There was a man, once, he told me 'you have a wise soul, i can see it in your eyes'. I took his words and held them in my hand, held them til they wore out to dust, and blew away with the wind. It's times like this i tell myself, we're not so wise. I cursed his ****** face. I look up to the horse shaped **** hole of a sky and i wonder where those words, that burned on the back of my eyelids, had flown to. I had seen and been wise, once. I had it written in the night sky as i held hands with strangers and drunk whisky out of old cups. These were the days my friend, ****, why did they have to end?

There is a hole in your eyes, it drowns me to the centre of your be-ing. I will be waiting at home with a pie on the sill cooling for you. I wait for you to come to me with a note in your pocket that says 'these are the days, they will never end'. Someone once told me that we all living on borrowed time, so steal it, take it and run away with it, eat it, stuff it down your trousers, and we'll hide in sewers, you and i. We'll hide until time comes to an end, and we'll eat our words to keep us from starving, and we'll burn our goodbyes to keep us warm.

There is a plant *** in my very core and there grows a lilac, or is it a lily, one can never tell at these times. I feel it growing, its roots, feed their way to my feet. I am ground-ed. I am at one. I am at peace with the earth. My eyelids open and i stare at that horse **** sky and i push out all my obscenities and i cry for the sake of all i am, fall to the floor, that this is not the rest, this is not the, best, that life can give, to me. My arm vicariously feel for something in the wind to cling onto, a wise word or two, something i can turn my hand to? Maybe, this seedling growing inside me, has different ideas, different places to go, wherever the sun faces, i have to be, there. And in the cold of night, i furl into myself, a fetus, of my former self, ready to renew myself for the next rise of the day.

There is beauty in you, i believe that no-one has ever seen. There is a grace from you, that i think your heart exudes. I grab at the air and nothing comes. I lost it all. My eyes, my eyes, my lies, my lust, my longing and my mistakes...burnt and spread across the ground  like ash, underneath my feet. And there you are pulling at the centre of me, drawing me out. There is a rush of wind in the air and selflessly I grab again and again, like a newborn child finding it has arms and hands. I find some words. I find some things. I find some part, of, me. Last thing at night before i close my eyes, i eat my words and keep them, to stop myself from a time i think i might be starved of you.

You know we all live, we all die. But there is something in just being, here, that makes me feel, alive. We can live but can not always be alive. The gravitational pull is inconsequential but the fall is extraordinary in its attempts to pull from me what i cannot lose. I hid those words so deep that it would take a miner a light year to figure out just how to light his torch within me. I hide you from this, i hide you from this, so that you can unfurl and keep me warm when the night has has grown cold from being rejected by the sun. My handsome, son of a gun. You spit bullets as you talk, and i catch all of these, one, by one.