As the walls of Troy
came crumbling down
I wonder where it was
that you ran
I keep a small faith
that something stole you
wrenched you onto its ship
I have words
which taste like venom
or a sinner’s eulogy
that I can put them together
bringing rhapsodists to their knees
have a self-conviction:
are better than mine
are merely the stink
from the suburban ******* tip
you forget that we speak
the same language
the same words
I wake up in May
there is dew on the sill of the window
from my ****** foulness
you climbed through it
with a dry mouth
and a steady voice
is an odyssey for you
I was the antagonist
I wanted to flood your ship
I wanted to drown your men
you are the wise man
with the ideas
who in the end
is meant to save us all
a different you – I know it’s you
you feel the same
strength in your knees
returned to me
and to this archaic city
at the start of May
your words are different
you have a kiss
like the world is ending
and I am your final prayer
we are always searching
for a way to disappear
inside each other
between the walls
of a timber stead
we have cycled
back to the beginning
A foreign city.
Motionless but the wind.
Held down by heat beneath a tram.
A fountain – barren in the cold.
Arms rested against a fence.
We witness a robbery.
Feet gripping gravel.
“THEY WILL HEAR US”
Walking back into the kitchen.
No one to tell.
Head rests against cold tile.
Sweat scrapes like sandpaper.
Heated light bearing against the skull.
Arms like anvils.
Skin like stalactites.
The memory of a home.
breathe it in
it's all for you:
The moss on the trees
the acid in your mouth
the choked air in a sun room.
We can share this together.
See here is the man missing.
the hero is missing.
We heard many great tales of his exploits:
The wife at home,
her endless tapestry
The fatherless son now
A quarter century old.
We can share his glories,
the glorious goods:
Waking up to blood
without a sign of scratch
Come gentle now
The sail is escaping from your grip
This ship is taking us nowhere
Change the gears.
A hero will come, he’ll come
(The hero has left the room)
I keep going back to that night on the beach,
And that one in Kathy's garden where you braided my hair,
And that one in your back room where you got drunk for the first time,
And that one at that party where you passed out,
And that one where you brought that ***** you're dating,
And that one where you wouldn't even look me in the eye,
And that one where you told everyone I wanted to ruin their lives.
What ***** me up most is how I told you I loved you and you said you loved me too,
But you didn't get what I meant.
And now I'm here in the midst of you pretending I don't exist, trying not to let everything go and ******* beg for you;
But I'm not that type of girl.
for the girl that knows she broke my heart
I'll catch public transport every day but never learn the difference between zones 1 and 2.
I won't remember your age, or your birthday, or what your political stance is
But I'll remember about the time when you were six and you knocked your head on a chair, chipping off half of your brand new buck tooth.
And even the way you shook your head self-deprecatingly after you told me that story and pointed to the filling you have now because of it.
You said that it's invisible but I saw it -- if only because you told me it was there.
found this on a scrap from my old job's office at the bottom of my bag
I started writing this when we were still together
The sad thing is that a lot has changed in a week without you.
It always started with how
before you my life was silence,
there wasn't any rhythm or serenity that came from song.
- I've changed it now.
During you, everything was music, and vibrancy, and just-
happy. Then sad.
Now that you're gone I've returned to my primary state.
I feel like the shell of something that used to be. Like whatever I was has crawled out and moved on away.
My old best friend got drunk last night and sent me a message telling me how much he loved me;
because I was pretty,
I wouldn't blame that on you though, because it's been a work-in-progress for
7 years now. You just splashed some more of that onto the already ****** artwork. Someone said that I should start thinking of people as art,
but I'm still failing to see how I could be anything like art myself.
you were a masterpiece-
signed with an expiration date.
"Calm before the storm"
has been on my lips ever since
you started looking at me with
disgust written all over your
face, (don't worry I'm revolting
there's no blame there) here look
how many tongues I can speak.
Are you intimidated yet? My eyes
are drawn dark to scare you
are you properly. Frightened. No?
I'll try harder, you say that too
and you look sad or angry (they're
the same thing these days) where's
my sympathy? You want me to
tell you I love you but how can I
when you slice my tongue every
time give me a chance to breathe
(let up your hold on my throat
please) this is the storm you are
the outlaw your gun is firing it
hasn't. Stopped. Stop. Please the
skin on your nose is burnt
red from my words you meant to
make me cry you changed my
blood pack for wine and now it's
thrumming in my veins these
words will never stop. Stop. They
won't stop because you keep
firing the gun. Stop. Help me stop.
Formatted as such to be read the way it was written.