This town,
where the old church sings
the song of silence.
Where the houses
have a familiar light in the windows.
This town was mine, a while back -
for a while.

Then she came,
in her black dressing gown,
and said to this town "goodbye"
on my behalf.

What a *****!

Red were the roses
The ones I left on your casket
Orange were the leaves
The ones in your tree
Yellow were the bruises
The ones that covered you head to toe
Green were the stains
The ones on the hem of your jeans
Blue were your lips
The day you were found in your noose
Indigo was the night sky
That night that you died
Violet was the bruise
That you wore around your neck.

you were broken glass but

i still touched you even

though i knew i would get hurt

I have walked this earth a thousand times.
Dirt. A loose aggregate of particles, held together by gravity, and moisture.
Rain. Water suspended. Resurging. Cascading in plumes, like sheets of smoke.
Sky. Blue. Stretched like canvas. Abstract. Nowhere. Everywhere.
I exist. Here. Standing. Thinking.
I am dead. I am being born.
I am existing across all time and space, but I do not know it.
At this moment, I am trapped. I am unconscious. I am unaware.
I have walked this earth a thousand times, and cannot even remember.
Because it has not happened. Has yet to happen. May never happen.
Future. A nonexistence on the horizon.
Hope. An ache. A nothing replaced with nothing.
Misery. The wretched face in the mirror.
A child wears my eyes. She drifts through life.
Scared. Alone. Free.
She plays in the forest. Her small, sap-covered hands grasp branch after branch.
She enters intermediate school. Is called freak. Is judged by her skin, her eyes.
She realises she is different for the first time.
Alien. Deviant. Other.
Her eyes fill with self-hatred.
I have watched this moment a thousand times, yet can do nothing.
Disintegration. The act of separation.
Loneliness. A billion strangers condemned to live together.
Existence. A billion billion billion particles, shifting beneath my flesh.
There is no death that can end my being.
I have felt the atoms of my past collide, and spark into biology.
I have felt the atoms of my future shred like fractals, spiralling into a dim, dark nothingness.
I have felt all this, and none of it.
From infinity I came, to infinity I’ll go. Forever cycling in the pantomime of existence.
This pretend construct of space and time.

The energy of a twisted stretched rubber band
is some days all there seems to be
and calling on reserves that are no longer to be had
can be a forlorn hope
So you eke out what you have, mindful of a shortening light
that gets shorter everyday
and you spin off into Autumn like a discarded shriven leaf
all discoloured and sapped of green.

You feel ready to do anything to fix yourself up
Dieting you tried and ******* in makes it worse

After spending hours on your hair and make up
Angling yourself best self consciously in party photos

Then crying at home when going through them
For a decent Instagram picture; nothing's good enough

It doesn't make sense because you tried right?
Yet your cheeks are balloons inflated on your face

A smile constrained, painfully stretched across your face
You've forgotten how to smile properly so became fake

You look at your beautiful friends and selfishly wish for their assets
Then sigh wistfully posting a few reasonable pictures and smile

At the heart lifting comments on your beauty that fails to be seen*
**Yet it touches you that others can somehow manage to see it in you.

There she stood
with wobbly knees,
arms limp as a dying flower,
shoulders set to kiss the earth,
hiding within her heart
this nerve-racking,
conspicuously slanderous self-awareness
of being unloved.

I once lived a night when shooting stars rain down from the sky until morning.
My sight blurred to pastel ball of lights that filled the streets outside my window.
My feet itch to silently walk that empty road,
My eyes beaming with a desire to keep everything inside the pockets of my shirt.

Everything was perfect until the lighting struck, truth carved deep in my skin,
Screaming in a deafening tone that all of it was just a dream.