once, there was a bird inside my house
blue tailed and yellow bellied  
not big enough to be much of anything at all  
i had to hold it in my hands to let it out
it was so light i couldn’t feel anything but its taloned feet
digging softly into my palms
and perhaps the sharpest parts of ourselves
make the only impression that lasts.

I read somewhere, a girl saying she couldn’t die with a messy room.
My bin is full
My socks aren’t paired
There’s cups on my desk leaving rings
There’s probably something in the wall
Eating crumbs I leave in crevices
What will happen to it, once I’m gone?
Who’s going to stay awake listening to it scratching if I’m not there?
Who’s going to balance the cups precariously down the stairs
Who’s going to line my shoes against the ottoman
Tuck the sheets in
Who will empty my bin?
How embarrassing, how embarrassing
I cannot die with a messy room
There’s books half-read and stories half-told
And t-shirts I have yet to fold
There’s things in the fridge I’ve yet to eat
And papers that aren’t lined up neat
And there’s things I haven’t thrown away
And things that I have yet to say
And emails I have yet to write
And candles I have yet to light
So death must wait another night, another night, another night
I cannot die with a messy room
No matter how peaceful my little tomb
I have things to do, things to do, things to do
I cannot die with a messy room.

i have a box full of apples
and i give them without looking
i never look down
the apples seem endless
the box unravels forever in my mind
and then my hand scrapes the bottom
nails on gritty wood, clawing up dust
finally i look
and the emptiness looks back
years pass like this
and i carry my body around like an appleless crate
and people ask me for fruit and i give them splinters
i break off panels from the box
its all i have to give
i grip the last sliver of wood, it digs in
i walk forever, but i know
one day i will collapse in an orchard
one day i will look up at the open sky
and my stomach will be full.

there was a gate with a lock
and a nice metal fence
and a wall made of brick
and a tower made of stone
there was fire underneath
barbed wire underneath
this was my home
with a sign underneath
‘trespassers will be shot’
‘survivors will be shot again’

but there was a pick in the lock
and a hole in the fence
a ladder at the wall made of brick

there was a tiny wooden door
at the base of the tower
and the fires had burned it up quick

the footprints were ******, all up the stairs
a cloying smell of smoke, and ruddy burnt hair
and i knew you were coming, i knew you were coming
i could hear you crossing the floor
and nothing had stopped you before
and how could i turn you away?
when nothing had lead you astray
when everything, everything, everything had only ever caused you to stay

and i suppose i could run
and build it again
start with my gate and my lock
but i knew you would follow
with a pick and a ladder
and a smile like an adder
and i knew this time you wouldn’t knock.

they say time convalesces
though, i have doubt
i don’t think time can fix this
not the infinite, not the eternal
not the unending black ribbon of it all
the clocks will all stop before this feeling leaves me
the mountains will turn to rocks
the oceans will turn to deserts
the earth will freeze over a thousand times
the sun will melt everything, the sun will burn it all away
the great tides of time will drown me before this feeling leaves me
and it will be the last thing to leave me
when my eyes close
and my heart stops
and my mind fires its last
when my skin is gone from me, when my insides are gone from me
when my bones erode like a sweet in a warm mouth
this feeling will leave me only then
when there is nothing left
when my body collapses in on itself like the sun
i hope you are given more mercy
i hope you lose this feeling like people lose pencil sharpenings
i hope you forget me like people forget cups of tea
i hope this feeling washes off of you in the shower
i hope you close your eyes and it dissipates like a bad dream
i hope you can hold me on your eyelashes, i hope i am weightless
i hope you can blink without noticing, i hope i don’t make you tired
i hope you can carry the memory of me without remembering me at all, i hope you can talk about me without recalling my name
i hope you can walk through this world without reminders of me
without the shadow of me over everything
without my colours tinting anything
i hope i haven’t stained you the way you stained my mouth red, haven’t darkened you the way you darkened me
i hope you flourish, i hope you grow, i hope all of my ill wishes of you in the past perish
i hope this darkness leaves me first
i wish you only the light.

I get déjà vu like I’ve lived another life
Like I’m in slumber and someone is calling
I wake from sleep
Dragging  figures through with me from the dreamscape
They stand in my room
They reach for my face

I walk into rooms and forget why I’m there
I forget what I’m saying while I’m speaking it
By the time I find a pen to write it down, the thought is gone
I lose words like people lose pencils, lose paperclips
The ghost of reality eludes me
My mind warps my time here
Everything solid turns into smoke

I jump at nothing
I scare easily
My heart races with nothing to cause it
No love, no predator, no ounce of a thrill
It runs for no reason, cries wolf
While I stand in empty fields and see nothing

Have a bought this with me, too?
Have I dragged this through the veil from another existence?
Have I wondered through the gates with my past lives rattling behind me
Like cans strung to matrimony
What was done to me, there, in the lineal stream behind me?
What enticed this fear?
What chased me in the past?
What hunted me then that haunts me now?

21
they say it in different incredulous tones
/twenty-one/
i don’t feel it
i feel the inverse
the mirror opposite
i feel twice as old, i feel twice as young
i am exhausted, i’ve barely begun
i feel sage-weathered and child-naive
jaded-bitter and hopeful-eyed
i shift between the extremes like a planet with no true north
like a compass in gravitational flux
like a weathervane in a storm
i feel as though i should be uneasy
like an anxious figure is due a visit
as though i am too settled
who gave this calm to me?
is this what the years bring with it?
is this the reward for living this long?
this bone-tired weariness - knowing you’ve gone through hardship, knowing you will again
knowing what is to come can’t possibly be worse than what has come before but knowing it will try it’s damnedest anyway?
i am no longer surprised when things are difficult
that is now the default, will nothing be easy ever again?
is the standard set, the bar raised, the difficulty set to highest?
will it be exponential?
will i unravel further?
do i have anything left to give?
with everything the years have taken from me - is it never enough?
how much further?
how much longer?
when can i finally
rest?