it's the little things, like
sleeping in on purpose so your appointment gets cancelled,
or avoiding texts from a friend
because you know they like to talk too much
and you'd rather not talk to anyone.
it's lying to your friend group that you have work to do at lunch,
and spend time in the library trying not to fall apart.
it's the crying before dinner and worrying if your family might've noticed your red eyes.
it's the late nights of trying to fill your brain with something
but you're too numb to think of anything to distract you from the weighing of your chest.
it's the self pity you feel when reading back on old diary entries - pages upon pages of written sadness -
and the confused unrecognizable soul you see in the mirror,
with shaking hands and the same clothes on from last week.
it's the plans you fail to do, like simply going out,
lying to yourself there will be a next time.
it's forgetting to get out of bed and spending 4 hours sitting still in the dark trying to figure out what is wrong with you.
it's the strain of your hand when you're writing a stream of thoughts you could never show anyone.
it's wishing you didn't have the ability to think sometimes.

i want to lose my breath kissing your lips,
floating over the ocean before we start to sink.
the mystery in your eyes, softness in your fingertips,
inviting me in with a pull of my hips.

i want to lose my mind to your voice,
surrendering to the words of your choice.
the orders you give, the melody in the noise,
offering us a chance to rejoice.

i want to lose my control in your hands,
melting the instant i catch your glance.
the directions you imply, the motion of the dance,
obeying every one of your commands.

i want to lose my body in your touch,
trembling hopelessly in your clutch.
the smoothness of our skin, overflowing with want,
levitating freely until we get enough.

i want to lose my heart to your desire,
merging our souls so they can shine.
the soaring of our spirits, burning eternally bright,
glowing with tangible love every night.

taunting, twisting
laughing from the shadows
mocking, visiting
me in my worst hours
they’re toxic and dangerous
showing happiness in times there’s not
addictive and scandalous
give me more of what i haven’t got
send me hoping and praying
reality will give me those moments again
hopeless and replaying
better pasts disappearing away
i warp them, manipulate them
worship them, mutilate them
make it hurt less to cope
as they taunt and mock and twist
the knife further into fragile hope
cruel puppet strings they are
playing with a vulnerable mind
all the better to forget
wishing this will be the last time

I could
kiss you without meaning,
touch you without feeling,
let thoughts of you fade in with shadows of my mind
passing and unimportant and
fleeting.

I could
pull such empty phrases,
empty my heart of lonely senses
let thoughts of you run wild only with
your skin to mine burning with desire.

But I can't
get back to the past,
there's no point in denying
late at night I find myself thinking
of you more often,
late at night my heart isn't lying.
I can't feel
soft hands and warm arms I want back,
secret notes of wind chime laughs
even though I can't stop myself
from trying.

I could
stop myself
from sinking into the memories
but there's no point in denying
maybe I'm missing you more often.
Maybe that would explain the crying.

I do not want to feel the pain of missing you.
I don't want to walk to the end of my street without a hand to hold, and I don't want to stare at sunsets alone.
I don't want to sit next to an empty swing at the parks we roamed, and I don't want to only bid you goodnight through meaningless letters.
I don't wish to seek the comfort you bring, and the dull ache that follows when you can't. I don't wish to be so dependent on your presence.
I do not want to love you in the way not spending time with you stakes me.
But I still love you in the way missing you means ultimate sadness.

My new neighbour depression,
lives in a house rotting in the ground,
scarred wood torn away and roof tiles scattered,
with garden flowers withering away,
trees cracking at the slightest move of the wind.
Ever since he moved in a storm cloud
hangs low over the neighbourhood,
soaking my lawn and treading on my grass.
My neighbour depression
throws heavy stones to crack my windows,
leaves untidily scrawled messages of hatred in my letterbox,
leaving a trail of black paint up to his backgate.
My neighbour depression
takes advantage of my protection of thin walls,
and each day attempts to crash through them like a wrecking ball,
slowly dimming my lights and making shadows in my room
appear darker and bigger.
My neighbour depression
walks down the street like a black hole,
******* out all the sound around him.
And my neighbour depression
is starting to make me forget what my voice sounded like.

Old habits never die
They just stay in the shadows and hide
They lurk and linger beneath the surface of your mind
Waiting for the perfect moment to strike
Slowly creeping out when they feel it's time

Old habits never fade
They just trick you into thinking they've shrunk away
One night they're gone, then they surprise you the next day
"Remember us? We've come out to play."
Because old habits always stay

A reminder, a memory, a haunting a curse
Reciting all the things you've learnt
Retracing the steps you thought you forgot
A well rehearsed line, a feeling that doesn't subside
A vice that only grows tighter over time
Because old habits never die.

I want the air to surround me, hug me,
losing myself in its invisible arms
and therefore finding something meaningful
in its transparent substance.
I do not want to cower from the implications
that I am so dependent on this traceless vapour.
Make me crave you, I think, hoping it hears my wish,
welcome me as I so desperately want to welcome you.
So I stand paralysed staring into the unknown,
the endless vortex of existence,
hypnotising me with its mystery, torment and beauty,
divinity, chaos and serenity;
the paradox of living and reality.
To be a human is to be a reflection of the dazzling mess of life;
how can I not take in the wonders of the universe each time I inhale?
My breath is power, the air my hero,
it gives me strength even in times I fight ruthlessly against it.
What is this strange instinct, this stubborn ingrained desire,
this anonymous impulse that never changes or falters?
Why won't it tell me what it's here for, why it persists,
I want to be informed on what it has to offer me.
So show me, I say to nothing, come out and reveal your secrets,
stop your hiding and give me everything there is to know, consume, devour.
I want to be nourished with it, overwhelmed with it,
so show me that this life is worth living.
The vast and depthless road of reality stretches out for so long it scares me,
the plethora of choices, unlimited possibilities,
fear traps me, foolishly, I allow it to strike me
in every way, shape and form
even when I told it to do everything it can to excite me.
It kept its promise well it seemed, it obeyed my order,
now I'm stuck between two states, helpless and frozen.
It turns out I'm not really sure I can handle it.
It turns out I'm not really sure what I want, ever.

I must confess, I'm a mess,
the contents of my mind too dark to address,
my tears at such subjects too big to suppress.
But you declare your love unconditional?
You may find, without much surprise,
that's near impossible.

Though, if a stroke of luck is discovered,
it will be unconditional under the conditions of staying clear
of disturbing subjects which result in tears,
triggers the mess of expected fears.
These conditions are a hard enough mission,
best to stay clear of me entirely.

It's clear that I am insufferable.
So please, do reread the warnings label
and proceed with caution and protective gear,
and don't be too surprised if you find yourself wondering
why you're still here.

people are prone to telling me the same joke over and over again
though the only thing that i find funny is that i can't remember its punchline
maybe it's because i try so hard to forget
what i've become.

am i scared of living without you,
or just scared of being alone

it's strange the rides your mind partakes in while it sits still in your head.
i am unmoving, staring at the endless rows of grey spotted ceiling tiles from a bed, while my mind cartwheels and bursts into flames, cosmic colour, ribbon dancing through its many seasons during my quiet sit down. it swims through galaxies with graceful strokes, leaping joyfully into nebulas and leaving behind a shimmering trail of sparks. it speaks in starlight and dances hand in hand with planets.
the peaceful space of the space in my mind
bursts to life.

i hear your laugh over the phone and realise,
i can touch every syllable from a million light years away.
i can pluck each of your heartstrings that tie themselves up with mine across landscapes
and it'll be music neighbouring galaxies can hear.
we don't seem so far apart when we make the world shrink around us. we are our own world.
your arms are a boarder protecting us from the sea,
your lips taste of ocean stars and your breath is the breeze
you bring life to the flowers blooming around me.
our hands are the bridge to connect laced footsteps
entangled tree branches, entwined roads.
we are maps to each other, leading us back when we're lost.
you are not here in the morning beside me in bed
as you are in the sky. i can recognise your rising light miles away.
you tell me i am your only earth.
and i need you because the earth needs the sun
to see a bright day.
we are our own world
and that's all that needs to stay.

They use soft gentle tones,
as if the scream of already known truth
is feared to burst my eardrums
and shatter my seemingly delicate china glass
of a soul.
I am not as broken as they think I am.
My mind may be frayed in places but
never do the patches become too worn and the seams
unravel and burst against my will.
They can throw all their unintelligent thoughts at me
and mistaken my non-catching for clumsiness.
But I have myself by my side and that is all that is needed.
Pity is a misguide and a sentence of the weak,
and I know I am better.
They are wrong, and
I am strong.

I will learn how to swim.
I will steady my breaths and relax my aching chest,
my hands cupping the water in a loving embrace.
The rough waves will not frighten me away,
I will view them as inviting to splash in.

I will learn how to ease my arms
and kick my legs through powerful torrents,
not stopping even when crashes of blue stake me,
even when the pain runs throbbing through my body.

I will learn how to conquer the storm
and be one with the fish,
unafraid and invincible
through the sharp broken shells,
swimming towards the light of the underneath corals.
I will pass ships with pride and be brave enough to close my eyes,
using the sea as my resting pillow.

I will learn how to swim.
And against the waves I will win.

It’s amusing to think how we use words everyday
Though it’s the unseen that says the most, the unsaid
That screams the loudest
The mouths of today focus on feeding upon reciting Facebook feeds,
The latest most liked tweet,
The filters for your selfies – the perfect painted veil for a background of a thousand shattered china plates,
Which you become the moment the day is done, the stitching of your smile
Sighing with relief, unraveling as only your diary fills with the truth from shaking wounded hands that once again tried to stop a plate from chipping,
Only your bedroom wall goes through its weekly routine of watching every tear fall.
And you see that same wall everywhere, blocking you from people,
Lowering the volumes of your pleads, you don’t want them to see you’re in need – you can’t.
The mask that blinds them has no opening for a mouth
You’ve become a clown, jokes automatic, juggling your struggling in one hand, the other
Straining around your new best friends’ claws: misery, isolation,
Emptiness overfilling, desperation for an exit sign over spilling
But silence is a killer, why let it continue killing?

Consider the conscience crowded with a clutter of crazies
Though tongues only dotted with declarations of sanity.
The way we communicate has become a prison cell with too many corners and no windows,
The sounds of our own cracked, empty voices bouncing back at us
The limit of 140 soulless, expressionless characters has shut us up and in,
The embodied pill of forgetfulness on how to pick the lock
And open up to get help, to admit a smile’s fake.
But has the rain of melancholy and judgment rooted our feet to its wet earth?
We, the raindrops, laughing, “get over it” with each pitter as we’re soaked
“She’s so emo” – that’s easy to say,
It’s not like we’re humans with these things I guess are called feelings.
It’s comments like these that stop us –
To understand the truth we have to seek for it, not hide it, shove it away because it’s too frightening to bare, to finally confront the hidden scars people wear
Sadness has become a much too common name, and yet no one can place its face – it’s that one post no one likes to share.
And I see a continuing suffocating aisle of different bedroom walls and want to break down each one.
Ignoring isn’t the solution, smiling is an illusion, so don’t mistake silence for pleasure when someone has become a victim of our weather.
We have to learn how to open up again, free what’s inside to unleash our true spoken minds
Hold a hand instead of a phone for a change, to make a change
And maybe you’ll also make a real sunny smile overcome the rain.

The afternoon sun slides over the horizon,
giving the sky a kiss goodbye
and leaving the clouds blushing pink,
floating with bliss as they watch the sun sink

It switches places with the moon
who gives the sky a kiss hello
and is greeted with the stars' glow
Millions of dreamy eyes watch from below
as they begin the world's favourite show
The moon dances in their twinkling spotlight
receiving applause and bouquets all through the night

Once the moon is finished it gives a final bow
and slips from the stage, disappearing through the curtains
The sun then brushes the waking world
with a loving wave of its hand,
its strokes doing its own special dance,
leaving clouds fluffed and meadows shining,
song birds singing and faces smiling

And when the afternoon hour is upon the world
the dance of the two orbs start again,
circling around the planet of blue,
one a large golden flame, the other a glistening grey hue,
providing comfort and security, taking care of this little globe,
so full of potential and purity.
And the people below celebrate,
showering them with gratitude,
songs, poems, prayers, paintings and rituals,
welcoming them both with open arms
The eternal ballroom goes on until the end of time
safe and alive in everyone's hearts.

they come in the night
whispering, crackling voices
in my mind
hissing, cracking through the surface
when out are the lights
they come in shapes and sizes
and voodoo dance before my eyes
cackling, lurking
in my mind.
they come in the night.

What a thief, a robber
Snatching away the precious
You hedonistic hoarder
Reducing beauty to mere corpses
You scoundrel, you criminal
Plucking memories from unknowing brains
Cold, uncaring, terrible
Burning down the smallest speck to flames
Everything stained by your touch
Slowly disintegrates into dust
Those unfortunate to witness your power
Trudges through every day, every hour
Forced to undergo the withering of bones
No warning, no apology, just more tomorrows
Acknowledge you do not, of the misery you inflict
Pain and strife is naught, but a side effect of your whims
Imprisoned in your snare, only one path to walk
Forever forwards while death looms and stalks
Escape through only its means, and only on its terms
Sadistic torturer queen, reigning your kingdom of hurt
So shall we put you on trial, for your innumerable crimes
Send you to the gallows, compensation for all those who die
By your hands we hope to declaw, by your malicious laws
Entropy wins and defeats, we cower to the floor
As long as you exist, it can always be ensured
We shall remain your victims forevermore

do not waste your time.
fleeting is life through the slippery grasp of your fingers' attempt.
the past was not made to be repeated
or present.
do not trap yourself within it's reach.
there is never a warm up for the future;
hurry to catch up before you get
too cold.

To be in love is to be sad,
when your side doesn't meet mine in bed,
when a message sent stays unread,
when not even a day with you fulfils
the ever filling cup of need I have for you.

To be in love is to be scared,
if this time is the last to hold your hand,
if you've had a change of heart,
if you're not sharing enough of what
I want to give to you.

To be in love is lonely,
thinking of all the time lost when it's not shared with you,
wanting to slip in the bodies of other people you talk to,
just so I can be close and never miss out on you.

But to be in love is to be comforted,
a reassuring shoulder for tears to splatter on,
a lantern in the dark, a hose to the fire;
to be in love is to smile, to free the mind and soul,
to entwine heartbeats even when days grow old.
To be in love is to be fearless.

To be in love with you
is worth it.

sometimes i do not know where my life is heading,
where the roads are leading me.
i know my mind travels through space and time,
through shining galaxies of wonder and ripping black holes,
meeting at the ends of the earth with a crashing wave.
but i do not know whether there is a lighthouse nearby,
whose light shines me a way out of the dark,
pointing to a place where i can rest my aching bones.
i do not know which colour my soul is yet,
still picking away at the palettes that change every day.
sometimes i do not know whether to laugh or cry,
and why sometimes it is best to do both.
sometimes i feels stuck, like a box has caved in on my surroundings,
metal, not cardboard, so even the mightiest of pokes can't break its surface.
sometimes i feel time draining away from me,
slipping through even the tightest of grasps of my fingers,
disappearing like an air of smoke in a misty lake,
and i cannot swim fast or hard enough to catch it.
and sometimes i feel like i am wasting my life,
and the smiles, real and pure, of everyone i meet, determine one thing:
they are using their time wisely, happily.
thoughts of storms do not linger in their brain long enough to shatter the roof and let raindrops pour down their eyes.
and i don't know whether to feel jealous or sad,
or cast feelings away altogether until i am nothing but a shell.
but most of the time, i do know for sure,
i am just always unsure on how to feel.

I'm on a slow moving train
Rickety, unsafe; chugging desperately.
Swaying under constant beating rain,
And I sit trapped and sick in pain.

Empty compartments, curtains torn and charred,
Boarded windows, seats worn and scarred
And there's a lock on the door
Where laughter and chatter flitter from the walls;
It becomes louder when we pass
The graveyard

The smoke from the screeching wheels
Dances its sinister rise, and is all that I breathe;
I choke on the fog and water fills my vision
People mistake the invisible devil for air.

And I think, what's scarier?
A train going nowhere with no destination
With my ticket lasting a lifetime
Or a train with an eventual
dead end.

I want to find the words
to explain to you
how incomplete my heart feels
without the strings bounding yours to it
but how can I say anything
when I've realised I've lost something
I thought I knew,
even after all the time spent with them.

They're just another memory
made to be laid to rest and fade away.
It's hard to know I find myself not able
to say anything
to someone who I don't recognise,
someone who's now become a stranger to me
once again.

Sadness is worn in many shades
Fringed at the edges, rough to the touch
This is the brand everyone hates to love
I model misery with a sickly laugh,
While my eyes imitate what I've seen of the dark.

The suffocation of sorrow
The throb of numbness replacing your heart's job
And filling your veins with lead
I wear fabrics of sharp prickly thorns
And the mocking costume of a smile,
While my eyes imitate the dead.

(windows)
   shuddering night, gentle callings,
   dim light, reckless
   heartbeats.
   identical, yours&mine.;
silence.

(fireplace room)
   trembling fingers, tracing
   soft skin, mapping each galaxy:
   beauty, depth.
   mystery, now
knowledge.

(roped eyes)
   shaking breath, light brushes
   over laced fingers,
   heavy ripples in its wake.
awakening.

(lips)*
   floating gracefully upon
   tender star-filled seas,
   pulling me under,
   shaken breath taken;
shared.

i want to stain your neck with technicolour kisses
and bask in the feverish glow of our uneven breaths.

i want to trace flowers in your shivering skin with my tongue
and watch them bloom to life when graced with my delicate touch.

i want to fill your mouth with whispers of want
and empty your lips of any other beg besides my name.

i want to unravel you like a ribbon with feathery fingers
and catch you in my arms like a parachute.

i want to splay myself out against you,
spread across your heart like a knocked jar of ink -
scrawling my words for me in a permanent embrace -
and unscroll my map of hidden places and awaited spaces for you.

i want to cover every inch of you and use
every bit of me for you. i want to
love you. i want you to
want me.

my life is like a glass,
it isn't empty but there's very little water.
and it's not the type of water
that tastes better than usual;
it's just flat and bland,
not even lapping like calming beach waves,
or an excited dog.
it just sits motionless in its trap,
transparent and devoid of colour.

words of venom
dripping with poison
tongue armed with blades sharpened

words of contempt
soaked in malice
and barely unrestrained violence

directed at the unsuspecting victim
darts hurled as hard as i can throw them
piercing deep and scarring wide
tearing through layers of fragile pride

words of disgust
burning with scorn
lips parted for a torrent of rage

words of hatred
snarled in distaste
and unleashed from the tongue’s cage

aimed with precision and thoughtless indulgence
a gleeful abundance of countless insults
surging restlessly and encouraging the feed
the ardent addiction of foolish greed

but the words always manage to come back
recoiling at first then ready to attack
because they bounce off the surface of the mirror
the reflection of my face as they cut deeper
sinking inside to wrench a hand round my throat
stopping my breath to not further demote

but the words always inflict the damage intended
and here they seep into my subconscious
watch them spread, watch them burrow
and feel them multiply my sorrows
because the words are always present at any time
they, after all, come from my own mind.

i wish life was a video recorder,
so i could capture this moment and rewind it,
or a tattoo you could imprint within your brain.
me and you in ikea, hidden in the zipped up tent,
where we laughed in whispers and kissed in secret
the muffled sound of empire of the sun drifting through the fabric,
the soundtrack to our movie, the finishing touch to our painting.
i now hang it in the gallery of my mind,
revisiting it in times where i miss you,
along with the blue plastic flower i bought for the both of us,
tucked safely above my desk, a halo reminiscent
of our glow.
i wonder if you still have yours.
and i wonder if you think of me whenever you hear that song,
echoing faintly down the halls of your internal gallery.