I can go a month without thought of you, invading my
mind as I pretend that you do not exist, knowing that I am
better off without the trials and tribulations being your daughter
brings. You broke something special and now day by day

you grieve for it and simmer anger in your expression
as we rally around my mother, the only reason any of
us made it to today. I try so hard to love, to forgive the
drunken anger and sibilant self-pity that you brought

to us, making presents out of ****** philosophy and tears
out of sunshine, as each day you awoke hungover and
angry and we each reacted like hissing cats when you utter a
word, because nothing you have ever said has been worth the

effort it takes to listen. I loathe you. Today is your birthday.
This agony of fake smiles plays a parody across my face
and the hugs I gift are all for her; she who burns the very
brightest and you make suffer for it so. I should love you,

but daddy, hatred is something you cannot outgrow.

Anya sings words I would
rather she have not spoken
and decimates what little remained
between us all.

He looks to me and I
pointblank-sawnoffshotgun refuse
to meet sight of sapphire sky eyes
now too singing along
to her song.

My mother always said
you were two sides of the same paper
and you will both slice me the same.

But scissors always win;
laceration's chorus croons to all.

Origami smiles
so carefully cultivated as
I kindle our final swansong,
a celebration in flames -

simultaneous ignition of
friends to lovers
and that irrevocable rendering; razing
lovers to ash.

That day of goodbye
I broke glass into little slithers
that now still swim beneath my skin,
such beautiful glass reflections
sending each of the seven colours away.

You were excited;
I couldn't look into
those finite eyes of yours as
your skin touched mine
for the last time.

The day I said that last goodbye
boiled the water from dry eyes
and now burnt blood vessels beat on
despite the fact that my heart has gone.

We were drunk and
I wanted it so you obliged.

I put your fingers in my mouth -
you told me this was dangerous

that made it feel so delicious  
as you gave and I took, but

I feel something stirring
and now I am afraid.

I am afraid of all the things which came after you:
The smoking, starving, sadness,
the silence and locking my secrets away
and the sight of your brown eyes seeking to look to another.

But with times passage these now have degraded;
I am sometimes happy
Though there are the days when thoughts are
want to wander, unprovoked

For have you ruined me?
Because now
I am afraid all of the people who come after you,
well, my love, they never seem to live up
to the standards that we set.

"They were not well matched", she says idly

and I catch my breath, sharp winter air bleaching frosted
lungs, scoring skin into breached, breathless, baited sections
as the chambers and valves seize within, sickening

"Such a nice boy", she mumbles, "lovely eyes"

so nice, lips that tasted of stinging sweetness which strayed (stay) strayed and those bruised autumn irises, fighting fire with indifference,
burning tired grey witness to listless ******* ash.

"I wonder where he is now," that crinkled, crinoline mouth utters

wind howling, battering, shrieking of devastation,
fingers clawing cold, brittle blue skin, souring breath with
desperation's pant, oh, please, tell me-

"Not for you to care."

undeniable

in the falling snow, in the striking silence, suffocation sinking in,
sat still with the jagged old woman,
who knows or doesn't know, who cares or doesn't care,

How dare you cultivate
something with her that
we always dreamed of;

our aim now a parody played out
in your collective garden.

A family, super sweet with
sunshine smiles and Daisies and
birds singing at the dawning
rise of the sun as I wander

through rain clouds and embody
each sunset, anticipating the edge
of night and you

you and her and this pinnacle
that I dreamt up
create our future.

Only I never could have imagined
that it would be
one without me.

I've put on my face, that vacant smile
that fools each stranger dusting the streets
as I walk to your house and throw cherries
through your open window, all but one to miss
and fall back, rolling down to my feet.

Laughing, you let me in and we fall into your
room, my smile still ever so carefully cultivated.
One look from you and the corners of ready lips
turn down; you ask, 'are you ok?' and the salted

rivers I have held so long in check, those tides that
rage and roll and throw themselves at each ******
breaker, the swells that flow weaker and stronger
but always always always there, burst forth -

tracing white estuaries on soft skin
as I cannot help but breathe you in.

Fix your smiles like sutures against my skin
pull back black hair, paint prides picture vain
he reignites present, sings such impeccable sin
as fresh pressed flesh weeps for him again.

I dissolve single stitches, you breathe them within
clasp palms and you sit, surrendering thy strain
raise wary hands to mine; all mine now to win?
you release, reach constrictions, rue me insane.

Keep rise rampant memory, fire fevered forged grin
best silent significance, now such rendered resting,
your words tripped dismissed long dead echoing din
riled love risked rages yes for true absence of him.

It is dark outside and

the winter is creeping in again and

you are not here again and

I am here again and

it never ends and

it's dark outside.

Body shaking, stomach burning inside
to out, escape and leave me, for I mistreat
you terribly and I am not sorry. Each day is a

struggle, yes, but each morning a glimmer
of hope reflected in vanishing numbers tied to
sluggish skin. Your breath on my neck and

her arms around my shoulders, stretching the
concave of my chest and the hungry cut of my jaw,
twin collarbones thrusting out like the tip of a blade.

Yellow sunrises,
pieces of a past present
with such persistence.

I let the water seep into my skin
lying on the balcony in the mist,
head down, searching for the sky.

I won't tell you I did this
you would only say I was insane.

He won't be back at 9, like he said,
or at 10, at 11 or 12,

what is here
to come back for.

I am sandpaper
longing frictions heat.

To grow both fat and
weary, sloughing
away your skin.

See what is strength
suckered and sickly
is set
to diminish.

But paper handholds,
why so dusty?

You aim for ignorance,
blooded hands to tease
simply tremor.

Yes, each whisper
charms so sweetly,

sweetly rough
against your grain.

Have I damaged
this plump, preening pride of yours?
I am not sorry.

The light catches his body and
will not let it go, as I lie

and smile and make the appropriate
movements, always thinking -

my head never shuttering, never silenced
as I count up the crimes of the day,

reflected from sight of the light of him,
slapping my face as it hits.

I looked to him but there he was no longer. It's hard; being
the one left behind. You suspend and watch them trek footprints

to new lands, whilst you sit, stare and surrender, lost in
the memories of all that you built together. It's not like your love

just departs with them either. It burns on, fierce in spite of the
rain on your face and your wishes that it would just stop.

I can hear the whispering of my heart over the screaming in my head.
Make it stop, please, make it stop.

and then when it comes to it
I am reminded
of the paltry promise each beat brings

come, take my hand
for I offer it
to any who seeks its pledge

willingly, I demand it
for solitary I see no worth
in what it has to give

please, I desire your attention
the play wreaks havoc with he
who vows his last breath

too sublime, his proffer
golden-gilded, open handed
blinding triumph

yet still I plead for more

and despite this
I retain that which
I do not deserve.

A missing link
I don't even know what that means
keep your ****** coding
and yes, I burnt down those trees.

You need to, sometimes,
it gives the ground new time to grow,
recycle nutrients and now just breathe
without your suffocating seeds to sow.

So yes, it's terribly blackened
and maybe no-one will ever come back
but after everything that's happened
I'll happily settle for that.

Awake;
the morning cacophony of cars sing and
the tread of the many outside our doors
washes through stone walls and into here.

Here;
where we lay and lie and love and the hours
creep by, tiny movements of a hand hastening
the path to our inevitable destruction.

Now;
now as the dawns chorus rises to an inescapable roar
and your arms tighten around my chest; your face
defiantly still buried in the depths of dark hair.

We;
that ****** word, that cage that I cannot outrun,
we move only by staying still; your arms my
sweetest stricture; my breath your way home.

I break it
wholly, this time, the shame a red reef of guilt
traipsing across burning skin.

I keep getting
angry with you, unreasonable, unfounded,
unlovable moments that you always see.

Why were they
all blonde, whilst my long hair coils dark
a sin choking at my neck.

One a lawyer,
two a doctor and three a nothing that sits
at home and eats at your words.

I keep trying
to make myself believe that you do not
love me, when you say you do.

You do, love
me. Speak blasphemous prayer (I am enough)
though, I never have been before.

I met you at the station
you said wanted to go anywhere but here.

I said to look for the tracks that
are the most uninviting. You
took my arm. I wished for

something better and here it came,
disguised by dirt, dislocation and greying days.

Your ticket says no return but
mine is undefined, watchful, ready
to bolt or to linger. You say you love
the stations from afar.

There's not much of me
requested, but the splinters that you
do, I gift hopelessly. The

smallest glimpse of light approaching
filtered through dank, oppressive air
are superior, surely? than finite life
exhausted watching the dark.

By the night you amplify,
when you have enjoyed my fill and
left with little but fingerprints and
recollections, casting parallel shadows
on directions that await.

I give you almost everything
except for the words that
travel nowhere but my head.

You gave me the signal
a briefest flash of red
that stopped this in its tracks.

I blew it; today is finished and tomorrow is the promise I can't keep.
The only one to blame is me, I am tormented
by myself and no other hand can be found to claim sleep
nor forgiveness only silence and internal reprimands
are my constant; they will stay with me forever.

Charming and charmless whispers echo in my ears
as eyes ignore the evidence before them and hands reach
once more for the gluttonous demon whose promise of what
who or why I cannot fathom; do not care to know.

There was a full stop
hedged on a semi-colon,
but you just flew straight through both.

A train wreck thunderstorm, lightning bolt
smiles that were just a touch too bright.

One thing fell and then another, repeated,
endless cycles of your closed eyes, averted face,
until the pebbles that fell graduated to stones,
to boulders, and you turned and ran towards them.

Each step was a decision, each step another false idea,
another pathetic tragedy, trapped in viscous thought
as silence became a screaming, scorching pain after
you chose to become the enemy.

I was here, I was breathing, I was one step away
from you. But you did not reach for me, you did
not speak. You did not call. I left my phone on for you but
you did not call.

You stole secret to the edge and ripped yourself asunder.
You wrapped your fingers around our throats.
You decided to disappear your problems, to rest in pieces.
You resolved we should be the ones left to suffer,
standing perpetually in your shadow.

I still suffer. I am still here. I am still breathing, but it
is no thanks to you. Your mother cannot look at me anymore.
She says I remind her too much. She doesn't breathe,
she doesn't talk, she doesn't call.

She is the remnant you left behind, cast off like an old coat,
worn and weary and wasted.

Do you remember me? Do either of you remember me?
I cannot do it anymore.

Your legacy is made of salt and water
and all I want to do is forget.

Brother. Mother. Sister;
the family tree is dead.

I spent a night with Mandy, our smiles
quaking lips and arms around strangers as
the darkness receded and the stars couldn't be
seen but they could be felt; sound itself visible
in the vibrations of glass and the heady movements
of living and your taste tripping upon my tongue.

Tonight Mandy has left me, smiles
borrowed now a debt to be paid as dusk
approaches. I miss you; my arms ache
to remember holding your body
years past as you came back down
from the music in the stars of the sky
and I was there to laugh and
dry tears and force the darkness to recede.

I will be nothing for you

No smiles in the darkness
Are to be found on these lips
Lips which curve all too readily
When laughter lingers

Eyes will venture elsewhere
And my feet will follow
For to stay still
Is to degrade;
             to ferment

Even though fermenting
Could yield the sweetest things with you.

Dash the darkness from the seat
this night is one to admit defeat,
I shall bring to you each echo new
and let us laugh to life's conceit.

So what has become of
the seashells I used to collect on the shore?
do they build up, unfathomable, now my hand
is too busy carving a life unlooked for.

and what become of the arrogance of youth,
they who knew know bounds;
determined to grow as changing as the tides;
that their dance would be the one
to draw the moon ever closer.

now all to hear is gulls screaming incessant songs
as I learn of rhythms that are caught,
a trapped constant between tide and wane,
an age where there is
no magic in this magnificence.

We never dreamt that such small wonder
(of invisible breath that moves the clouds
subtle shifting of the seasons
sunrises and sunsets)
could be so finite.

Nor did we plan
for a life as fractious,
incidental;
shifting grains beneath
unsteady feet.

You said
"you are so tired" and smiled
the warmth bringing expectation
a need to please

so I made all of the right noises
and you commenced to reduce me
of the burden of my clothes.

eyes closed
body supine,
languid and lying
mouth still.

It is tomorrow as I stray solitary
and walk myself awake, standing
on the grass that grows the greenest
on this here higher side
where the moon sleeps in the shadows
above your mud-cloaked body.

My bare feet ***** down the flora
that grows hopeful from your skin
and up I turn, looking for comfort
in a bare and barren sky

where even the brightest stars,
those thousand sharpened shards
of brittle glass glimmering,
fade too into blackness

as here, cloaked in this shining dark,
I am reminded
that the full fury of the sun rests so still now,
held blind beneath my weary feet.

It is tomorrow as I stray solitary
and walk myself awake, standing
on the grass that grows the greenest
on this here higher side
where the moon sleeps on the shadows
above your mud-cloaked body.

This silver orb, so tempestuous,
upon it still can always be relied
whilst here feet find, to be at its fullest elevation,
grass glowing silver and stones a sibilant, sacrificial grey;
as the gravity of that oval brightness
diminishes all other light.

My bare feet ***** down the flora
that grows hopeful from your skin
and up I turn, looking for comfort
in a bare and barren sky
where even the brightest stars,
those thousand sharpened shards
of brittle glass glimmering,
fade too into blackness

as here, cloaked in this shining dark,
I am reminded
that the full fury of the sun rests so still now,
held blind beneath my weary feet.

Don't allow
the thoughts of your sisters
to invade you mind and
wrinkle sheets so carefully
folded over the places
you never grew in to.

It was the greatest night and I didn't even
look up to the stars because they were
all around, lighting up our feet as
we smiled and stepped across solar systems,
universes and galaxies in our quest to
make those memories that will carry me carefree
towards the end of all things.

you are the echo in places after everyone's sound has gone.

you are the reluctant resonance in air between breaths.

you are the leaving that's overstayed its welcome.

you are the racket in deprivation of company.

you are the uproar after music has ceased.

you are the chord eternally reappearing.

you are reverberations of want, of lack.

you are sweet tinnitus in every hush.

you are every absent reoccurrence.

you are epitomes of entirety.

your gale still lingers.

but you do not.

you do not.

you do.

not.

Odysseus once hid under a sheep,
escaping the sightless hands of a Cyclops
to sail away unscathed.  

You look into my eyes and
together we laugh at your joke,
joined on the face of things.

But there's doubt creeping through my veins
secrets hitching my voice
and I yearn to fly too close to the sun.

But it seems you are just blind to the fact
that underneath my slight smile,
I'm wondering how to elude us.

Maybe you don't look for those things,
the trouble around the bend. See?
Everything's dark; all I discern is darkness.

You walk away, pin-***** white against the night,
it seems I did not have to hide
for you to free me.

He cracked open my sternum
feasted eyes on muscular beats
punctured both set of heaving lungs
ruined the cleanest of my sheets.

Claimed alcohol confused corneas
that tiredness muffled defiant ears
that blood didn't register, that pain disappeared
that I did not say that word, that he did not hear.

He stoppered each tear which congealed
such angry belligerence, hey, we made a deal.
This was one mistake and one ruined so willingly,
those scratches were passion, why don't you see?

you should have been clearer, yes really, I was the flaw
you should have fought harder, barricaded that door,
douse yourself in fire and go clean up this mess
it's time like these I begin to love you even less.

He cracked open this sternum
smuggled in gifts unadorned,
and these days I wish I had murdered him
instead of the aftermath, unborn.

Illustrious shrapnel leaves gold-gilded grazes
And we dance danger with distinctive detonation,
Blood screaming in our ears; all sound now internal
till the final dank decimation.

She stopped blunt, as though words are gunshots
dripping from my tongue; I want her
to know, but not for good reason.
We humans are bitter animals.

She never started again and was found floored
as though gravity had claimed her for itself,
her eyes staring and lips pale eggshell blue;
forever parted, but lost unto speech.

To envy a circle, what, pray, is this?
But a broken circuit! A line to the abyss!

To envy a circle, peace you have no heart,
For unlike a circle, a line must have a start.

you were that second sunrise of this new beginning
you were the time I believed again that I could be winning

we would wake together and we did not sleep apart
and I contemplated whether I was giving you my heart
when you told me words professed never before spoken
and soft sentiment I tried to bury was once more awoken

but you also kept secrets and you recycled your words
and whispered them sweetly in the ears of other birds,
you played the puppeteer, how you loved those sticks
but I've met other magicians and I've seen all their tricks

you loved me (and the others) that you failed to contest
yes but oh, it was me that you loved best?

I am not sorry to have told you that that was uninspired
I've had our moment, true I enjoyed being desired
but this effigy of love you staunchly kept constructing
had flawed foundations your pleasure was deducting.

So this is the truest goodbye that I never did say
what do we live for but love? Yours went astray.

It's the final chip
in a week of crumbling foundations, dark
days whip-lashed with uncertainty and
faltering ears hearing words most unwelcome,
set to heed all that I do and yet has still been done.

Forgive me, eyes, for leaking salt
onto wounds so raw with blackening
guilt, faulted dreams and hopeless
expectations.

Forgive me, skin, for softnesses
weakness in such times of trial and
for the temptation to wreak destruction
on the only true thing I hold left.

And forgive me, heart, for taking
steps that were destined
to lead no where but this.

I walk through the groves and the singing treetops
silence enrobing every sound, in these places where
people lay still living, under the ground,
for here the grass grows the greenest
and the trees all stand tall, yes
they are gone, but they did not long fall.

I tried to burn you out
smoke congealing in my eyes as you
stepped in unscathed; lily-white sight seeking
something unsustainable; you landed on me.

Cut-glass dressed vinegar smiles falling on grazed skin
leeching blood and plasma and solid-silver silence
as you tuck my hair behind my right ear and I
dissolve, take the shard and slide along
humming anticipation beneath this taut canvas.

There is so much screaming, a
mess of self-deceit flashing colours
around blinking eyes; we try always
not to let the light in.

Please, the night has fallen and
I cannot stop myself, these thoughts
of mine rise and plunder internal,
ripping pieces of machinery into
new formations, weapons

you smile at me and I take it as
an affront, you stay away and I
scream (please) I do not need you,
(please) I am only myself.

They sharpen inside and force their
way out, blood lying on my tongue
so I disgorge foul words and this
much maligned vanity.

Is it time to run you through the mangle
with me? We can flounder without falling,
but no purchase can be found for
our wandering feet.

No, I push you away and pull
myself asunder, but you do not
leave until I put the knife
to your neck.

I was sick when we met
and you liked it.

My body was airborne, bones of a feather,
jutting out like a blade for you to
run your fingertips across.

I always left at 4am, half raving mad with
exhaustion, the pinprick bleeding, pale exhaustion,
you closing the door as I fell into the night.

You inevitably commented
on the way my ribs arched, taut rise of bones
leering obscene through lean skin.

They were each a transparent edge,
observed my breath was a desperate pant, I
needed help, not blunt trauma to the lips.

They tell me
how I was very lucky to have had someone
that ripped me open when they left.

True love, they say,
is the one that leaves the scars.

I haven't slept since I heard
so many words
Each as meaningless as those of
rain and darkness and dangerdangerdanger.
You didn't listen, my darling, spilt on the concrete.

We put you in the ground today
and their words went down with you
As I stood and wished
that we had never met.

The threat of tinsel hangs heavy around my house and
every surface I have tarnished with gaudy colours, one
handed angels and effigies of flightless birds.

I remember one year, as nights drew in and wrapped us
in its sightless embrace and my sisters and I still shared
one tiny room and you, dressed in a ridiculous red
dressing gown, crept loudly into our room.

Eyes closed but lips lit, we paraded our false slumber
as you offered a rumbling "** ** **", gifting allies
laughter that shivered in our beds.

I remember the next, as your trembling hands fluttered,
never touching, the presents we had each bought ourselves,
as it has become too bright for you to step outside.

You wept and I drew my face stoic
as those aged hands trembled and these bitter claws
ripped and tore and vainly tried to stick
fragile paper back together with meaningless scraps of tape.

Your face whispered, "shouldn't be wrapping your own presents"
as white salt mapped fresh rivers, traced on giving skin.

I avoided the rain clouds of your sound;
methodically trying to appease this sadness.

My voice lilted of forgiveness but my body, such young bones, so
rough-raged and rigid, spoke of a bitterness I would've died
to hide like the tears you used to try to.

Smoke and gaslight and pretty little parcels wrapped in gold,
maybe if we bury all under forgiving paper, living can
play as happy as the paltry promise of this season.

You are but skin and hair
and taut bone stretched simple
over the expanse of what was once.

We lay you to earth, brothers
smiling on the surface, beneath
fuming currents we carry on.

Carry on
we carry you on
in our heads and furtive glances
at the past, now.

What is this?

This mass of magma, bubbling
between silence and laughter

between
life and death.

Encased in black granite
solid substance she can't find
as she holds the hand of her son
but he does not return this in kind.

Sweet Pieta, sent by her words
to dance with dank, docile depravity,
lies so still now -
and her eyes can't bare but shutter
against such sure lack of he.

It is so silent, this mourning,
not one vibration can be felt,
just that of solid substance lacking
encased in the cards that we dealt.

I trip on the colours, blink like a child in
mornings lit by yellow drips of vacuous veins
winding sweet around your neck.

Your smile doesn't visit here anymore,
your darkness significant only in silence as
I touch your skin with fingers too insubstantial
for you to feel them.

I swoop low and cradle you in arms that
chafe like barbed wire caresses and
your eyes don't water from the smoke
I no longer hide.

We migrate, constricted and contained, sinking
like shattering shards of ice, separate atoms
only held together for so long.

I search for your reflection in the morning puddles,
the rain from yesterday still wet against my skin,
but the sky above seems empty; it does not talk back.

Your transparent presence today echoes my own
and time has come to embrace our salt,
for all left now is the places
where you are not.