I watch the Sun set fire
to the pale and cloudless sky
Witness the flames leaping up
and eating the stars that shine

A full explosion of colour
add a powder of pink
Fireworks of red and blue
Faster than a blink

A bottle of paint spilled across the canvas
of the blank and empty sky

I submerge my head underwater,
below the surface, bubbles rising.
Little traps of air flee from my mouth
as I swim against the currents, down.
With force and effort, my arms cut
through thick salty water, mixed with mud.
I look up to see the Sun's rays
shining through the layers of blue.
Making the wobbly waves glow brightly,
underneath you.

The air is ripped away from my lungs
and water replaces oxygen.
Filling up the empty spaces and gaps
in my chest.
It hurts to move but I struggle still
writhing helplessly, suspended in the ocean.
"Help."
Angry and scared bubbles appear, but you
just watch them as they fly.
Way up above my floating hair,
and pleading tongue I wield.
Watch me in despair with glaring eyes,
through fogged up and cloudy goggles.
I yelp in fear
you disappear
and Leave me
gasping for breath.

Tears escape like wild animals, that I try to keep contained
within the watery prisons built in my eyes,
with rubber ducks and flames.
My agony mixes with the deep, dark sea
and the Sun hides behind the horizon.
Goodnight, my dear,
just close your eyes
and Everything
Is Fine.

Soft and padded grass
Outside, the wind that blows
Dirt surrounding my pale feet
Where I am? I do not know.
You say my name, but my feet are glued
Solid into the ground
Not moving
Not twitching
and Never blinking
Beneath the golden clouds

Whinnies and snorts
Small puffs of air
Like fog on the window sill
Warm breath slicing through the icy cold
You call for me but my feet are glued
The weather is dangerous now
wind to
rain to
thunderstorms
Beneath the golden clouds

Neighs of alarm
though I never look back
They’re trying to wake me up
But reality is a planet so far in the distance
You scream but my feet are glued
I want to
I have to
I desperately need
to turn the tables somehow
but I don’t, I stay as still as a statue
Beneath the golden clouds

Soft and padded grass
Outside, the wind that blows
Dirt surrounding your fallen body
Alive? I do not know.
Nobody says my name
and my feet are off the ground
You are not moving
Not twitching
and Never blinking
Beneath the golden clouds

Tears escape like wild animals, that I try to keep contained
within the watery prisons built in my eyes
Rubber ducks and flames.

If you put an open book on your face and breathe in the softness of the pages,
And your cheeks feel the heaviness of the words pressed against them:
You will absorb all the knowledge inside of the book
And the story will sink into your skin, like warmth after a long day in the sun.

If your pyjamas smell like the sun,
They have disappeared into the back of your wardrobe
And gone back home when you were asleep
Returning when the sun peeks in through the lines in your walls.

If it is late in the morning
Then the morning loves you and your sleepy face
and the quietness of your thoughts as you wake.

Thousands of dead butterflies
littering the room;
Lifeless bodies and pale wings
painting dark and gloom.
Paper wings are ripped off
and faces shredded to bits.
As I look at my empty hands, I wonder Who did this?

Stone cold eyes are staring me down
eyeing every move
that I make through the corpses
filling up the room.
At every corner and every footstep
there always seems to be
A little, lonely butterfly forever haunting me.

I wade through shells of forgotten lives
Too many deaths to count
A sinking feeling inside my stomach
Heart falling to the ground.
My mind unlocks from blurry haze
And panic settles in
A wave of realisation: Their blood is on my skin.

Nervous sweat and shaking hands
I turn towards the door
But windows, frames and shutters are
closed in by concrete walls.
Quick beating heart; feeling afraid
A funeral on the floor
An echo of a sound I am
alone inside the morgue.

taste of espresso in between my teeth
my caffeinated mind, buzzing with rainbow zig zags
boom. a shock wave wracks my intellect
and a three-dimensional bass is lodged behind my ears.

i can hear everything and nothing
silence is fuzz, with cracks of awkward
hope is brought by tiny silver fish
they swim all over my arms, leaving water tracks on my skin

so i slip,
and stumble over my own feet.
my tongue is tied
i feel myself falling behind.

coffee hits me hard

And his heads are cut off by a deep slash of black ink

The **** stays wide open, bleeding black blood and burning at the edges.

The faces ghosting over of his nose and his ears and his hair

They never disappear

His neck is a tree trunk and his chest is split in half

His polluted left lung floats away from the rest of his body

The long, twisted screws twist themselves out of his cheekbones.

Now there is nothing to hold his cheeks up, so he falls with them

He is a mess of skin and mangled bones on the hard, cold concrete

He watches their feet pass by but they miss his head every time

It’s okay though

He was born into hatred and the red veins in his eyes carry anger

Not blood or movement

Because everything will eventually leave him.

His right side is completely void, only pitch black remains

He wonders how long it has to go before all of him is gone

Non existent

As he deserves to be

Suddenly the world is flying out of him but he welcomes it.

12 is not a number
but a whole lifetime away

I wonder how long it will take for me to destroy myself.
I wonder how much longer
I have before I
self-destruct
There's a bomb lodged in the middle of the bony hug of my ribcage
instead of a soft, gooey, beating heart
Counting down the seconds

you smell like clean soap.
cold, soft hands
and skin that is wrinkled with worry.

your eyes shadow your cheeks.
i made you worry,
i'm so sorry
did i disappoint you today?

if you knew
what i know

would you care less?

i don't need a cup of water
no- i don't deserve one.
because my tiredness is made up of lies,
and my productivity is an endless maze of recycled warmth.

i am selfish.
i push myself underwater because i like the feeling of oxygen leaving my lungs.

GO AWAY
and
LEAVE ME ALONE
because
I HATE YOU

hello
your eyes seem to shadow your cheeks.
i made you worry,
but you smell like clean soap.
i'm so sorry.
did i disappoint you today?

why is my heart so heavy and sad
it's dragging down my breaths

why is my heart so aching and swirling
swirling pits of guilt

why am i so heavy

sick and lonely
like dirt crawling up the sides of my head
diseased eyes
diseased heart
a chest that can't move up or down,
stuck in the expanse in the middle
enough to breathe but not enough to live.

highs, followed by lows
followed by a moment of standstill when i just
stand
still searching the lines on my hands for  answers.
- i won't find them

my bones are confused
nerves twisted all together
though oxygen makes everything better.
i'm only aware of being lonely when i'm around you
and you, and you, and you, and you, and you
and everyone else.
- that's why i don't want to hang around.

by myself
staring at my own feet
because i have no one else's to look at
the sky doesn't have feet
the trees still tower
my friendship group is a little less than human, but a little more than aching hard
they give me space to breathe, and a little spot for my own thoughts to fill
and at least they'll still be there
when something falls apart.

seven minutes
before I am pushed to words
when the rain falls at my feet
and the grey in the sky parts
and the trees send wet leaves to touch my face

waiting
two dreams away
sitting in the half-way entrance
where we've said we'd meet

can you imagine a blue sun?
the world washed in, pale
the turquoise light swims in through your window
which you've left ajar
to see the open sky

seven minutes
before I open my eyes again
before I pinch myself
before I berate myself
for poisoning myself with wishful thinking
when i've said i'd give it up
again
for being the loser
and you, the winner
time and time again

I am the only one who knows how lonely I am
How lonely I can be
How lonely I can get
Because blaming others and pointing fingers is not my thing
Yet

I am the only one who can feel the emptiness
Wanting, weary, to tip over and overflow my body with a scratched and deeply carved soul
How could anyone want something so delicate, so unmoving, so changeable and dark
too heavy to hold in my palm
And too light for the tip of my pinky finger

I am the only one who knows how lonely I am
Because I am lonely in the nighttime
Dwelling over people and faces and words and actions
That I could not change or take back
That I could not replace or fix
Because I cannot control anyone
Not even myself
Because my limbs decide they have hearts and feelings of their own.

I am a watery mess of invisible ribbon
Easing into the direction of the wind
Which hits me on all sides
Tossing my conscience around
My anxiety
My fears
My hopes and achievements
Until I can no longer feel the weight of my stomach
Grounding me to the floor
Because it won’t
It gives up and gave up
On my hopeless brain and body

I am lonely and sad and longing
And it is my fault
But thank you for listening
It’s hard to do that nowadays.

In January there is a glow so gold that the bleak post-summer sky turns white
The Sun squints through stretches of clouds that hang over the Indian oceans
The Atlantic seas where the carp shiver and the trout bloat like flattened pufferfish
They sit between the edges of costal towns, like a hanging curtain pinned down by old wooden sea ports
Splintered and bruised by the ocean’s fierce love
By the fisherman’s tools
By the many boats of history, present and future
By the weary ropes that curl, like snakes, into spirals on the deck.
In January there is a glow so familiar and unchanging, like
Water finding the foot of the sandbank
Over and over and over.

In the night
the Ocean gyres around me
and lifts my heart,
wet, full and swollen
to the street lights,
oiled, slick and bright,
burning to touch.
But fearing against the
cold wind
like a stick of butter
to the hard refrigerator
like a warm hand
to a colder pair
-- the blue gyres and swarms and spins
me
to nausea, to dread.

when i realise you won't write back
I'll stop sending my letters to you.

when I realise you are stuck
behind a sheet of glass
in a frame
eyes half open, half closed
trapped in a smile
a seat
a time
and you don't know
what will happen next,
I'll stuff my fingers into your box
take my unwanted mail
and leave

i want my friends back
i don't want their messages, or calls
or to see their screen-names
i want my friends
in solid human form
so i can put my arms around their shoulders
feel their bones
and hold them to me

the time turns to one o'clock
on my bed
shoulders hunched forward
dull eyes
forward
fixed onto a screen
scrolling
down.

the time turns to one fifty
the skin underneath my eyes heavy
but slick
weathered
browned
dark
like bruises on my face

the time turns to two o'clock
the door left ajar
blue light filter
permeates
darkness
the optometrist is
closed
on Tuesdays

the time turns to two forty
bad back
smelly mouth
oily skin
the screen stays on

i don't sleep