What peace it seemed, in the orange sun on this day
the colour that of jasper sunsets
yet it was 2:52pm


and I could think of nothing
but you


as the sand blew from the Sahara
the aftermath, the eye of that hurricane,
hazing in it’s most humid saffron


Isn’t chaos such a horrifically beautiful concept?
perhaps only that.


Filled with rage, rage that tastes like raw Astrid copper
copper so heavy that turned the sun
the sun that lit up my moon


And turned my chaos, to peace
For you could stop hurricanes

my serenity,
my wonder,
my love.

Head Full of Nightmares
I knew how to walk directly into the storm now, two years later
I've yet to learn how to become the calm among the chaos
I am the chaos
My nights wither into one
The eternal struggle with oneself
To be soothed or tortured?
I can't have skin on skin contact with you, even when you cradle me like a baby, like our baby, without imagining you on her
I like to be asleep
Its my favourite place again
Even if my nights are full of her voice,
thousands upon thousands of her voices, all on top of each other,
all under your naked body
And somehow I can't stop loving the torture

You spoke in nothing but riddles and metaphors and rhymes
And yet all the poetry in the world could not describe your beauty
The way you held every little thread of wonder, every gasp of pain, every drop of melted wax on unadulterated skin in the eyes that reflected the goddess in all three of her forms, and every god she bewitched
And the eyelashes that fluttered like the lilac butterflies
We liked to talk about so much

And it still kills me inside knowing that you are so close and yet I might never get to feel your lips on the back of my neck again
Or the way you grasped me just underneath my ribs and made my spine arch, just for you, or the way you grabbed my throat and pulled me close to you, without ever touching more
Because that would be breaking rules
The rules that I was too scared to break, even with your lips turning blue from the cold, your skin broken and your throat raw from the thin white lines dripping over and over

You used to place your hands on my belly, and trace little love hearts, just below my navel
And in each love heart plant a little kiss
And leave me staring, mesmerised
Your lips would brush so gently on the soft baby hair on my skin, until it stood up on end, as if in anticipation
And you’d smile and promise me,
“One day”

And now you hold another woman’s child and show him to build fires, like the ones you kept me warm with

I can’t look at the crystals anymore without thinking of their reflection in your irises as we unwrapped yet another ounce, and she spilled into our hands, purple and pink and orange shards
That we used to laugh about
Philathylamine connections to bring the coins spilled into our hands
For our future, you said
Pure love, or was it but a chemical love story?
When they all started to trip and turn to monsters
And you stayed pure
Mandy showed me ecstasy, and you embodied that, untouchable
Ecstasy and agony, do they always simply co-exist, or are they merely the same?

Twisted

“Sober as a Judge”