It's getting harder and harder to breathe,
Out of fear of spitting the blackening  truths inside me.
You are rainbows; and sunflower meadows,
I am the remnants of a fire pit, burnt for over a thousand lives;
I amount to coals and hot embers havent rolled past for a while.
There is no spark.
I have six layers of skin
Scorched with darkness.
And I am guiltily okay with that.

You are not clued into
The extensive wiring
And miscommunication within me.
You are sure as hell
Not brainy enough to
Attempt to figure it out.
So instead with your ignorance
You label me more than
That movie you hated
With all your might...
But believe me when I whisper
To myself as I cry alone at
The break of dawn that
I am nothing more than that movie
And I am everything less
Than you deserve.

I found hell sliding down
The slight curve of your flawless porcelain back,
Embedded discreetly in electric spinal cord buzzing.
And yet... Your eyes moistened with
Glittering pools of heaven.
The reports say I drowned...
But I know your back cracked,
Hell scrambled out...
Breaking my neck
And crushing my ribcage
In a swift enchanting dance.

Lately, I've been disassembled,
Rest assured... in shambles.
And my minds been sliding
About the tasteless hardwood floors,
Collecting delicacies unknown to sadnesses.
It's been a while since I've tried to drown,
But I think on the corner of the kitchen
And lounge-room floors,
My mind found something
Worth living for...
How ever subconscious it may remain.

I am 26 letters more empty,
Than I was yesterday.
This world is the constant dripping of a tap,
Drilling into my skull one millimetre at a time.
This world is safely wrapped in bubble wrap,
Beautifully shattered from the inside.
We have thousands of bubbles to pop,
One god ****** pope at a time.
Interfering personal spaces,
Dancing wildly on the edges of dust.
We sit and rust on O2 particles
Kissing dreams of lust as our bones cuss.

Again, like a clogged drain filled with leopard fur,
The tantalising words of my next and newest mind burst
Seeped through and escaped.

Most nights I wish I could escape
From monsters I cannot see,
Hear or feel...
Are they even monsters at all?

I keep finding hell's butterflies,
but I don't think they're real any more.

Other minutes pass and I'm stuck on remembering
A single line that was never meant to enter my mind.

A whole day now has introduced a double cosmos
Swirling its nebula around my toes,
I'm still stuck here but it's cosy...
And I'm wholly overcome with mesmerising tastebuds.

Sometimes I'm not home
But I remain sat, snug between it's walls.
Sometimes I'm home,
Existing only as a body,
A spent bullet shell...
Empty, warped and scratched gold.
All of the time I'm at home,
Physically.
Yet, the wind traces it's fingers through my hair
Sending;
Shivers down my spine,
Sending;
My gaze to stars...
Peeking between cracks in the roof,
Sending;
My heart to a parallel beat...
And I am not there.

We move by instinct,
Darling, move by instinct...
Shuffle past barriers,
Push through foggy eyes,
Hold me close...
Warm, together.
I'm crumbling darling,
Move by instinct,
Hold me in your arms.
Find a temporary repair,
My tourniquet.
I'm falling all over drenched eyes.
Faint screams ring,
Chiming louder and louder
The more you fade from view.
Move by instinct darling,
Move into me.

I was going to write a poem today,
About love and loss,
Sin and gin,
But the motion was buried
By the question of how to drown myself
In the puddles outside my window.

9th February.
I suppose it should hold special meaning,
Or coloured dinosaur eggs
But it's merely volcano silt.
Washing out a year and bringing in a brand new blandness I don't need.
It'll be the celebration day of my birth in just a week
Everyone has forgotten,
Too wrapped up in their own brain mazes;
Everyone forgets,
Mauve poison daggers seeping through memories
Forgetting;
Mostly warm summer days,
Mostly the southerly change at night
Mostly February ninth.

Everyone's forgotten me.

It turns out, - like hands, like pages turning, -
That I am more petrified of everything
Than you could ever comprehend.
I suppose it's the waves crashing in my lungs,
Or baron wasteland kissing the tip of my nose,
Even more, it could be the death touch
Whispering its mermaid lures to me inside my heart.
Expectedly it could be the curse of gangrene winding it's way around my toes
As a result of standing stagnant in this town for far too many milliseconds.
But the crippling hunch is I have many places to be, a heart to give,
Myself to mend, myself to mend,
Shard by thumb pricking shard
I am rebuilding who I breathe to be
And with a time span the size of a spec of dust
On the geological time scale.

From afar I stand structurally sound,
No large gashes or permanent pinkish slashes,
But wind your way closer and peel back your eyes
The rust begins to show,
Climb inside I'm slowly eroding,
And collapsing.
Most feel it's better to partially admire
From behind a series of cement structures
Only glimpsing at my strength and stability.

As we approach the stop sign,
And your road lane begins to disappear,
The sadness washes all around us
I pull at strings to bring you on my path,
You fall still while a smile widens.

A tear falls, the realisation finally reality.
We have no gauge to bring forth certainty
To when your last life grain falls
Down upon the many lessons learnt in your hour glass.
It has been glorious years spent,
Rebelling and repelling social norms of our lives,
Drinking wisdoms out of library glasses
And camping mischief around bridges we built.

Your lives clock is ticking it's last heart beats,
But I'll find you in every life I meet.

You've learnt, you've grown,
you've seen, you've lived
and you've loved.
Keep loving.
Always love, who ever you are
And where ever you end up.

You will only feel or see snippets of other lives at a time,
So depending on where you go or what you say
Something will trigger them and you'll feel it too.
I believe there are certain circles of people carried through your lives,
Whether they are family or you find them during that life,
It's the same souls altered slightly.

We have something medieval;
I tip-toe navigate my parents castle
While you bust me out of soul ******* walls,
We were lovers.

Again... another life, later in our years...
I was living in France and you,
A Swedish traveller man, courted me down by a bridge maybe,
Possibly the country and definitely raining.
Unlike like France, where it was free, simple and peaceful,
Medieval times for us were horrific.
Carrying much heartache and a very gruesome end;
Screaming for eachother as we were torn apart.

Perhaps I'll find my tongue one day,
Soon after I stumble upon stable feet.
Dreaming of colourful winter days
Spent waking you up for tea.

Preach your colourful knowledge of me,
From a jaw that could hold nothing more than a faint whisper of insincerity
And a flailing bird tangled on your tongue.
But when the rainbow bursts;
Don't attempt to rain materialism down on me
Stuff your grocery store heart shaped chocolates up your nose.
And stop dreaming up all the sadness I stand for.
I am not your fixer-upper-er.
I am whole, trust me,
The serpent rejoins once cut
And heals.
I am a serpent, rainbow and colourless.
Materialistic seduction...
Give me a minute while I puke fluro ***** on your shoe,
You are the needy one and I remain whole...  
Scuffed and cracked
I am healing, alone.
But I am whole.  
Mixing strings of blues, greens and pinks
Into one strand,
There are scars.

Strange the way things are so easily broken.
                     Even stranger is how delicate they are when built.
                     Like hands, small... soft and gentle on a baby
                     But so easily destroyed by another.
                     Hearts... not an element of strength about them,
                     But they suffer the most and yet...
They continue to beat...
Sometimes slower like mine,
       I feel the force of time
                   Slowing
            Stuttering at points
              And even SHATTERING.
we               A world too arid... too destructive and self imploding
breathe                To allow any such existence..... A Hero...
  sin                             We slaughtered the ones we had.
  and                               Jesus beaten and nailed to a post...
   saviors                              Burnt at the stake... I suppose.
                                                     Because we are scared.
                                                        Petrified and screaming from a man
                                                        That had mastered redemption
                                                        we corrupted the only hint of peace we imagined.
                                                        we are the masters of nothing.

Now as he floats in space with the stars we murdered to save our "souls"
We bleed empty bones and blame everyone else for our guns to our head,
Shaking... will you smile when you die....

How do you stop this debilitating aching
Within your chest?

And how do you keep from drowning,
When all you can do is sink,
Choking on water thicker than cement?

Have you ever tried to convince those around you
That you are in love with the very person they hate?

How do you walk again
After falling,
Crawling and then shattering every limb?

And who ever taught you to breathe,
After suffocating on sorry's and do you still love me's
And spewing up your lungs corrupted with
False innocence and lies?

I'd like to break my ribcage open,
And bash my skull with the shards.
To forget this pain,
Heartache and torture.
I felt it coming,
I saw it... touched it
And fell on it; it pierced like a vampires stake.

I am swelling with pain,
Overflowing onto those I love,
I am unintentionally; purposely
Setting others on fire.

Selfish, stupid, broken;
No ones deserves this pain
But me.

With baron wasteland for a mind,
        Nothing much ever happens
And nothing much ever occurs to me
    But a thick loneliness
Built up like a mirage--
     I see words, happiness and stars;
Nothing good... Nothing real
     But dust in my eyes
And a dehydrated heart.

A personal protest,

A fight to forge an identity
And refuse all they think they know.
Butting heads against rams,
They wound but encase yourself with their fear
It hurts less when they attack it themselves.
Exist, create, destroy, love, hurt, ******, ******
Pre existing values that were pulled from the teeth of drunkards afraid of their own faces.
Shake free of shackles and swing them,

A personal protest.

A newly found revolution of a one man army.
I'd join you but I'm picketing my own funeral.
Stay fearless, stay unconformed, stay you,
Stay me, stay puppy.
A pat on the head from corporate junkies
As you march along side them
Licking their seeping fears for them
As they shake that ground you forgot to stand on.
The ground is not ours and
We are losing the fight against humanity,
We've lost our way.
They've lost their way.
Corporate monkeys ******* our brains,
******* their own egos.

Like leaves, tears drop and float effortlessly down scarred cheeks.
To the world, they remain anonymous and silent but to me, they are the world.
Becoming glass shards in broken eyes, and elvin daggers in a limp heart.
A body spinning counterclockwise, going no where but sicker as the days flash by.
I am a number, a false statistic that hasn't registered yet.
I am made up and imaginary, just like hands are to time, just like green is to money.
I grow tired of this worlds mentality more and more with each shallow breath.
I remain on the outskirts of everything as I stay unconformed and partially used.
There is an ever present dust seeping into my wounds and it's eating away all I am, all I stand for and my bones.
They have turned to dust, my soul has given way to rust.

The aching turns to
   Throbbing
And it's breaking my ribs again.

The faux colours after the rain
    Fade
Dimming to black once more.

It's a hamster wheel I'm stuck in
     Rotating
Dragging me up and down,
    Rupturing semi-calloused skin.

Bashing my head against bars
     Locked
In this place, a metaphorical mental jail.

Stuttering words that shatter my teeth
   Nonsense
This sadness isn't real,
   Yet It's here.
And I can feel it. It's drowning me.
I can't breathe. But it isn't real.
So I find solace in it like binding myself to a religion that doesn't leave a bubbling sensation on my tongue.

This word is dark and everything is tasteless.
    I can't remember what sunshine tastes like
On the back of my eyes.

Besides, I've lost all feeling in my brain
And my nose bleeds again
    But I bashed my face against a wall
So maybe it's my numbness dripping on the floor.

There is an overwhelming sadness washing over me,

I don't know how to surface,
            Or rid myself of this darkness.

A constant ebb and flow of numbness,
              Rolling, up and down my paralysed body.

I'm so sorry, I have wandered here again.

               Drag me out,
                                      Teach me how to breathe.

It's strange the way that freedom is an essential yet silent component of the human body. It lies dormant between the right lung and the edge of the diaphragm, it tickles your side every now and then, starting a chain reaction of a deep breath then a spontaneous motion. Eventually you wind up somewhere completely alien to you and, if you're like me, you take no notice of what's around as you slowly plod home. It's a dull life, but oh, isn't it safe.

Have you ever spoken to the moon?
I wonder how many secrets its craters hold.
I wonder if the secrets are what give it it's beauty.
I ask you, does your soul wander when you look up to the night sky,
Then get lost between the moon rocks?
Do you see yourself reflecting back?
Or the man on the moon watching, observing and protecting you?
Is it a refreshing feeling knowing you are insignificant
Against a giant porcelain beauty?
Does the coolness of the moons beams fill you,
And give you new hope in a home long destroyed?
Can you find peace within the moon?
Can you find peace within me?
Close your eyes, search deeper in your veins.
You'll find beauty, peace and happiness soon enough.

Would you like to be my bride?
Splendid, i'll order the corpse tomorrow.
Perhaps there shall be bats, and black butterflies.
Perhaps a heart will wither and die,
but oh, what a joyous day it will be.
And oh, all the sad faces we will see.
I beg you to meet the end,
I beg you to sell me the moon.
Reach into your heart and rip out the strings of wolf.
There will be nothing but dust left,
you won't be remembered not even if you mechanically pulse forever.

I am wasted and wasting away.
I've been cemented within these walls
Pushing and pulling will-less air
Between pastel fading lungs and,
I stumble to dance awkward words
Off shattering porcelain lips.
To become an ornament is something else.
But to break your own heart with fear
Every waking moment, and every unconscious
Second of your life, is something more;
More difficult, crippling, punishing and bloodless
Than any deep, seeping wound.

Maybe all the insane asylums are filled with Jesus's

and

Maybe all the churches are filled with maniacs.

and

Maybe all the schools are filled with dead beats

and

Maybe all the streets are filled with brainiacs.

and

Maybe businessmen are not in business chairs
     But hospitals instead.

and

Maybe doctors aren't lab rats in coats
     But witches beneath jungles.

and

Maybe all teachings aren't in books
     But in trees again.

and

Maybe all leaders are not statues
      But fell off the square edged earth.

and

Maybe politics is just what it seems
      *****-ish drunkards and rigged card games.

Every day is the same

             You wake up and it's grey,


               Broken, empty and choking.

        
                  Until one day, your body,
    
                      Subconsciously,


                         Makes the conscious decision


                              To never wake up again.



                And then you're lost, in a darkness
                That was never yours to hold.

Black and white is a comfort,
a run away; abandonment
and maybe i'm just used to it.
Strangely composed colours written together
as if black and white is a religion
and we all praise it,
like someones ever changing word
from 400 years ago called
God.

Black and white is simple
and finding simplicity in anything
is scarce in this torture of colour
we inhabit today
and i remember my earliest dream
it was all black and white,
still in the comfort of a womb
and i expected to see an ocean of black
and white when i emerged
but was wrongfully betrayed by reality
and i still am today.

i dont even look pretty in black and white.

I know it's real,
2000 years with a lack of sleep
I'm forever dreaming and it's of you
Flutterbies and burnt dandy lions
I walk a thousand miles in unknown shoes
I've lost control, slipped into madness
And drowned in a scent that brings me home
I still don't know if you're real.
A day to day existence
No substance
And heartache reassurance
I miss you, the clouds are cold without you
And it's winter but fire rumbles within the ground  
The elements miss you and fail to comfort me like you do.

Death is the disintegration of the body,
Life is the death of the mind.
Evaporating from shackles
The jester is here on time.
Mischiefs taken from the book.
You do it so well
That only time will tell.
Another age old being
Left to be forgotten.
You forgot again jester
And the sand timer
Has been smashed.
Take the clocks hand
Jester
It's the only applause you'll get.
Breathe them in jester
They'll never be whole
Within themselves.
Take a chance jester.
You're already dead