And I know,
'Just one last time'
Has been uttered too many times,
Over these white lines,
But whatever kills the cravings,
Sweet amnesia - drag me deeper,
And wrap me up,
Cocoon me in your sweetest daze
Take me on my favourite ride,
And bleach these teardrops dry.

I knew this time would arrive again;
My weighted eyes and tired insides;
My not so central nervous system set awry,
With twitching fingers and flickering eyes.
Tell my mother I'm sorry.
I'm at the doctor's door again,
To me this is no surprise.

If life is like a grand piano,
Make me up a melody
With keys both white and black;
Strike notes that play on heart strings,
With joyful rifts that send me souring,
And broken chords that pull me back.

And if life is like a grand piano,
I'll stand below and watch it sway;
Winched out a tenth story window;
The wire begins to thin and fray.

I want that grand piano of life
To answer gravity's beckoning call,
In all it's cartoon-dramatics;
Let it tip, then let it fall.

I want every high and every low;
I want moonlit passions
And morning coffees;
I want screaming matches
And baby scans;
I want passport stamps
And phone calls home;
I want celebrations
And hospital visits.
I want blood;
I want cuddles in the kitchen;
I want sweat;
I want kisses in the rain;
I want tears;
I want lighting strikes and sunrises;
I want scars, stories and tax returns;
I want lies, love and mortgages;
I want to be scared.
I want broken promises met with ''I'm sorry''s;
I want drunken phone-call serenades at 3am,
And slurred ''I love you''s I only half believe;
I want forehead kisses before driving to work;
I want heartbreak.
I want to say ''I love you'' and mean it.
I want to say ''I hate you'' and mean it.
I want to speak at my bestfriend's wedding and ***** it up;
I want to hold my sister's hand when she gives birth;
I want to watch my brother strum guitar on stage;
And then file for a messy divorce as my children finish school.
I want to grow old and wrinkle in whichever way this path has planned.

When I'm ready for it all,
I want life to be boringly brilliant,
And beautifully broken,
And painfully unplanned.
I want to live this life until I'm full and my bones crack.

So when that straining wire does snap -
Just let that grand piano fall;
I'll stand below and won't move a step,
Because in this life I want it all.

I watched as she,
   The surf,
          Giggled and gagged  
                Against sand’s constraints,
                        Playing dead on shore’s lap she lay eager
                    In wait,
                            And he, outwitted by deceit’s delight,
                                 Allowed her company.

Then like a child at play,
     She crashed and caved,
            Swallowed, swilled and spat
          him up.
                She, Crowned in exultation,
                         She, Appeased by smug victory,
                         Arched and moaned and sighed.

She, with a smile that dripped sweet nothings
           Left him smooth,  
                   Polished to glint and gleam.  

                                         Yet, She, upon returning home,
                              As most guilty lovers do,
                   Finally lay still to sound of her lover.

                  I watched,
           as she,       
    sunk to the cries of the Sun,
uttered soft apology.

                    Though, that too, like such lies often are,
       Was drowned by her beloved’s glare,
And for all she had done,

                               Blue was burnt scarlet,
                             as the surf was set ablaze.

So when you rang me up,
Just to scream abuse down the telephone line,
Before throwing yours against a wall,
I thought:
You should have been kinder,
If not for the sake of my bleeding ears;
Perhaps for the sake of the mobiles,
That held no fault,
Yet were forced to relay
each punch dipped in hatred,
thrown across the hurt we made.

Last time you called
Just to call me names,
I thought to say:
Don't shoot your messenger,
As you point the blame,
Think about our phones,
Before you take your aim.
But at least you called,
Could you call again?

Faith found me in the crowd,
With wondering eyes and messy hair,
Leant against the bathroom wall.

So I found Faith in a cafe chair,
With hot coffee and a smile,
More sober than before.

I find Faith in things I thought I buried;
In smaller sensations and softer senses.
I find Faith in holding hands;
And crying over movies;
In hugs and daily check ins;
In stupid jokes and surprises.

In small reminders of how easy
loving is supposed to feel.
I thank Faith for the Faith she has restored in me.

So for our Father,
Who art in heaven,
Hallowed be her name,
When her kingdom comes,
Leave me undone,
As on earth she is my heaven.

And I would make this my daily prayer,
If my disposition allowed as much,
You see Faith had a Faith in me,
Just as the Faithful have Faith in false prophets.
I've never been so good at religion,
My mind questions too much-
Has too little Faith in Faith and the Faithful.

So as I leave this altar running,
Hail me the false prophet,
And pin my memory to a crucifix.
This crown of thorns hangs heavy in blood;
These feet find their way to the confessional once more.
I never meant to be a sinner.
Father forgive me,
For the damage I've done.

So call me the false prophet,
As I spin lies for us both to believe,
As skilled as the spiders I'm scared of;
Watch as I weave a web just for you,
My Baby Blue -
Believe it's custom made;
It's you, It's you, It's you,
I'll be your holy trinity,
Sit tight on your pedestal
And I'll make it spin;
Take you round and round
The usual circles.
I know these roads well,
So I drive them fast
I love the speed as it makes you sick;
I'll wait till your dizzy in the rush of it
Love-sick with the smell of it,
And then I'll ***** you up.

So call me the false prophet,
As I spit sweet sentiments,
And fake futures.

Baby you should have known better,
Why would a person like me,
Change for a person like you?

And the mind is a powerful thing,
Sharper than a knife;
Mine strives to cut people out;
One by one.
With each silhouette chalk-outlined,
A new cake cutter is drawn;
A man-shaped trace lane out
Across white papered floors.

And the mind is a dangerous thing,
A labyrinth spiked with closing doors,
Tantrum prone;
Mine looses once and locks them out;
One by one.
With every snap-scissor-shut,
My paper-chain folds a man longer;
Stacked like secrets beneath my bed

And the mind is a curious thing,
I sleep easy above my burial ground,
And easier still.
The collector;
My romantic hands are ruby-dipped
moon-slicked and warm
As they take to my shovel;
Lessons will be learned
With bones for me to keep;
Row by row,
Proof of guilt lies below me;
2ft wide and 6ft deep.