let’s split the seconds in two

break apart the bark of dead trees

and sail away like summer

like echoes

echoes

we’re back here again, no winebottles to hold us

the waves break on our skin

whispering about echoes of

the wind drops like grenade pins

paid for by palestinians

profits into our superpowers pocket

we’re echoes of endless

take one of those moments in a second

crush it up and breathe it in

just how rolled up notes showed you

hold this moment longer than you’re meant to

steal time from the gods

cos i want to look into your eyes one last time til tomorrow

i am a series of echoes of endless meaningless patterns

like pythagoras put a purpose on me

like a madman i’ll scream to anything that’ll hear me

the whole room sways to the beat of your breathes

the knowledge you cradle like life inside will never leave

it’ll warm you in moments of distress

you’ll feed it in moments of perfectness

sometimes the symbols aren’t right,

but you blurred the borders between me and love

letters and poems

dreams and stories

our thought patterns in sync like mushroom trips

i love you.

-

words

are infinite

like

the journey to here

the random chemical concotions

or just

preselected stories.

and pi to seven decimal places sounded with syllables sparks superstitious symbols

electrical impulses brief bits of data

it’s all down to disbelief in coincidence.

believing in confidence

patterns need a purpose

lose yourself in them

easier to avoid the pain that your brain knows to be true

that you’re part to blame

for the begging bin bags

the bombs and the poverty

the lifestyle of monotony

so i’ll keep saying it til i work out how to say it properly...

0.000001/=0

You’re the dreamer.
The poet and the pauper.
A scratch just waiting to be itched, an unlit matchstick and a patch half stiched.
You are the computer’s late night glow,
the ink that flows,
from ideas in code.
You are community owned.
You are the keyboard taps and headphone beats.
Evolution for free.
Fighting for the peaceful dream.
You are the words of change and the winds of rage.
The shadows that skulk in the street.
You are the heaven that heckles hell, the bellowing of the brittle bell.
But they can’t break your bones cause they’re the echoing of our souls.
You are the half finished manuscript, the crescendo before the storm.
You see through their lies and live out our lives.
You are the positive patterns of our neurons.
You are the death cry of white dwarves.
The picture of perfection made pure by repeat,
the flowers that bleed through the cracks in concrete.
You are the hopeful birdsong at morning’s first light,
the cradle of the night,
and freedom’s plight.
You are the mirror we all look into when we’re lost
and the cycles we’re chained to when we’re not.