I live alone in the spaces between other peoples’ lives,
where the light that does filter through looks dark,
like looking through a window in a building long abandoned,
where the hallways have gathered centuries of dust.
That’s where I reside, in the filaments of broken bulbs,
thrown away and forgotten as if I had never been.
Sometimes I crawl on hands and knees into view,
but I’m quickly glossed over by eyes that focus elsewhere.
I am a monster bricked up in a hidden room in a castle,
a beast that has been ostracised by those who never cared,
the fairy-tale where the beauty turned out to be an ogre,
and tried to drag me back to the hell from whence they came.
The scars I wear have been painted over by someone else’s pain,
and the hatred festered by someone who I thought had loved me
pushes me back into the spaces between other peoples’ lives.

There is a well in the middle of Tuscany
Where people travel to from all over the world
To throw in pennies for their wishes to come true.
Some folks throw in rocks and bullets and bodies
Because they are human and humans don’t play well with others.
The water’s about to overflow and all their desires
And horrors and fantasies will rise to the surface
And cover the ground with fallacious sadness.
Where will the fingers of blame be pointed?
Is there hope for a species that kills without prejudice?

There is a well in the middle of Tuscany
That knows all your wrongs but doesn’t judge.
It watches everything with its solitary watery eye
And as it begins to cry, so do the folks watching,
Seeing all that they have done come to surface.
There is no love here, not anymore.
There is a well in the middle of Tuscany.
It bleeds something awful.
It bleeds something wicked.

Maybe I’m addicted to the pain of waking up,
having the light burn my eyes after so many hours of darkness
where I find a home each night in the emptiness of a bed
I share with memories of the lives I’ve wasted to get where I am now.
What I could have been by now had I not ****** up so many times,
a doctor curing people with medicine, a writer curing people with words,
a teacher curing people with knowledge, a politician.
Here I sit with loneliness by my side as I think
of all the things I could have been and the time I spent dreaming.
A woman by my side, good as gold, heart of light,
a mind curated by the wisest of voices, all I need right now,
the only thing I dream of these days when everything else has gone,
reduced to rubble by the heavy-footed nature of time unforgiving.
The worst of it is that I know there will be worse to come
and I don’t know if I am strong enough to face it all on my own.

I like watching you dream.
I create stories in my head
Based on the subtlety of your movements,
Your lips lifting at the corners,
Your toes curling ever so slightly.
I imagine you sliding down a rainbow,
With me following close behind,
Screaming for joy as we near the bottom,
And when we get there,
We cuddle, climb back up,
And freefall back down.

Then, your eyes flicker open slightly,
Your fist clenches and beads of sweat
Form on your forehead.
You look upset and I lay my hand
On the top of your head
And whisper that it’ll be alright,
Let the dream run its course
And I’ll be here in the morning
Waiting for you to talk.

I cradle you like a child sometimes,
Though I’d never admit it to you.
You look so fragile when you sleep,
As if a bad dream will crack your skin
And you’ll fall to pieces in the bed
And no matter how hard I try,
I’d never be able to put you back together again.
That feeling of helplessness terrifies me,
But you wake up every morning
As whole as you were when you fell asleep.

I wonder how often you dream of me,
But I’m too shy to ask.
I know it’s none of my business
But I dream of you every night
And I’m sure you do the same about me.
Do you dream about the time
We raced each other on haybales
And I fell off and kicked the back of my own head?
You laugh when you sleep sometimes,
And I think you dream of that,
The laugh is the same.

I put my hand on yours sometimes
And your instincts twine your fingers with mine.
You roll towards me and your arms goes across my chest.
I watch it swell and fall with the tide of my breathing
And it’s there I know that I found my soulmate
And you found yours.

I am not the
product of my
yesterdays, I am
the seeds of
my tomorrows.

My heart
stopped
for the
briefest
moment,
when I saw
my future
in the
curve
of your
lips

Whenever I walk across a bridge,
I get the urge to jump.
It isn’t a strong urge,
I always overcome it easily,
but it still worries me
that the urge turns up at all.
What if one day I can’t stop the urge,
if I lean against the railing,
hop over it, stand on the ledge,
eyes closed, the invisible road beneath
reaching up to pull me down?
I’d never jump, I know,
that requires an action,
legs bent at the knees,
straightening legs as I push my feet down
and leap into the air.
But falling…just lean forward
a little bit too far,
convince myself on the descent
that it was an accident.
I might be able to do that.

I’m still writing villanelles for the dead,
for the people with useless eyes.
If only I could write for you instead.

I let them live inside my head
and somehow they speak of my demise.
I’m still writing villanelles for the dead.

As I lay with the weight of lead,
on stormy waters I don’t capsize.
If only I could write for you instead.

I feel this rising sense of dread,
I fear I know what this implies.
I’m still writing villanelles for the dead.

Do you dream of a warm, safe bed?
Only you with the countless lies,
if only I could write for you instead.

I should have listened to what you said
when your goodbye came as no surprise.
I’m still writing villanelles for the dead;
if only I could write for you instead.

Creeping, visceral tides of dark
like the vines of black ivy
slithering over his body,
covering him in black,
the darkness his comfort,
the silence his mistress.

He gazed into the abyss
and the abyss gazed back,
the curvaceous jaws
with teeth like scimitars
bit him in half, swallowed,
took the rest of him
into that warm, inviting mouth.

Don’t know how
many times
I’ve been on
this Greyhound
to run away from
all my problems,
but I’m on it again,
chasing down a
dream that was
never mine.

I pass by the
old pond where
we used to play
as kids, ghosts
by the waterside
splashing around,
unconcerned about
futures and money
and women
and being old and
miserable
and alone.

Do you remember
the time the
pack of wolves
emerged from the trees
and watched us
with those
hungry round
eyes?
We didn’t know
it at the
time
but we sure ended
up a lot like them,
chasing after
lambs and turning
them feral,
once so innocent,
now full of
*** and drugs
and every
******* STD
there is possible
to catch.
Do you ever
regret any
of it?
I sure as hell
do, I think.

I lean my
head back
into my seat and
listen to the
rickety rack of
the tired
suspension
and the chugging of
the dying diesel
engine, and
in my drunken state
I howl
howl
howl
at the wolves
hiding in the
timber.

The captain’s ill and we’re heading for rocks,
who the **** let the cabin boy take the helm?

We’re all in a panic and we’re rattling the locks,
who the **** let the cabin boy take the helm?

My god, man, we’re all going to sink,
who the **** let the cabin boy take the helm?

Davy Jones’s locker, we’re all for the drink,
who the **** let the cabin boy take the helm?

The sails are torn and the ropes are all knotted,
who the **** let the cabin boy take the helm?

The boards on the deck are all wet and rotted,
who the **** let the cabin boy take the helm?

We’re going down now, swim for the shore,
who the **** let the cabin boy take the helm?

Soaked on the beach, we’re ready for war,
who the **** let the cabin boy take the helm?

Juniper falling, they’re all bent crooked,
hat stands melting in the wind, night-time,
starlight, firelight, moonlight, candlelight.
She’s grazing sunsets flecked with gold,
he’s hurling rocks at the great untold,
writing words sparkling with ink, bold,
selling his soul, what’s that?, already sold?
Well **** it, sell it again, highest bidder,
canopies never quite reach the sky.

No cracks in the glass ceiling, this is it,
end of the road, can’t get higher, boy,
and that girl is gone, so long, farewell,
cracking her cosmic whip, speed of sound,
sonic boom, punctured eardrums, scream!
Still can’t hear you, give it all you got,
inhale, keep going, like it’s all a bad dream,
**** in the air, grit your teeth, open your throat,
let it all out, **** it, make the ground quake.

The dead don’t rise, zombieless landscape,
all alone, boy, talk high, act tough,
you’re just a kid, son, just a **** child.
She wasn’t yours, sunsets, horses wild,
password required, verification, access denied.
Glitter had her like stardust, gathered up,
lining your pockets, fingers lingering inside,
feeling the sharpness, the smoothness,
keep ******* up, stars still shine, right?

Even they die too, false hope, eternity wrong,
an illusion in the confusion, beautiful delusion,
twist in the contortions, moon rocks soft.
Skip them across the lake, the other side,
out of reach, always sink halfway there,
but keep dreaming, dream big, all that’s left,
waste of an ocean, too big, too ******* blue.
Same as the sky, reflection, reflect yourself,
look inside and find that little piece of heaven
trailing her sunsets, golden evenings, perfection,
but your cancer is her absolute dejection.

Chin up, kid, got a long way left to go,
the sign reads thirty, put your foot down,
flat out, heading for the hairpin turn,
fly off the curve, look down, kid, you’re flying.
escaped your labyrinth, lucky little minotaur.
But that’s just it, ******* with string,
trees bending in dead winds, lost all hope,
come crashing down, gravity your enemy.
Another lost soul, pick up the pieces,
dead shards of nothing, atoms splitting.

Marble heads carved grotesquely,
kissing their mouths with a **** in hers,
oh boy, didn’t you know?, she’s a ****,
looking for something to stop her dam bursting.
Oh poor thing, silly little creature,
that sunset wasn’t yours, you don’t do gold,
too many whisperings, murmurings, memories,
holding on, gotta let go, fingers whitening,
but she sounded so beautiful, ******* siren,
lorelei, songs painted poison on the air.

What you gonna do, kid? Run away again?
Cry in your corner, stupid little *****,
no highways passing the moon, it’s new,
no light in your dark, forget about her.
Moving ahead, skirting stars, black holes,
vacuuming your light, just slip in,
so easy, so easy, so ******* easy,
and all that pain will be gone from here,
say goodbye to it all, what use is light
to the blind who pray to gods of colour?

Gardens with roses, pansies, hemlock,
creeping over it all, eat the berries,
chew the toadstools, you’re too low,
get high!, but you aren’t like that,
too busy chasing dreams, guess what,
THAT’S ALL THEY ******* ARE!
When you gonna learn the truth, boy?
Your head lies, your heart lies,
everything and everyone, all they do is lie.
Silence, forever slumbering, dead monsters,
hunting a condition, your rotten addictions.

Angels on horses, swords made of clouds,
cathedrals, campaniles, made of red brick,
and they droop, rushed by weight, heavy skies,
bleeding their rain like a shark attack victim.
She dances with raindrops, flecked with a spectrum,
revolving as the world, her feet, the ground beneath,
and you, yes you, still dreaming, aren’t you?
It’s cheap and easy, doesn’t hurt,
unless you end up believing them.
Nothing comes true, other lies told in the dark,
when she thinks you’re asleep, I love you.