You are the cosmic rays that dance on my face;
Such a soft yet powerful death
Heralded by the fallen angels and wrapped
In gift bubbles of soda and smoke.
Sometimes, you are imperceptible,
The passing pollution that whistles in my ear
And settles slyly in my lungs.
Sometimes, you are background noise
A power plant I have no use for
In a world so driven by sunlight
And I feel I have shrugged off your load...

But then the earth shakes
And your nuclear explodes.

We drank cider
And filled our faces
With cheesecake that tasted
Almost as tangy as the blood
That fizzed through (and out) of my veins
As a consequence of you.
And I thought to myself,
The sunlight will always be golden
But I will never again smell cigarette smoke
And think of anyone other than you
With your stupid hyperbolic smile
And if I can't see the way eight pm
Looks beneath your lashes
Or the way the summer hours
Turn your hair into auburn fire
Then I may as well bury my eyes
In the soil that hasn't yet
Managed to kiss your feet.

You are a blank rose doused in wine;
Too thrilling for my pen to hold,
You shed your petals in my mind.

I want to freeze your face in time
But flowers blister in the cold-
You are a blank rose doused in wine.

My morning sunshine makes it fine,
Repaints the waste in liquid gold-
You shed your petals in my mind.

I'm veering off the railway line
Grasp out for hanging vines to hold;
You are a blank rose doused in wine.

The thoughts dissolve in seafoam brine
As if my memory's been sold;
You shed your petals in my mind.

But I still hope to find a sign
A crumpled map into your soul;
You are a blank rose doused in wine,
You shed your petals in my mind.

Yank the headlines,
They're just vintage tape disguised;
Force the months to run to you,
Unspool like tired ribbons in your cupped palms.

Be generous with the scissors,
Rip apart the snippets that candy the truth,
Commit glamour-shot genocide to avoid
That little green glint of jealousy in your eye-

It's a useless emotion, and time will fly
Quicker without it nipping your ankles-

But pull them, beat their crawl into a sprint
And if they won't come,
Commission extra strength from the wind

Until you're gurgling ink and it's everywhere,
Political names that mean less to you now
Heaving their last breaths on your fingertips
Like tired wasps drowned in honey.

Pull until Doomsday is splattered across your window
And the fruit is rotting in its bowl
And the frenzied radio is yelling
Like a banshee the slogan
That puts a layer of ice into your liver-

History repeats itself
And the blood runs like a river.

Oh, Gabriel.

i have so little of me left

                                                    it's  s l i v e r s, really, silhouettes


a     scatter ing            of cel ls     at be st


                                                       why would i let you have the rest?

I bet you're #$@&%! other girls
who don't brush ***** out their curls
the type that rides santander bikes and
can't fall for people their mate likes, who
play piano when they say they will,  
and write about romantic things, like walking tightropes
blowing glass or #$@&%! in your room in spring

I bet you read to them in Latin, bet
they think you're chatting... utter #$@!
and that there's fairy lights above their beds
where you've cuddled all their friends,
it's almost poly, am i wrong? platonic head, you all get on
yes, and they sing
and look like disney when they're close
they're milkmaids, pornstars, near divine
no plasters needed, they shave fine
;
anyway,
I bet he'd love to #$@& them too,
because they're handy with their hands,
they have craft tables or play the bass in some punk band
and when they go to galleries they understand
why some artists are grouped with others when
to me it's all whatever, i'll see them all whatever

oh and bless! their kisses mean things
and mine are ill-thought-out and grime
they remind you of the time, with me it's always getting late...
i'm an r/truecrime date-  ​
i think that dahmer's in my teeth
not great for someone scared of meat...

and when you, when you, when when, when, um, i

i bet you're #$@&%*! them and more,
i bet he'd love to do it too,
his ice clear veins like Finnish waters
your endless thirst for Athens' daughters
but i don't really want to know,
don't need you randomers to call;
no cigar shops, sketchpad summer,
not the clash or prop-up vogues
what i really need is sunlight
and myself
i miss her most

On the surface of her eyes,
An algal pool in full bloom.
He wades in with his lashes, caught,
Stumbles around in the fishing nets
Soaked to the knee.

The place in which the oxygen should be
Is choked up now, perplexed, verdant,
A floating city of jealous skirts
Buffeted by a harsh March wind...

And further down, he has her pinned
Tracing paths in shallow waters
Close yet distant to seashell ears
Roughening the lilypad surface
With a single feather.

Through algal bloom, she wonders whether
He'll bother wading down to meet
The covert Atlantis beneath his feet.

Honey and lies
Pour from your eyes,
Strip off your skin
And try ours on for size.
If it fits, let it sit,
Let it settle down,
Then wipe off the dirt
And watch us all drown.

Oh, how hard to be trapped underground
Don't make a sound 'cause there's people around
And they don't want to lick our wrists clean
We drink up our syrup
And don't make a scene

Candy canes and you win alone
Sugar glaze and a mind of stone
Sweeter days and you send the rats out
To whittle us down to the bone

Lavender skies
And existing to die
Another world crumbles
And the internet cries
And it fits, doesn't it,
With the human frame?
We learn
We advance
We remain the same.

Oh, how hard to be watching them burn
A crisis returns and the leading man earns
And babies bawl and the gun shots are dire
But we get a thrill from fearing the fire

Candy canes and we choke alone
Sugar glazes and stomachs of stone
Sweeter lies and apathy comes
To whittle us down to the bone.

We sit there in the morning,
Me in your shirt, you slipping on mine,
Cold coffee in a cup I know you'll leave
But I give to you any way (it's tradition).
We spent last night inches apart
So close that our hair might have switched
Or your eyesight sharpen and mine diminish
To swap our pupils round.
We chew the names of old friends out like popcorn
Barely a breath given to any individual-
Me asking about yours, you teasing about mine
The two of us (mostly) never not in agreement.
It's been this way, one might say,
For 14 years and a little over that, too,
Not that I remember clutching your hand as we lay
Belly to belly on a baby rug with our parents watching.
Your smell becomes mine, so I associate it with home-
Sweet and fresh like candy tulips and soap.

We may as well be one; this is how little our paths diverge.

But you asked for sunlight
So sunlight you must have, nothing
Apart from spinning gold
In places you will never reach, nothing
Beyond an incendiary bore
A couple thrilled little waves
An abundance of rays, observe how sometimes
They make the flakes of dead skin dance
Turn a few times in the air,
You asked for sunlight
So sit there and watch it before it dissolves
Everything is temporary,
Give it a little smile so it knows
You're still appeased when tasting its glow.

The earth is tired,
I can feel it-
Slumbering in dried grass,
Scratchy like straw on a cat's head,
Wallowing in auburn fatigue.

The insects sense it, too,
Hovering nearer to ground
With each wafting touch of breeze
Which pushes wrinkled leaves closer
To looming autumnal suicide.

Still, there are patches of deviant green,
Rebels
In a climate that has declared civil war
On itself through crackling heat-
And there's people, so many people,
Not dropping yet like leaves
In colder situations

But riding bikes with pulsing energy,
Yelling vibrant colours
Into dwindling, pastel summer evenings,
Kissing scraped knees and dancing
On concrete in bare feet,
Wiping brows outside cafes and bars,
Or lounging in the lull
Of spluttering sunlight and whistling birds.

Their energy is palpable, close, electric,
The beat of humanity just
Existing
Alone or in groups,
Laughing or sighing,
Filling the universe up to the brim
With our colourful garbage
And cluttered emotion.

Sometimes, I wonder why
We still gravitate to nature  
So easily and whenever we can.

Then I remember how similar
Our souls are to oceans,
And our brains to tree roots,
And our hearts to mountains.

Maybe sometimes, the tired earth
Needs us a little too.

What's in a human
A scattering of bones
With puppet strings worn thin
Spellbound to earth alone
And miles and miles of skin

What's on that skin
An architect's drunk paths
Bombs exploding by touch
And clumsy human marks
From broken hearts and such

What's in those hearts
A cracked kaleidoscope
Search parties for the blind
Through knots of living rope
The core of humankind

But what makes a human
Beyond sunlit plasma,
Mind hatchlings that enthrall?
If the deities scoop darker
Would they find anything at all?

The rich herbal infusion of your blood
It blots on paper, makes funny shapes,
You giggle-
Teabag skin stripped by a paperclip,
Torn so easily, it smells like rain
Like the first time your bare feet touched soil

You long to lick it,  
It's the liquified form of tension,
Some inner tangle propelled outwards,
Tempting, tempting,
Like stuffing a yarn doll with its own string;
The re-consumption is only natural,
But allow it still to flow-

It is water let loose from a dam or a hose
That's been blocked with moulding leaves
And now sprays fitfully just because it can,
A thousand explosives set loose
From their trembling captors.

By no means is it neat,
But the sieves of your veins have kept it
Fresh and scarlet with health,
So it isn't unpleasant to look at.

Drain it, let it pour like honey across the table
Where your family sits, silent and traumatised,
Watching the deluge do what it does best.

Pour them a cup of it to have with their slices
Of cake and biscuit crumbs on their plates;
Haemoglobin is good for the brain,
Gentle terror for the soul.

One inhalation of the sky
To separate the murky sea
And reassure you as you cry
The clouds still hover by your knee.

Two puffs of moonlight left behind
As products of the midnight rose
Then let your sorrow be refined
As angels let their weak wings close.

Three champagne bubbles of a laugh
A courtesy sent by a friend
A flash of lightning in the dark
Like vaulting over to the end.

Step four is harder than the rest
As it depends on nature's strain
Abandon sunshine on your quest
And wallow in torrential rain.

And halfway there it's number five
And rhythm marks a saddened truth
A little song to drown alive
A beacon in such inky youth.

A devil's dance at number six
Invest in favouring your greed
Some crime electrifies the mix
Prioritise things you don't need.

At seven let yourself break free
And choke in sympathetic arms
Unscrew the lock and break the key
Because your friends contain some calm.

Except, at eight you'll be alone
Reciting old quotes that apply
And spending hours on your phone
Relating till your eyes are dry

At number nine then, here it is
The scent of fear that smells like grace
You tune your blood to lightly fizz
And brush the tears from off your face

Ten gashes end the whole ordeal
Of shortened breath and shaking hands
Though sunsets bleed the way you feel
No one else will understand

It's not a choice, it's a command.

Now your mind is stressing less
You've cured the chaos with a mess.

The dinner guests have all agreed:
"Why yes, we love the poor;
The softened little sunken eyes-
What's there not to adore?
The way they dress in raw distress
It's flaunted like Dior-
For heaven's sake, there's lots of steak
Who's for a little more?"

Now that the meal is over
The subject's come and passed
The dinner guests compare their crests
Sat smugly on their ***
Now that the sun is setting
The poor rise from the streets
It's time to stumble round again
And scrounge some food to eat.

The paper cuts
Breed like the plague
The piano keys are curt
The tune is turning vague  
Life has jammed salt
Right down my throat
So I scrub my tar soul
From the lyrics I wrote
Every night.

But yeah, I've been alright.

The wine stains won't wash out
I hope you do soon, though.

I've learned to trace
The curves of your name
Through marks on my skin that were all too straight
And I've rubbed them raw-

Scarlet, aching, throbbing,
Irritated because of how many times I've dug my nails
Into the memory of you carved into my shoulder,
Or my wrist, thigh, hip...

The list goes on, and so do you,
Even when the licks of fire turn tamer, whiter, faded
With time that tries to give me relief but makes me
PANIC
Instead,
Because at least when it's all fresh,
I can hear your voice in my ear
And the cut of your jib is outlined by the cut on my... well, anything.

I want your fingers wrapped around my waist
But in my mind's clouded eye you pull away
Every time, and all I feel is rain drops on amber skin, and the blade grips ever tighter.

Normal girls who cry at night and not at sunset
Have stretch marks guiding their insecurity,
But I bet you've never been to a lido with your parents
After getting a new tattoo of a bitter I'll-never-know's name imprinted on your arm...

And if you have, well, you'll never tell me
Because even though I trace you every time I'm reminded of your seaside green glass eyes
I haven't looked the past in the face

Since the last time you said you'd see me soon.

She is turning in now,
To the syrup grey of the city scape:
Splintering limbs to fit into cracks
And stripping her flesh to line
The potholes; the local council smiles
At the diminished road repair fees.

She is turning in now,
Before the stairs to the sky break:
Spraying her blood on the old brick tiles
And plucking her vocal chords out
To busk with; the local players grin
At the spectacle which reins the coins in.

She is turning in now,
While the skyline is scrubbed senseless:
Shooting her gouged eyes up like marbles
So they are first to taste the morning light;
And this time only the birds laugh
For they recognise her need to escape-
And the circular motion of constant daybreak.

Hey, my love on a far comet,
It's a golden sun kissed 7:42
I'm eating figs, bruise purple,
Plucked from the fridge,
Dipped deep in you.

Hey, my cosmic queen of hearts,
I've been an ocean since peach cloud 8:00
Full of oysters, strange deep gardens
Growing for you,
Eager to wait.

Hey, my bourgeois madam,
It's a bit past 8:15
I'm hearing birds, chirping blue,
And holding you warm,

Within this dream.

then from the grimy floor
of the lavender fields' portaloo swells
an endless summer, and it creeps
up the blood orange walls;
each time i take a breath,
the plastic warbles like an underwater thing
we make little whooshes together  
it swells up and leaks out yellow

like i fear the girl's head will,
across the road,
all shaved and shiny like a soft boiled egg
fit to crack if the wrong car swerves
the wrong way...
anyway,
cancer?
at such a young age?

or the bees outside
springing up cushions,
decorative soaps, honey,
chocolate even out there from the earth
and i can't kick back and laugh
at how much they must be worth
because my god-

i'm scared of bees-

especially with the lavender
mingling with the sweat
in the soft part behind my knees
because what if they chose to stick there
and build empires from my flesh instead?

i'd be like that little girl;
as good as

anyway
sometimes my thighs conduct
like they're made of brass
and there's hail marys in the dust
tiny earthquakes caused by trucks
the tip of an ice cream cone
that isn't soggy

that's good enough

i stayed a little longer
than the trickle did

love will not because it cannot

heal it has no cough drops
chug it like syrup and you will retch

dance it neglects its limbs
tangled bruised an epoch of breakage

smile its teeth are blackened sugar
liquorice diabetes thick as sharpie night

be because it isn't
anything more than a mask
for lustful, ill-born fright.

Droplets tap the dusty windows
Tipping pleasure on the pane
Dribbles every time the wind blows
Prophesize a hurricane

Kisses linger on the backseat
Desperate to delight in more
Suffocated by the heat, but
When it rains, it starts to pour

Panic storm that quickly closes
Smashing waves upon the sand
Tension tearing up the roses
Stuttered poems, shaking hands

Though the pressure keeps you floating
And the ocean licks its shore
There's no way of sugarcoating
Once it rains, it has to pour

Stick a finger in your ceiling
Let the plants hang onto youth
Sunday jazz, petrichor feeling
Hear it tripping on the roof
Smell it shifting all around you
Leaking through your drying veins
Leave your stagnant dragonfly blue
Open up into the rain

When it rains, it pours
I'll blossom being yours

Downpour cleans the ***** traffic
Rippling madly down the drain
Paints the artist something graphic
While he's waiting for the train

Laughter echoes in the morning
Licking soil and clouds to raw
From the vision that's been dawning
Once you rain, it has to pour

Spitting bombshells pelt your raincoat
Tears in quiet pools of green
Holes inside your getaway boat
Water's sweet but can be mean

You've avoided all the warfare
But the stars rampage for more
Douse the thin comfort you still wear
Once it rains, it starts to pour

Stick a finger in your ceiling
Give the plants a thirsty truth
Fairy lights and freedom feeling
Tunes of our torrential youth
Smell it changing all around you
Bursting through the shrivelled veins
Leave your crippled summertime hue
Open up into the rain

When it rains, it pours,
I'll bloom so much being yours
We're a perfect storm, I guess
Fire has been stopped with less

When it rains it has to pour.

write for me
you insist, forcing sparking needles
between the folds of my grey gum brain
and i try because i’ve seen sunlight
and shocking green trees in a paradise city
so writing should come easily
write for me
because we’re caught in an infinity
of ill health and lead heads
and everyone praises the power
of the written word
before they’ve even read it
write for me
like you have ideas balled up in your fists
but refuse to let them out
like it’s your fault we’re stuck like this
on the outside of a drowning horizon
like with one more word
i’ll finally break free
write for me
so i try again.

Darling, your fingertips
Are such a warm shade of life
They leave stains on the water you brush,
Though my blood slips away quite at ease

After you've pulled away
The blueprint for your genesis stays
Penny-shaped, an indent on the surface
Spread outwards in a wingspan and blooming

Encouraged by the breeze, you take root
In the flesh of the fountain through the day
And at night, a new you steps out to greet me
With the new moon
Perhaps I'm dreaming

Ethereal, you appear to me
Dressed in dilute headlight gleam,
The water gives rise to your colours
So I can peer through my curtains, trembling

And watch you, once again,
Washing your blameless hands of me
In the pool of the night sky which blazes
Deep yellow with the blueprint for another you
The cycle continues before my blurry eyes

Maybe this time you'll bring Armageddon down
To see me soon, soon
I'll watch the sky erupt with love in silence

At least when you push me away a third time
I won't have to miss you ever again,
Consumed by ravenous starlight.

shaving dry to set a spark
rub in soap and ride it out
the fingers are so clumsy but
talent brags foam up the mouth

is it the youthful face, or dress  
that clings like foil around the waist?
not self-awareness, but contempt
the true enlightened prophet makes

morality like marbles,
shining silly and misguided;  
never falling out of love, but  
finding better ways to hide it

A little girl splashing in the rain
Among cesspools and fantasy green
Kicking up the moss, ferns, dogshit
Soiling her unspoiled baby shoes
Mummy can't grab hold of her
Her arms are tiny ***** of light
She thrives on carrot mush and mischief

Fox **** can't throw her off
It's a fresh scent, her button nose
Doesn't yet crinkle; sour is captivating
She doesn't know there are homeless men
She's stamping on the mulch
The fairies nip at her ankles, they'll sew
Her a twiggy crown for her damp curls

Later, a pebble, chiselled, bitter,
Thrown vindictively from a high-rise window
Will try to knock it down
She'll learn about money and hate
And scream at the rain
Like she's trying to lacerate it
Maybe she'll watch it bleed

Someone will break her heart and nobody
Will be there to make it right
Apart from maybe a smelly poet
Eating a takeaway dinner
A few decades away in a stinking room
Probably boozed up

A little girl splashing in the dogshit
Unaware of gypsies, robbers, death
And me just stood there trembling
Thinking lucky,
Lucky her.