It was different this time,
we were drifting together

The distance between us roars,
oceans of salty waves washing over
skin and seas that stretch further
the the naked eye can see

Years pass and I remain
buried, no air to breathe
and my skin cracking
as it feeds on it's
own hollowness

You can **** me, she said
but you can never ****
the fact that I still
love you

This is her reflection
poisonous to herself
eyes meeting memories
and cracked glass that
threatens to break

Let's tell tales
tall enough
to make Pinocchio
blush

It doesn't matter to me
but you still matter
the most

When Pandora slammed the lid shut
you smiled, smelling freedom

There's a spot on your neck that I
love

a swollen redness that promises
adventure

an imperfection that teases as it
dances

I stare and stare, fingers itching to
touch

I reach out, palms sweating and
trembling

it feels nothing like I imagined and
yet

at the same time
everything

I know the storm shakes
between her bones, the
roars of oceans racing
home, the reach of
hands across yards of beaten
apple trees

scattered debris leads from
her heart to mine, and I
sail into the
eye

fearless

and cool

waving black clouds

being brave

you
with your passionless
kisses and empty
promises

are the
reason why I stand her
at nearly thirty, empty
and aching

with my
back bent like a cigarette, crushed

under
the weight of a heavy boot

feeling
nothing but the air on my skin and the

way
it burns like a bomb
exploding

These are the bones
he buried around my
bed

the fibula's of former
lovers, fractured to form
frames

to fit the shape of us

My lungs spread themselves
like sand, filled with hot air,
pulsing and pink, fluttering
like butterfly wings

the white ripples of wind
beat down on me,
the sun, yellow hot, and
smiling

my heart is too huge
for this earth, a clenched
fist, red and beating

against the waves that
crash against my skin
like the sky

I try to rise

and find

that I cannot

All rivers run to
the sea, but we play
on their banks
like children,
threading daisies
through our fingers,
grass staining our nails
killing time with knitted
knees, we sit
toes dipped into
the water, cooling
the prickled heat
of our skin

We have lost sharing secrets at midnight
between our shadowed hearts dancing
patterns on black walls

always, we were chasing
darkness and now we have
been caught

up in the balance of time, losing
ourselves momentarily to the
light

Darker –
a shadow that starts
at midnight, growing into
the early hours
like a creeper, crawling
walls and windows,
longing to touch
flesh

Emptier –
the words that pass
between us like
vacuums, hollow and
echoing, they are the
fossils of
love

Simpler -
we have stopped fighting
the current, bending our
bones to make
sculptures, we exist in
the quiet places
between body and
soul

Stay up all night
and whisper secrets
to my ear

let our star studded
sighs fill up
the night

let gazes between
this heart and
mine

flare like cannon
fire across the
sky

and let deep
lungfulls of love
raise our spirits
like whiskey kisses

breathing, believing
in ourselves when
we wake

All she needed
was to know that
he would awake up
next to her each
morning with a
coffee and a
smile,

knowing that it
would be exactly
the same tomorrow

I would hold back
the sea with my
bare hands

If you asked

For him, love
was a river of
blue veins running
like rivers under
her skin

She'd heard it said
that love was a scar
that stretched like
a smile, a cherry
red corner of
a mouth, pulled
wide, teeth
shattering as
they are revealed
individually,
white porcelain
cracking, and
lips barely moving
as they whisper
in time to a
heartbeat, beating
I love you

As your mouth moved
against mine I saw
new suns burning,
new plants rising,
sea mist dancing,
my whole world
folding into the
reflection of
your eyes

Words hatched like baby bird
from yellow eggs

and in the confusion
of new birth

he could whisper through
the chaos

knowing that his mouth
would never be found

to be the catalyst
of earthquakes

that shattered the Earth
to it's core

You are the light that lingers
at dusk, pink skies blending
into the silhouettes of
ancient willow
trees

You are the taste of honey
in the morning, sweetly
kissing my lips, extracting
my dreams

You are the simple life
of wine and whispers ,
books read under a canvas
of leaves

You are the similes and metaphors
that make my own face
wrinkle and
cringe

The words that stick to my
teeth, and pull

You are me and,
sometimes,
I am you

I fumble like a
frightened bird
shaking, I try
to tell you

No

does it leave
my lips? A fierce
kiss and the
words are swallowed

Whole

and my body
with them, arms
and legs bending

Twisted

a tree branch
in a hurricane
what chance do
I stand?

lying beneath
you, my blood
trapped in your
bones

the world covered
in shadow, eyes
pleasing, thighs

Bleeding

You won't remember
this, darling, it will
be a story in your

Head

A fiction

A fraction of
a person

Cast out forever
from the

Whole

You can break
my skin with your
teeth and let
the blood sink
in like a gentle
whisper of love
across an open
sea

I accept my own weakness,
what choice do I have,
but to admit my weariness
and dimmed hope

the sky is dark and damp
drinking the light out of
each star, consuming the
flames that flicker
across the universe

I am breathless,
each breath has been
taken. Inspected,
deemed defieict

I have nothing but
the clothes on my back,
a loose white cotton dress
frayed and torn, dragged
back each time I tried
to run away

I will walk up one day,
in a pain perhaps so fierce
it shall sit in again molecule
of air, each pore of my skin

I sigh, I am alive
but less so I no
I know death is no
longer in reach

for years, sitting at
opposite ends of rooms,
of words, knowing that I
only had to reach out
my head to hold his

It's all gone now,
that company,
the hours of counting
down my breathes
one by one

I am alive, undoubtedly,
and I have no weakness
of health except what
burns in my heart,
which boils in my blood,

my lust

I imagine a hook
entering my
side

an eye

senses warring
blood and
muscle

nerve endings
frayed

it was a simple
touch,

the hand of a
man

broad and
bearded

rough skinned,

you could imagine
his fingerprints

worn down by
years of
scrubbing

bricks,

building houses
for children to
grow up in

raging walls
instead of
wars,

each goodnight
kiss fiercer
than the
last

the side of
my face

fitting perfectly
into his
thigh

I imagine a hook
gutting me

like a fish
bones pulled

mercilessly apart

spat out of
mouths

stuck
in people's
throats

I imagine a hook
piercing me

blood leaking
out of

a pinprick

ears, eyes
and nose

quietly, very
quietly

it puddles at
my feet

before I pass
out

I imagine a hook
holding me

by the neck

an example,
a terrible
warning

drained and
empty

I imagine a hook
imagining me

We talked of fuselage
floating on top of
an ocean

waves consuming
us as we frantically
tried to reach
out

lingering onto
life as if it was
the same thing
as love

I imagine myself
in a house without
windows

I grow there,
stilted, like a
flower denied
of rain and
sunlight

I am always
cold, covered
in thin hairs that
rise like flames
when a whisper
reaches the back
of my neck

I am always
scared, rivers of
fear flowing like
blood through
my veins

I am always
hungry, remembering
the taste of fresh bread
in the morning

It has been a long time
since I ate

Your name has lingered
Too long on my lips
Bruised and chapped
Turning blue as the
Summer passes
Skipping autumn
Into winter
Where I am always
Hungry and
Wondering streets
That are endless
Yet lit only
In the middle
I hear your
Cry in my ear
And turn
To my face
To nothing
The taste of you
Still warms me
but I am
outside looking
in on a bed
freshly made
white cotton
sheets
and I don’t know
how to look
away from
it

I hope you've ****** the blood
dry from your wounds

the fruit of a woman's
words

led their by the promise
of a future

there would be a silver
ring wrapped around a finger

and twenty pairs of eyes
crying

tears falling onto white cotton
lap

children being shushed

girls being pushed into lilac
dresses

old ladies pressing lavender
between liver spots

fearful thirty somethings
clutching at stems

I hope it doesn't look like this
when you look back

I hope the sun shone and your
father wept

his little girl learning how to be
a woman

from the back of a mans hand

fingers trying not to rub off the ink
a signature

as it sets

In the fullness
of your kiss

I am

the taste of
honey licked
from teaspoons,

the feel of
clean sheets
on freshly
washed skin,

the smell of
cut grass that
sticks to the skin
of my back,

the sight of
mountains moving
as my fingers
draw their own
landscapes,

and the sound
of white waves
softly whispering
songs of the
ocean

We have
the choice
to either
chase
every hour
given to
us
or to
claw back
every hour
in a desperate
chase to
put things
right

There will be a moment
when time places it's hand
on your shoulder
and forces you to
turn and face it,

staring you down
like a dog, with a bite
that threatens to take
every drop of blood,
of life, that your skin
contains

you will not bleed
before you hit
the ground, limbs
spread at angles
no mathematician
would dare
to calculate

there will be a moment
when you swallow
the entire universe,
feel it's press against
your gut, urging
you to let it
go

touching the shape
of the air, feeling
each pocket close
and open, like a flower
against your cheek

on your way down
there will be
a moment

to finally breathe

The only thing left
to come between us
is the ocean,
white waves arching
like naked backs,
drenched rocks
shining in dim
sunlight, sharks
chasing the scent
of blood that streams
from the hole in my...
where your fish hook
pulled my heart
straight out

By the time I was thirty,
I had carved fish with
butter knifes, licking
the sides clean,

I had chosen shoes
for the width of their
narrow heals and lipstick
for the hours it promised
to sit on your lips,

I had held the hand
of a child that wasn't
mine as it cried, and
wiped the wet mouth
of a stranger,

but I had never
felt the look
of a man
gut me

hook me,
helplessly,
and shake
out my
insides

until now

The grass was tall
enough to hide me
from anyone

and I wrapped myself
up in it's long blades,
braiding them into
my hair, softly
tickling my skin

pulling daisies down to
the roots, my fingernails
shining with silver polish,
teasing magpies as
I dig

down into the earth,
turning up memories
and moments in the
chaos of soil

the past and present
mingling on my skin
as I dig, deeper,
greedily

listening to the scattered
songs of birds and
imagining how
I look to them

small and frantic

but strangely, I am not

I am calm, calmer

and the smell of buttercups
reminds me of childhood
games, of holding flowers
under chins, teasing
and tripping

moments, memories

pockets in time that the
voices haven't reached
and I relish them

counting them on
my fingers

as they play

and then, there are noises,
shouts, doors banging
and windows shaking

fingers clawing at
my throat and
yelling

spit

bloodstains on the cuffs
of my dress

and sirens

I grew up with
an apple tree,
growing right in front
of my door

each year,
they would swell,
bright red skin
stretching around
white flesh

my grandfather
would pick the
sweetest and
hold it out
to me

saying how sad
he felt when he held
me before my mother
had named me

how I never believed
in Santa and liked
to lick the lemon
pips off his fingers
when he made
lemonade

I was growing up
so fast, he'd say,
but my roots
would always sleep
beneath his feet
with the apple tree

Teach me
the contours
of your
body
and I shall
memorise
them
and find
you again

You have always tasted life
with my lips,

each night we spent
swapping secrets
under stars,

each kiss of my neck
that sent shivers of
electricity down
my spine,

every cigarette that
we shared between
shaking hands,

limbs unfolding like rose
petals, skin peeling
away at your touch
shredding me down
to the bone

where you stand,
watching and waiting

You have always tasted life
from my lips

Through winters I wonder,
boots laced up high,
containing each
step as I follow
your footprints

home

Ask anyone, they’ll tell you
she likes to pretend,
red heels and red lipstick,
chest waving between
parked cars,

behind the supermaket
she stripped,
stealing glances
at another’s skin,

to kiss on the concrete,
so close to preachers
pressing papers
into hands,

was like walking
through a thick forest,
lips parted and
desperate for
air

Tortured
My face
Contorted

The earth
Bending around
My bones

The shell
Of me
Cracked

Timeless
My skin
Ages

By the
Second

What of
The hollow
Crown

I wear
Around my
Head

Empty spaces
And echoes
Of yesterday

The future
Twisted like
A tree branch

In a hurricane

Eyes blacker
Than night
Skies

Starless and
The moon
Is cold

I am alone
Utterly

In the silence
Of 6AM

Does time
Heal all
Wounds

I don't think so

I think age
May tame
Them

But old
Hurts
Run like
Rivers

Of fire

Consuming
Everything

Eating me
To the
Bones

Essentially, I want
to love what has
never been loved
before

to hold what has
never been hurt
against my heart

to fight death
with my bare
hands

and conquer it

If we lie here long enough
we will feel the curve of
the Earth moulding into
the curve of our spines,

the universe expanding above
us, relentless and racing as
our hands weave together,
pulled tight at the fingers
like shoe laces,

we watch paper aeroplanes
fly like comets, brilliant
against the carpet of night,

cloudless, we imagine faces
that we know, white stars
growing like flowers,
time passing in seconds,
speeding into hours as

our hearts beat against
our bones, the air wrapping
around our skin  as we fit,
piece by piece,

into each other

He said I would never forget
the taste of his name
on my lips,

the soft sound of his breath
against my irregular heart
beat

he told me, the first thing
about love was to find the
right cadence of their name
in your mouth,

it was more important than
the brush of fingertips on
naked skin,

hungrier than
the touch of lips on lips,

needier than a thousand goodnights.

My tongue fitted the shape of it,
somehow, and I know a name
by any other rose would taste
bitter, like unsweetened lemonade

and our goodbyes would be the same, passionless, less urgent,
asserting that I would never
forget the taste of my first
love's name on my lips

Fear is strange. As a concept it motivates you, a driving force, as an emotion is paralyses you. The fear of being unable to move in itself makes your muscles work. Flexing. Clenching. The need to run. Escape. But you can't. You can't move. There's a war going on between mind and muscle, and in this conflict I am the only casualty.

I've always been running, never bothering to throw breadcrumbs behind, but I never knew what I was running from.

One morning, she grabbed me in her sleep, as if I was the only solid thing in the room, maybe in the world...

I never asked what she was dreaming about. I didn't reach out to her. Fear.

The day she slammed the car door behind her as she got out. It was embarrassing how annoyed I was. How absolutely, blindly ******* I was about it. I feel so bad about it now, looking back I feel bad about a lot of the **** we did, or I did, the pointless cruelty of it.

As I lie on the grass I feel the bladed reaching beneath my shirt. Itching. Every single blade of grass is blocking every single pore of my skin, as if insects are nesting. The air curves around my limbs, as if to accommodate for hers.

She must have felt it and a part of her must have felt more alive because of it. Isn't that such a cliche? Feeling more alive because you're dying. If you can see all of time folding in front of you, hear your past crash into the back of you... Would you break or put your foot down?

Her dress was that kind of orange colour that makes you feel slight sick if you stare at it for too long. It was funny the way the blood stains formed in circles. Perfect. Circles. Like a penny... It was still neat apart from a small tear at the hip...

She must have felt the ripple of the air across her skin as she stood there. It must have been like a blanket. Soft and cushiony. She could have wrapped herself in it. Protected herself.

Maybe she really did feel protected, by the air, from the fall. Maybe that's all anyone wants to feel. I don't think so, I stood there...

It was so black. Hard and hatefully black. I couldn't look down for long. It made me feel too small for the world. Everything grew around me, the pit spread out like a sheet beneath me, the air rippling, my skin itching.

It swallowed her. How could she stand there and not be altered by it? How could she walk away as the same person? Who would she be?

I move around the flat like a blind man. I don't know where the edges of anything are anymore. I don't know where the edges of my body start. The rooms are huge, so huge that even the silence echoes.

I feel inexplicably and overwhelmingly bored. People tell me how sorry they are but I've heard it all ready. People send cards with nice things written in them but I've read them all before. Every smell is the same. The perfume that lingers on her scarf is the same. I'll never be surprised again by the smell of something new. I will never smell anything except the last whispers of her.

All food tastes the same. All girls look the same. I stay the same. I look in the mirror and I can't believe how I still look like me. I can't understand why my heart is still covered by skin and bone and muscle when it's been ripped.... Ripped... Ripped out...

They told me that the platform was crowded, as they pushed styrofoam cups of **** brown water into my hands. 'Good' I say...

I've said the wrong thing again. You would think it would be people saying the wrong thing to me but it isn't. My mouth doesn't work in relation to my brain anymore. There's a delay, a time difference...

As I stand there, my heart eats itself, my lungs clench, my muscles twitch and the urge to take one more tiny step takes over my veins like a virus.

The speakers are broken but the woman's determined, in case it was an accident, in case she didn't know,

'High speed trains through this station.'

My eyes open and
it starts,

insect like creatures
walking over my
brain,

each foot fall
falling in an
unbearable

tap, tap,

tapping, the inside
of my skull

knocks,

knock, knock,
he is always there,

is it a he? It must be
from the way he
dances,

twisting his limbs
into irregular
shapes,

patterns that bend
and change the
harder you look
at them.

In a fluid moment,
the kiss of a shape
shifter catches
my lips,

I am thirsty, now,
desperate to drink
something over than
my own acidic
breathes,

I pace pavements,
laces dragging, catching
stones in the soles of
my broken shoes,

the ground shakes,
threatening to open
up

but still I keep
moving, as I am
eaten, insides
first,

claws pulling,
jaws looming.

I walk, blind and
bloodied, fighting
gravity with my
bare hands

as the world buckles
beneath me, the
very roots of the Earth
bending beneath
my feet as I am

swallowed whole

He talked of shedding
skin and roaming
constellations

the bones of the
Earth breaking
beneath us

the past blending
seemleslly jnto
the future

spinning time

and weaving
ourselves out of
the present