful time
The cold times on the terrace
The chilling walks down nostalgia lane
No more brown leaves
Just a mere peak here and there
Like a little troublemaker
Waiting for me to go away again

*Winter is... truly one of my favourite seasons

A scrap of paper, photographs
Bills and letters torn in half
Busts and trophies, dust encrusted
History to the yearbooks trusted
Books and writings left unfinished
Home in which the life's diminished
Slight wood carvings, half a speech
Tales of hiking, latched on leech
Kids and wife left in tears
Remembering well my too-short years

My fingers pluck the strings
Of willow wood mandolin
Upon my knee it sits

The wood of willow
As smooth as a feather pillow
Atop my knee sits
In steady posture

In my heart of hearts
There tears a lonely hollow
My voice shrieks shallow
The willow wood mandolin
Shatters into splinters

Splinters pierce my skin
Filling through my body
From my heart of hearts
A willow chisel carves
Away the organs
That flow and break

From my eyes
Bleed wood chips

My tongue drools
Sawdust

A girl no more sits
Under this willow
But a wood sculpture
Of steady posture