He was as bright as the sparks
dancing above the flames,
He burnt amidst the darkness,
Singeing those who were caught
In a trance,
He was mesmerising and magical,
Exciting and ephemeral.

I daren’t breathe, or,
I could ***** out his light.

Alone, on my sailboat, miles from the shore.
The clouds seem so thick out here,
Enveloping me in their eerie embrace.
With their silver tongues, they claim to protect me;
To hide me from reality.
I have long since forgotten the need for wind behind my sails.
A blinking light from afar calls after me,
Yet, I am lost in a fog that I may never escape.

They may say that I have my head in the clouds,
But no, the clouds took me for their own.

I am the wilted roses in your vases,
I am the stale water in your glasses,
I will always be bittersweet;
A reminder of past kindnesses.
Abandoned by your neglect.
I linger.

Sometimes, I feel like a trinket on the mantelpiece of your life,
a small sentimental reminder,
my significance forgotten.

You search your mind for why you ever picked me up,
with delicate, fumbling fingers,
all those years ago.

And I'm lost in the chasm of your memories,
all you can see now are my scuffed porcelain cheeks,
my chipped shoulder blade.

The wonder is gone;
you cast me away,
as if I had always meant nothing to you.

Sunflowers, canaries, bumblebees,
jaundice, sour lemons, warning signs.
A colour is a colour, until its not,
so she hid herself in yellow.

Is it but a coincidence,
that she shows herself to be sunshine?
To distract from the storm inside,
she paints her outsides bright as day.

The yellow girl twirls in her room,
perfecting her flawless routine -
her performance as a sun ray -
ready again for the next day.

But when that yellow mask comes off,
prepare yourself for a downpour;
because no one ever taught a hurricane
not to rip others apart,
as they tear themselves to shreds too.

Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow,
like the sun, like the scorching flame.
If only I'd seen the warning,
I would not give myself the blame.

I take solace in the flowers,
They bloom and are beautiful,
They bring joy and meaning,
They smile at the sun, turning into the light,
Perhaps I wish I could be a flower,
They are all that I strive to be.

Bruised knuckles and shaking fingers,
These will always remind me of him,
Of a boy that I can no longer claim to know.

Bruised knuckles and shaking fingers,
I always hated the fact that his hands
looked looked how I felt.

Bruised knuckles and shaking fingers,
the sign that I hadn't got there in time,
I hadn't stepped between him and the wall,
the wall that he so desperately want to crash against.

Bruised knuckles and shaking fingers,
it always ended this way;
the feeling still lingers.