from the balustrade, the canopy,
comprised of leaves and rooftops and
a diminishing colour-set above
tastes of retreat. familiarity.
she came down to my level,
spelling out instabilities and inscrutinabilities,
like a vague ruffle sent through
harmonious and imperfect hairlines:
this slight haze of separation,
a delicate circling
lust, the vulture of the ninth;

lying in wait, i sit, still,
in the corner, watching the
ceiling for hours,
singing sadnesses like,
oh no, it won't happen this way,
when have i ever learnt?
winning's a single blackout, but
i'm still awake,
still stuck stuck stuck stuck,
already given up and out.
still awake, seven
hundred and fourteen days,
a list of crimes, a handful
of loose opinions, a
devastating need;

never had i felt as if
i couldn't live, without
something i never meant to
want, this much.

with rainfall, she rescinds,
she's discovered i am but dust.

from dust, i'm made rain.

There are worse things
than those that go
bump
in the night.
When the stars are too afraid to
come out from behind their cloud captors.
That is when the demons rise.
Slithering around your feet,
keeping everyone bolted to
their barstool.
Don't worry,
this will only take a minute.
An instant transformation.
Rise my monsters!
Rise!
Poison will be your undoing
and help you reach
a true form.
This is pure.
There are no limitations.
Be afraid of these ghouls.
They whisper and float
through the stale smell of
paradise.
They sit in neon lights,
waiting for the next round.
Rattling chains
as heavy as reality,
the fire burns down.
It gives birth to a new monster.
Just one more.
The world can stop spinning,
for one more.
The transformation is taking hold, it is almost complete.
Blind stares into mirrored walls,
watching as the everything goes black.
No recollection of
your birth.
Rise my monsters,
rise.

Whatever is coming out from the chimneys
is catching the light in the distance,
it trails across the auburn tree tops that are
shedding autumn and getting ready for
the already-here winter,
then flails and falls down.

The train carries on
as does the couple next to me,
they're on about
what they've done and achieved in Leeds
throughout the day;
they paid for a first class carriage
but ended up in carriage C next to me.

We honestly fit right,
I am forever yours,
You make me feel beautiful and alive,
Even though you're not mine to kiss.

Your body is perfect for mine,
But we'll never lay side by side,
I'll never feel your skin against me,
I'll never hold you tight at night at 9.

You'll never touch my face,
Or call me your princess,
You'll never intoxicate me with wine,
You'll never buy me expensive roses.

I'll never get the chance to fill your heart with joy,
Because you're not right for me but my heart thinks so.

denuded of cover
she stands all alone
without a leaf
upon her timbered bones
above in sombre grey skies
an uncaring sun hides
winter's whipping wind
lashes her hide
there she shivers
for want of warm light
there she quivers
through the gelid days and nights
the bitter iciness
ever staying
with the freezing vetch
so cruelly parlaying
the end doth call
she dies
she dies
she dies
in winter's cold pall

the witching hour is upon me
my eyelids are heavy
but never drooping
for the past two years I've been tired
but unable to sleep
without jane or jack
but **** man
those jokers will only take a man so far
and in my case it was to a lot of nights
in a bad situation - dead to the world
or waking up in a haze - unable to remember anything
but I know this double bed feels continents wide
and in it I feel small and vulnerable
there's a fine line between independence and loneliness
and I already used that line on you
trying to get you to keep me company
no ***
or fooling around
deep rapid breaths and the sweet smell of sweat in the air
just somebody to sleep with
to feel their warmth and my warmth reflected back
God
I am tired