it’s afternoons like this that make me reminisce,
of sunshine beaches and cigarette smoke,
and the fact we almost kissed,
it’s a train track by our caravans,
covered in dusty mist,
it’s the fact you taught me swear words,
when we were just pre teens,
you call me one of them teasingly,
I can’t be offended if I don’t know what it means

it’s afternoons like this that make me reminisce,
of crashing waves and salty skies,
legs dangling, sat on the wall,
and eating fish and chips,
feeling the air outside of a car window,
with just my fingertips,
a summer soundtrack made,
just to relax on an old cd you mixed

it’s afternoons like this that make me reminisce,
what it would have been like if we did,
or had, touched each other’s lips,
but your little sister then sat between us on the bench, and I guess it was too early anyways,
you were twelve and I was ten

hello autumn,
it’s been a while since I’ve last seen you,
and my how things have changed,
the worlds been turned upside down,
completely rearranged

summers over now,
and all we’ve seen is decay,
but aren’t you the time,
when things are meant to go away?

i see it in the burning orange hues of your everyday, these golden browns, so beautiful,
is change in many ways  

and change is fast,
it just carries on,
when you want it to slow down,
but in the end,
without our souls,
the earth keeps turning round  

so hold me close,
with the time you have,
that I know I won’t get back,
as hindsight is a horrid thing,
when looking at memories you now lack

but autumn, I know that I had,
no chance or choice is making those,
sometimes time is all we have,
just like the measurements of prose

as when that time is over,
as my time comes to an end,
the clocks will still go back,
even though time is pretend

and someone will replace me,
they will have their turn,
as this never-ending machinery,
continues to work and churn

so keep your loved ones by your side,
as you don’t know how long is left,
and in this moment think a while,
of those souls who’ll be bereft

as others souls will still remain here,
even when you are long gone,
as they will still remember you,
just know, they have to carry on  

as we all will wilt like leaves one day,
scattered along the floors,
but know when one life closes,
another life opens its doors

it is spring and the bees are in my head again,
the bees are in my head,
they buzz and buzz and buzz and buzz,
and sting and sting and sting

the black fogs in my head again,
a cloud across my eyes,
it throws me off the tilted edge,
and beckons an ominous sky

the waters crashing waves my friend!
a mask of grey mist covers thines eyes!
god knows for me I wish the end!
god knows! god knows!

but do I really?
oh good lord! just get rid of these bees!
so you do want to live?
oh good lord! just get rid of this buzzing!
but they’ll continue to buzz and sting?
and they’ll bring this mask of grey!
and throw you off that tilted edge!
to fall into an ominous sky!
where the waves are crashing!
and your beginning to drown!
god knows for you I wish the end!

no lord I do not wish the end!
it’s just a little bee!
no lord I do not wish the end!
it’s just a little buzzing!
no lord I do not wish the end!
it was just a little sting!
it will only last a while, I promise,
I promise lord, I do not wish the end!
good lord, this cannot end!
I am praying lord, do not let this end!
you cannot let it end this way!

it is bitter in this retreat,
to share a bunker of ones past,
it is not that I am with desperation,
but rather that I feel my wings have been firmly clipped

though, I stay here frightened,
thinking what if I become cocooned and stranded? will I only ever remain stagnant, still?
in an oleifera spinning, a chrysalis left to decay

is this the way that they intended it?
rather to not have my wings attached to me,
but rip them away from the bones in my back so that I cannot fly again?

I do not know if I will ever fly again

it is not often I have epiphanies,
especially as beautifully rare as this one,
I have a tendency for overthinking,
the words are confined, tight,
yet still they manage to spill onto the page,
and out of my mouth,
I am not sure if this was out of envy for you,
for something I have never found,
and something you seem to find so easily,
or pity for myself,
for never having found it,
if I have one talent,
it is to be able to have such lacking,
when it comes to an emotional connection with other people,
we both know I have never been very good at that, though I am inclined to apologise,
for saying those three words,
without knowing if I meant them,
in some respects I do,
but not romantically,
I used to think it was that,
then you reminded me of what it really was,
it is the fact I do not know why it is so easy for you, so easy for others,
but so hard for me,
to find companionship, another,
a soulmate of some kind,
and that is why I am angry,
but also why I am sorry,
I now know that I was never really in love with you

if I am honest with myself,
I feel incredibly lonely,
and it is all my fault,
I have a tendency to push others away,
because I feel as if,
I do not deserve love,
I do not deserve to be wanted

if I am honest with myself,
I hate the person I have become,
I hate everything I am,
I hate everything that I have done,
I hate the past, the present, the future…
and that is a feeling,
I would not wish on anyone

if I am honest with myself,
I look in the mirror and see hatred,
I wish I was born somebody else,
I want a new body, a new personality,
I would like to step into a different person,
to mould myself anew

if I am honest with myself,
I know there are people who will hate,
the person that I have become,
but it does not matter that they do,
when the person who hates me most is myself,
it is a horrendous emotion,
to feel as though you should be kept out of sight, you should instead stay hidden,
resting on a shelf, collecting dust

and if I am honest with myself,
I do not know where it went wrong,
maybe I have been like this forever,
maybe I was just born incorrectly,
backwards, upside down,
every way but the right way,
it is no wonder that if I feel this way,
that so many times, too many times,
I have thought of myself as better off dead,
as if I am honest with myself,
it is not often as though I even feel I have ever been alive

I cleaned out my wardrobe today, now I’m depressed, thinking of the sentimental value of clothes, and how I used to be so colourful and vibrant, I think I lost all of the parts of me that were bright, is this a reflection of growing up?

I cleaned out my wardrobe today,
and almost cried at what could have been,
and threw away the pin-striped suit that I wore at your funeral and the pastel pink t shirts from my first relationship that slowly became red in the wash, fading overtime, as we did too,
is living just fading away with time?

I cleaned out my wardrobe today,
and was reminded of things I would rather forget, like when you said that I look best in green and I told you that if I were to marry someone, I would want an emerald ring but now as winter comes, I only feel sadness at the trees whose leaves don’t fall, as like you, they cannot change, is change the lesson I seek in life?

I cleaned out my wardrobe today,
and fell into distant memories of the pair of us,
and how I have slowly lost you to addiction,
reunited with you three years on,
after doing something terrible in return,
as revenge for you loving substances more than you could ever love me, and we forgave each other but once again, we do not speak anymore,
and I often wonder if life will bring us back to one another again?

I cleaned out my wardrobe today,
and found gifts of friends and lovers long gone,
and it brought me to tears and gave me a headache, too many moments materialised in inanimate objects that I want to remember but long to forget, and they are holding me back, so this time I must let go,
but the question is, can I?

i did not fly again

october yearns for me in halls of sadness,
in the amber glow of burning candlelight,
as it readies me for hibernation until april,
winter always makes me want to hide away

yet this year, I want to intertwine our solitude, and wrap it up like a present we eventually share,
so that I can gift myself,
the warm embrace of someone whom was once a stranger, at any possible time of need

though, december is closing in on me,
and with it comes isolation,
I suppose that it is time to be alone again,
for the new beginnings of january

sometimes this vein,
it breaks and bursts,
entirely filled with grief,
for someone lost to early,
to the man aboves,
harsh greed,
to remembrance of the better times,
when we let each other breathe

sometimes this vein,
is angered,
as am I, most of the time,
with the wishes and the grants that,
I know get left behind,
and I just don’t want to leave you,
it just doesn’t feel kind,
but the man in the sky wants me,
so I have to go this time

sometimes this vein,
it makes me cry,
sometimes it makes me scream,
it wonders and it ponders,
what does it all mean?
as I wilt and then I waiver,
between this life and the next,
sometimes it makes me wonder,
sometimes it stops in its tracks,
why your life and not mine,
I long to have you back

I let the devil take hold of me awhile,
in an embrace so consuming,
I found comfort in its strangulation

I wanted it to swallow me whole,
and send me to the deepest depths of hell,
as I felt that hell is where I would most belong

so I made a deal with the devil,
and I let him take me,
then I saw and felt what hell was,
and I did not have to travel from Earth to find it,
as hell was here for me already

it was here at home, in my own darkness,
without love, without company,
a place merely of solitude

I let the devil take hold of me awhile,
then decided that I could not let this be my truth,
and made the devil let me go

patience is a virtue,
and I have never been virtuous,
years known unsullied,
the purities were taken without my consent,
and ripped and stained and covered in blood,
pocketed away, only to remain,
a constant blinding trigger,
a shadowing figure,
towering over me at every chance,
killing me with every second glance

the bees are back,
but bees do not appear in the winter,
so what is this animal that I can hear,
flying around in my head,
all the wildlings have gone into hibernation,
I wish I could do the same,
however, time does not stop for me,
oh but sometimes how I wish that it would