My eyes blink shutterclicks against the sun.
She is so bright as she paints  
A sky that is so blue and a grass so green.

Today I can't swallow the weight in my chest
Today the sun is so bright
Too bright.

To taste a tangerine dream
You must sit silent.
You must sit and listen
as the sun sets golden-
Pink flickers licking at the surface of the sea,
As it moves,
In time with the moon and his rising
And falling to the curve of the earth.

To see peace you must sit still.
You must feel deep and listen
To gravity's beck and call.
Watch while we twirl
And let go with the flow of it all,
Feel how slow we move
Waltzing circles round the sun.

Here you will find me -
Find us all.
If only you stop for a second,
To taste the awe of it all.

I can feel the cogs in my brain getting loose again,
Not quite fitting -
not quite spinning in time,
Spitting sparks that fly, ignite and burn
Bringing light to dark corners and melting locks that keep the past in its box.
I pandora, so out of time,
moving towards
and away from you
As I find my feet dancing in complex rhythms
Driven by the drums of my demons that have learnt to remove their muzzles and sing
Do you see this vessel shake out of tune?
Do you feel the tremors that set muscles moving to the moments of memory?
There is a girl that wants you to notice and wrap her up
There is a girl that wants you to notice and give her up
There is a girl that hopes you never notice something is up
In my head again,
Upheaved
I can't quite sit still again,
can't quite smile straight again.
can't quite sleep right again
so these pills sit tight on my tongue again
Blue like my blood that calls out for more
Blue like the bruises only my eyes still see
Blue like the unsafe flame our science teacher warned us of,
This blue has become apart of the essence of me
Hot, I flicker in shades of the ocean,
And blue flames flicker with violence
I move blue, I move blind,
With these waves in my mind
That crash hard
And lap slow.
I can only apologise for the temper of my tides
This sea is angry still, sad still, yet loves you still.
I pray ur boat sails strong.

I still get a little dizzy when u kiss me;
Like the world turns a little faster;
Tilts a little more on its axis -
As our lips touch.
So time for you
                           and time for me
passes slower.
As the rest of the world watches;
I am left feeling a little out of spin;
A little out of sync;
And a little more in love.

When we are apart at night;
I find us behind the closed curtains of my eyelids;
Against the side of my skull where you have me pushed.
Back brushes bone  
As I lie on foreign sheets
My fingers lace the curls in your hair
As yours curl my throat and finger the lace
That slips from my skin to the floor.
Your are not between these four walls
and never have treaded the space that they hold
Yet still your scent sends sparks skittering
as they spill up and over these spinal slopes
Our mouths meet with welcome;
And tongues intertwine in time to touch
Teasing - my teeth find a grip upon your lips;
And pull, to lead, in my mind,
As we move to the bed of the brain.

Alone at night I am flushed hot;
By the infernal cells that conjure you here.
With your skin against mine;
Above and beneath me;
We move in time to the rythm of blood,
And waltz through valves from chamber-
To chamber as I am reminded;
The thought of you is the thread that should never be pulled;
But always is;
And I did and I do;
Call me your most impatient play-thing
As each neuron leads to the next
Forming circuits that race me to you.
Each image-sensation floods this vessel till I am sunk, weakly overcome,
By the mix of memories that meet and merge,
Warm like the tides soaked in sunlight.
I swear by the power of the moon:
With every wave I am pulled an inch closer to you.

The kids are high;
Their Liquored lips lifting
To swell with holes in their eyes;
Like black jewels they shine;
Deep pools to let in extra light;
Extra love;
They are hot with an extra warmth
And how it shows;
Glows from within skins
flushed slick and salty.

The kids are high;
And they are sitting in a circle;
They hug one another and stroke each others hair;
They retell their favourite stories;
And confess their kindest compliments with their softest smile
All the while they would swear;
They have never felt so happy;
Or so humanly connected.

The kids are high;
So I guess you should call the police.
Tell them about the risks of delinquents on drugs.
The kids are high;
And they have never been more at peace.
The kids are high;
So they must be a danger.
The kids are high;
And they are truly happy.
The kids are high;
And you hate them for it -
How dare they take pills you didn't prescribe?
The kids are high of their accord.
Do you think they are troubled?
Or do you think they are bored?
The kids are high;
And they are dancing
Dancing with a devil you waltzed with once,
When you too were young,
The kids are high;
And for each step tread
Down your footprint path
You hate them.
The kids are high
And they love you.
The kids are high
Mind the irony.

I listen as your throat fills up again
Spilling tainted tales of torment
That twist till your tongue ties itself
In knots to form a new shape of you.
You will talk until I am convinced.
Talk until the riddles stumble
Upon sense
And I will listen until your face turns blue.

I see the knot you've become.
A contortionist - you seem set on self mutilation;
While I watch wincing
With every sharp angle your tangles
Take you.
It must hurt to paint your body with my blood.
It must hurt to push your feet
Into shoes not built for you.

And I know you'll never find her
The shell you've moulded your shadow to fit;
As I too have played dress up in fantasy clothing;
And trust in me that they never hang well.
But I hope one day you find her;
The girl I met back then;
With a figure that wore her own words,
Because I really did like her;
I just wish you had liked her too.

After all the things that have been done;
To the skin this body is forced wear;
My brain has evolved a loaded gun
Dispatched to axe each love affair
So when we both to ****** come
With my fingers wound within you hair
Somehow I lack the urge to run
And I guess a trust like ours is rare.

The first time was in the bathroom
Of a club I was four years too young for;
Lessons would be learnt;
Bent over a broken sink;
With my face pressed against the mirror;
My mascara ran rivers down the glass
Carving lines that looked like prison bars.
With rough hands;
He reached inside me;
And broke instruments I hadn’t yet touched;
No wonder I couldn’t play love songs,
I was still learning how to make love to people I actually loved;
But my 14 years were too few to be angry
Didn’t quite know how
Didn’t know quite what he’d done;
And what that might do.
So I hid my thighs and ribs for three weeks ashamed;
My fake ID collected dust
Buried beneath my bed and self-blame.

That first encounter,
Left me frozen in an un-safe
space I couldn’t name
So I wanted time to stop its ticking,
Hold its breath and bite it’s tongue with me
An indefinite moment of silence to commemorate the crime committed,
But lessons would be learnt
As to my horror the cogs in the clocks kept rolling,
Every day since has stacked upon the last,
Racking up years
15: it took more than 365 days to dare to share the guilt,
16:  over 730 to absolve myself,
17: 1095 to say what had happened out loud.

The second time was in my kitchen,
He was a friend between blurred lines;
And ten drinks too many;
Lessons will be learnt.
I don't remember leaving with him
Or getting home.
But I’ve never known how to have *** sober so I guess it’s my fault too.
I woke up with an ache and my shoes still on.
There were no bruises; we are still friends; and I still don’t know who to blame.

The third time,
I was walking home, the air was fresh,
I had my headphones on;
Lessons would be learnt.
His fingers were dry and nails sharp as I froze;
It felt familiar;
His breath was hot;
Soaked wet with alcohol.
The bricks hit my back hard
But I like to think my knuckles hit harder.
I saw my mother the week after
I did not cry as I explained a  purple hand.
At least I had known where to aim it.

The fourth time,
I knew he was dangerous and I liked it,
Lessons would be learnt
With my hands bound above my head
He took control and mine with it;
He savoured every scream I spat;
So I, silently simmering, left my body there sickly still.
I am not a believer
but I told him he’d rot in a hotter part of hell
As he unbuckled me with a malboro red and a laugh that I choked on
So I took the cigarette and gave him a dose of what the devil will do for me,
A small vengeance that burnt like the venom in my veins

I have felt like flames so many times now
Been consumed by violent flickers,
That set this bloodied body ablaze,
But even the biggest bonfires burn out,
And I am no different
My bones are black with char like wearied wood
So when I take the train home I count my bruises;
I'm unsure which ones were left without consent.

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.

Almost;
The way he looks at her;
Why I cannot fall in love with you;
I’ll cry you a sand dune;
A cigarette’s scar;
Girls love boys;
Girls love girls;
Paranoia and emptiness – the things in which we trust;
Therapy;
The things that are not real;
My girl’s best ex;
A piano key’s symphony;
A warning for my lover;
An addict’s guide to life;
The ways I bleed now;
A permanent smile.

The stress of each syllable,
Soft stutters, a slip and a smile.

With effortless grace and fluency,
Your tongue arcs
And curls,
Meeting your lips briefly; parting again,
And so it goes
Lapping shores I know the taste of.

You read meanings into lines that weren’t yours;
I was lost in your translations.

Why must your youness be so
Impeccably imperfect,
That I cannot write you justice;
Cannot conjure even a shell of you.

Ever the joker you dance
At the edges of my vision;
Remain uncapturable yet unforgettable,
As I feverishly, fervently fail to
Sketch the shape of you.
My love,
I would slit my wrists with a ballpoint pen,
If only the ink ran a truer colour of you.

Rivers stain paper and corners curl crisp;
My pen runs dry over and over.

**** baby,
I’m Having another episode,
Will you watch it with me?
My track won’t stop skipping;
Siren won’t stop screaming,
As the song drones on and on and on
And on in screeches of violent pitches

I am reminded that the witches’ words ring true
As I dance with the devil;

I guess it does take two to tango.

My love,
You wove words into wool;
A spider, you strung sentences into works of art;
While I, blind and blundering,
Tried to find solace in the stitching;
Thread webs into safety nets.
Yet there was perhaps a fatal flaw I forgot to mention:
I don’t know how to weave,
And I’m really ******* scared of spiders,
And time, and loss and love and you and me and most other things.
(But mostly spiders - like heart-stopping-body-spasming scared)

So, my pretty Baby blue,
I wish you and I, a doomed arachnophobe,
Could exist between the lines of love poems,
Could spend mornings in bed with tea from our favourite mugs,
Could spend nights walking home from our favourite pubs,
Could be everything I wished for us.
But life catches on and time catches up,
So for now I’ll dip my tongue in sugared coatings,
And try to lick your wounds clean.
I’ll etch your voice into vinyl, and put your track on repeat,
An album of day-to-day complaints;
Awkward stories; and the reasons you’re always right.
I’ll sit content, and sway to the rhythm of your tune,
And watch you, my friend, my baby blue,
Move, and bloom, to the unique beat of you.
And maybe you in turn, if you wouldn’t mind of course,
Could teach me not to run from spiders,
Like I always seem to do

'I can read you like a book'

Can you read me like a book?
Because if you can,
I must be written in Latin;
Some long-lost language you do not speak.
Or perhaps -
You are holding upside-down;
The wrong-way-round;
Or back-to-front.

Am I made of paper?
Is my skin a composition of wood-pulp,
Rice, and cotton?
Do you see my history
Running across collar-bones?
My thoughts printed over elbow;
Emotions scrawled upon my stomach?

No.
I have a spine.
Yes.
But that does not make me a novel,
Nor your novelty.
You cannot pick me up from the shelf
For light holiday-reading,
I am not here to excite your imagination;
I am not here for your entertainment.
My life is not fiction;
My future not fact;

So, do not say you can read me like a book,
Because books don’t have lungs or mouths or hands,
Books do not grow with the years they withstand.
But I do and I will.

I am not a saint and neither are you.
So what are we to do -
But sit back and
Watch the same suspects;
Sit in self-pity,
Sick to their stomachs;
With own-grown notions;
Of a love so cavity-sweet.
A rotten romance
Written by children -
Drags us all to the dentist.

As it takes centre stage;
We act it out together.
Watch as they gorge themselves
Fat on the falsity;
Stuck in a daze of how they
Ought to be;
Of how they'll never be.

And the hope heals the heat of it.
Softens the sting of it -
Like milk;
But like milk that sits stagnant;
It'll slowly turn sour.
Watch as the older ones choke on it.
Swig back and cough up the chunks in it.
Self-hatred never settled well.

Look,
Look but don't touch.
People like us are too rough;
For the people of painted porcelain.
Fairy-tale spines are feeble;
Paper hearts and scripted stories
Smolder in the heat of us;
Fold with the weight of us.

And I will never understand,
Why delusions rule reality?
Why broken hearts are promised
to teenage dreamers?
Why mad in love is the golden rule?
Surely, insanity only drives you to a hospital?
I can't go back down that road.
I want to be sane in love;
The same in love;
Or not in love.
After all,
What's wrong with a little *** and sanity?

So, We are not saints;
And I don't believe in god.
I don't need your love story.
Baby don't lie to me;
Heaven isn't here for the finding;
**** fake fantasies;
Let's make our own masterpiece;
Just paint my skin with your lips
with my lips on your skin;
before we fall asleep.

I hung your heart
With your coat by the door,
You can have it back;
When you leave in the morning.

-HCS