it's a knife
it's in my chest
and you're the one holding it
why are you doing this to me?
why are you pushing the knife?
you're hurting me.

you're not there
it's me
i'm doing this
i'm pushing the knife
I'm hurting myself
you're nowhere near me

you're under my skin
you're a tick
you're scabies
you shouldn't be here
you're irritable
get out
get out
get out
I don't want you here

you're in my blood
you're in my veins
you're my ******
so bad for me
but so good

it's all bleak
I can't see a thing
I'll stick my hands out to feel my way
it's you
I can feel you
lips
eyes
hair
nose
your skin is velvet
you smell like home.

please get out of my way
can't you see I'm trying to find my way
out of the dark
out of the mess we made
you're in the way
in the way of my life
my happiness
my everything

embarrassing as it is,
I miss you
not like I did
not desperately seeking you out
you're not on my mind permanently

you're the moon
you're only there at night
when I'm on my own
but then again I'm alone most of the time
maybe
maybe
maybe you're just there
the back of the congealed mess of my brain
you're a memory

we all knew you and her were meant to be
so take her and run
run away
leave everyone

like you left me
and I'm still there
I'm waiting for you
for some kind of miracle

A glazed fire falls to earth.

A blaze so grand it will destroy your only exterior world.
A spread of rubies is covering the horizon,
so close you could fly to it
so far you can only fly to it.

This fire is our only day
he climbs high for his eternity
and falls
only for a minute

To have a fresh faced man take its place
for he spends brief moments in glory
and the rest in the ground.

The distant yells of a scared dog,
cars drifting distantly in the grey fog;
the sun reverts behind an orange cloud and
birds, they're singing so incredibly loud.

The echoes of the winged youth are closing in
stomach tied,
I can barely focus
The thought of someone seeing me dyes my innards blush
and I'd leave in a hefty rush.

How strange it would be to see somebody writing, outside
Gone are the things our predecessors saw as the norm.
For we must stay in our brickwork of a prison,
drive ourselves insane with our fascism and fakery.

Conform, they imply
Be individual, they preach
but follow us
be a copy of us and
how we wish we could be.