I feel like burning myself, stepping in front of the never ceasing stream of cars which fly past my house and off into the dark. Except they all have places and people to be and how could I ruin life for another?

I just don’t understand any of this. I thought that I didn’t love him, but now he’s left I am bereft and can see no other reason than this loss. I put too much into one person and now there’s no one to turn to. In five days I see friends, that’s such a very long time right now.

All I can hope is that tomorrow brings the numbness which I used to loathe. All I can hope is that every feeling freezing through my veins will solidify and harden to such an extent that I cannot feel them any more. Perhaps then they will fill in the cracks which have emerged from my core.

Flying under the sky, over the sea

To the next adventure, you and me.

I have decided this day not to give a
crap about the machinations of others
whose notions concern me just as much
as I care
about falling down stairs or
running into walls
or hurting myself
on purpose, which itself deviates
dramatically
day by day.

I could write that you
are each shade of the seven colours of
light and smiles that thunder, the envy of sunrises
the absence that defines the dark.

I could let my thoughts
play out upon my face, open to all sight,
every word gifted an ignition sparking
shamefully how willing I am to fall into
step with the rolling rumble of your feet.

I could say that
I love your hand in mine when I am sleeping
it's the only time you tremble that touch,
inconsistent I am the cold to your warm
and you are the eye of my every storm.

But in reality, breathing the same air alight
azure eyes drifting lazily down towards mine,
I will say only, that the sun hates you.

Abstained from dropping thoughts to vulnerable speech
of how it was merely jealous,
for no star could never shine so bright.

You put your trust in me,
crack open caged ribs and slip
flawless hands into flawed breath.

I close the weeping wounds and
smile up, with innocent face false.

Shush, you give me such a gift
I could never drown and admit
this was not what I asked for.

You place ruptured trust in me
but never wonder of space carved,
a waiting cavern, empty, unadorned.

I stroke the hair at the nape of your neck,
your head sleeps steady on my shoulder.

I lay awake and remember -
recall, recollect, render pieces
of another

whose trust riddled woodworm
promises, once undermining the
structural integrity of my mind.

Still, my hand moves, a sure constant, trapped
between pulling you close and
pushing you away.

She faces the wall, studies
those tiles with minute precision, hand
outstretched on the towel rack, a bathroom
ballet dancer, poised, still, silently waiting
waiting, waiting.

Lids so heavy, slow now to blink,
suffocating breath with light caught,
suffocating speech with the skin
pulled taut.

Is it safe yet to face
that most sibilant refraction,
why do these fingers clench tighter
the more I try to let go.

I feel like the white lion
stuck in a cage for the rest of my days
feet set to tread a path barred and dusty
from all of those who trod before it.

The only excitement, the jangles of
keys from the keeper who runs to
throw carcass of rabbit, turkeys
through my bars for me
to render sustenance, incomplete.

I fear the white lion
hear my lonely roar and wonder
at such talons, canines now stolen
and feet dismembered, claws ripped
from their shackles, top-of-the-food-chain
fear desecrated.

And a genetic time-bomb too
ticks under my skin and theirs
as I sit and I listen to the lies
your children now share.

My line also ends, a mere stutter
in the sand, as the tides flow steady
and the last lion lingers.

And I am, too, held high like a beacon,
a warning, a message spanning
centuries, look, children, look!
See the mistakes of your ancestors.

See how her coat shines so very bright
that it reflects all seven colours
of the light? See how lonely and low
the last of a manipulated, mistaken,
misconstrued species can go?

She was drawn from her mother
mixed with her father, no she doesn't need him
and the others, why yes, all left
are her kin!

How wonderful, how quaint, you
know only ten now remain?
None in the wild of course, where
their life cannot sustain,
better here locked under our
constraints where we have
so much wonder, so much recreation
and education to gain.

And true, from this bleak place
they can never migrate
but look at her, no where else to go
this man-made mistake.

Don’t worry about the pacing,
the maddened, gleaming eye
the freedom they miss
out there? They would die!
And they know no other way
than this.

I know she looks sad, but
that’s just your feelings projecting,
they’re just animals, my darling,
you’re innocent, shouting in consternation
save her in the name of conservation!

But we are all white lions
all now endangered, our steps
are no freer, our lives all
subject to external changes and we
cannot move but for the cage
they have constructed, their
lives are impacted but our
wonder is not deducted.

I feel like the white lion
this ambassador of our greatness
this one mistake, so very clever,
engineered to engage us, these lives that
were wrought solely to entertain us.

I feel it, their future entwined in mine
and in humans across the ages.

Meaning of life designed, its sibilant message
dangerous, a dumb animal wandering
a set path, disregarded, destructive, aimless.

I keep watching other people living
and wondering how I can keep up with
each showcase, another step behind
and my legs are too short and eyes too
tired and I can't make my hair shine like
you do or be happy like he is or have
a dozen friends in undiscovered places
like she always has, nor have I ever done
anything that is actually anything on his scale and
to be content merely moving is apparently
never enough, I need to push forward, become
someone and do something that dulls
everyone else's shine
because apparently that is living and that is life
and it's only real when everyone else can see it.

You sleep in the room next time mine
As I write this; eyes closed and body slumped
Heaven in the small things
Like the soft sigh of breath, eyelids flutter
Lost unto a world I cannot inhabit
Nearer now than you have been in weeks
But oceans still separate us
Turmoil of both hidden in such delicate shells
Harder on the inside, withstanding the constant artillery
Of our pain; united in the instance which will forever keep us apart.

There are eight hours left in the day
yet it's dark outside
where those cars keep tearing past
disturbing the quiet in here.

I'm trying not to feel alone
rattling around in this empty home
but when I caved and I called out
you didn't call back.

Steps have been taken
will your path revisit this place?
I sit in our home and remember
the beginning, in this room

with the cars still racing by
and it was still dark outside
and your arms were around my shoulders
and your heart was shouting yes.

Azure sapphires glint and dance
Below the fields still flower in France
As debris blow and snow does fall
White silence in the space of souls
It is meaningless; it is not fair
Here lie solid absences and despair
We were many; now we are but few
They fell, fell right on through.

I don't believe you.

I don't subscribe to your thoughts
and the words that trickle out
of your head, to fall ******
on the pavement and disappear
down the gutter when
the rain comes.

I hope the rain comes soon.

A raging, rampant monsoon
to flood me dry and clean away
the raw, red finger-prints your diction
imprinted, a blood-red necklace ringing my throat.

I don't care for your intonation.

You, heedless of the power
of speeches simple sounds that decimate
veins and rupture explosive, ebony vessels,
setting me adrift on Moses' sea.

But, despite all, I reply in kind.

And
careless words leave me;
cutting you open.

I wrote a poem for you when you were gone
It was everyone's darling; I found it feeble.

About how the leagues between diminished
when I stared up at the same stars that lit
the night where you walked. How the Earth
still revolves but we cannot feel it and we
look up, unknowing if anything looks back down.

You returned to me and I collected the pieces of your
heart, gained sight of salt leaking luscious from places
whose ignorance of existence naively I was blessed
heard words I would rather have remained unspoken.

Loathed speech fell like cumbersome bricks from
my tongue to yours, decisions took in absence
causing tectonic plates to clash and tremors be to
felt, further and wider than your eyes when I spoke.

I am sorry is a meaningless phrase. It changes
nothing and I try never to speak it, rather avoid
its crashes of consequence, freeze substance before
the impacted have little cause to celebrate
its colourless intonation.

I am sorry for saying I am sorry, but that which I am not
is for the needed swelling waves which set you far from my shore.

The water falling washes over skin
as supple as your silence,
as I sit and I write and you
simmer still in your thoughts,
thoughts always of her.

A quarter of a crown
Lies in secret; without a sound
As drums keep up their beat
And steps go on, in spite of feet.

Deep beneath us it lies
Temptation, blessing sighs
As you turn and look at I
And I smile, as only inside
Our secrets they still play,
Breakable to the light of day,
Please turn and leave; just go
Did it happen if no one knows?

So it ends between us despite how reticent we've been
your words were always dust; it's only now to be seen

You wave the white flag and the mock surrender
as I learn to burn you and rip all asunder
your façade naught but a cheap, grey suit
all show and no substance; your face resolute

The urge now to burn you is humming in veins
I know you so well mere words would stoke flames

You are walking away and your shoulders fake low
deep darkness enshrines the things that I know
temptation to reveal and revel in raised words
brews on inside me, I could make you hurt

and how I wish to force you to admit your pretences
call out the horrors you yourself pre-empted
this is not all me, we two share the blame
but in truth, yes biased, I know whose name
should bare the burden and so not feel the victim
you feel sorry only for yourself; I was the *****
I conned and coxed your simple heart from your skin
but I was not the one who started this, you bare that sin

back away now, yes you had better retreat
because the things I would say you would not meet
there is no guilt in my eyes because you stole it all
giving me words I did not say and taking the fall
that you caused through self-obsessive countenance
go now, go quick, go swift before I renounce
this vow to stay silent, to veil hard thoughts unheard
but one more pity from you and you shall be burnt.

The moment I let myself love you
happened incidentally, it was never
my intention and, yes, I was fiercely opposed,
but sometimes letting go of this fight to
keep yourself distant is
fundamental to being awake.

I say a moment, it was more like a collection,
a combination, a calamitous effect
of all the instants we spent, your eyes
widening and dark lashes closing shut only
to open again, drowning upon my face.

Yes,
this is going nowhere except
for the fact it has all already helped
me cross oceans and I will always have
the memory of your laughter and that
one moment
when your face said my smile alone
made the sun shine.

The message I received escalated sorrow from joy
it's worrying, this power, that I give to this boy.

you said you could hold the sun in your fist
and call nightingales when you were ******
that all the deceptions made it easier to trust
and you could see the stars leaking dust

you pulled out sections of your hair
raked your scalp, saying life was fair
and sank your teeth into my arm
saying it wouldn't cause me any harm

you broke the dish and crowed it fate
sent words forth to muddy the slate
and when I cried and begged for less
you told me I was a reckless mess

you carved up pieces, embraced the floor
told me I should have dreamt of more
I dried my tears and latched the gate
your truth whispered, it's far too late

you were the artist, painting colours on skin
sang words of love, such sweet impeccable sin
and some days I can't find where they end and I begin
despite escaping I still cradle you within.

Your body is the ocean
rippling and unfathomable,
eyes a wavering, wandering, azure blue
set always to be drawn away
before rushing back; sending
salted spray slaps against my skin.

I wax and I wane
and you're set, sometimes, to do the same
as this your tempestuous tides do echo,
with your ebb and your flow, our highs and our lows
but when we're both at our greatest height
there's glory in our gravitation.

you shiver when you look into my eyes,
these beacons of sharp, darkening grey,
and sometimes, only sometimes, just
as the spring tide exults,
it seems like the oceans in love
with the fickle full-moon.

It was all dark skies and twilight and
rare glimpses and wondrous sunlight
peeking behind lurking rain clouds and
I let you take my hand the night that

Jacob died and you led me to places I
would have avoided, glass sheared my feet
but you smiled so sweetly and it emptied
that void for a little while. And you said

such terrible things about falling so
I bricked up my mouth. But I wonder
after I departed, irrevocably wordless,
if you stole that void for your own.

he looked to you
for once telling me the truth
I realise I knew.