Heartless, they call me,
a silver dagger plunged
and twisted
into a red hot
*****,
knives severing arteries
and veins until I
unravel like dropped
wool,
my blood cells fighting
the infection of close contact
with a society
that would not stand
for me,
heartless isn't born,
it grows in the space
between love and hate,
blooms out of the dark soil
the seeds of shame and blame,
thrives when it's locked away
in a (rib) cage, behind bars
like a circus freak,
sometimes, I long to feel
but then I hear of heartbreak,
heartsickness, and I am glad that mine
does not beat...

If you understand the beauty
of a sunset, then please tell me
how it works
for the flaming oranges and reds
just remind me of the fire I’ve been
running from my whole life

the flames constantly licking my heels
as I try to propel myself
further
faster

I know it will catch me up
one day, and engulf me
in the past I’ve spent
every ounce of energy I have
trying to forget
I know it will burn me
mark me, scar me

but I hope I will douse
the fire down, and walk
free once the pain passes
and maybe then, we can
share the beauty of
a sunset

In candlelight we kiss

two flames meeting

and becoming one

as the wax melts

we wrap ourselves closer together

knowing we have minutes

until our moment ends

I used to think
angels were
a symbol
of protection

of hope
and light
and peace

but I have seen
angels with teeth
bared like
wolves

hungry for blood
(my blood)
and willing to rip
flesh from
bone

in their desperate
primal urge

I have seen angels
walk me into
a busy road
of traffic

and have me
lay on the
concrete

I have seen angels
pour “just one
more”

drink down
my throat

no, angels
do not
protect you

when they are
the manifestation
of your
nightmares

and in that moment
I saw infinity
reflected in the eye
of a mermaid
who had swam
to shore
to sing your name

seaweed haired girl
you carry the ocean
in the pocket of
your heart

and in mine
sweet and ripe
as strawberries
I carry
salt kissed kisses
the centre of
our love

I am struck
by lightning
every time
our fingers
meet

I drink the
wine of your
sweat
as if I were
an alcoholic,
desperate for
that first sip
of liquor

knowing it
is destroying
their organs,
but unable to
stop reaching for
the bottle, or

the flesh