Once I held you in my arms,
I loved you in my sleep,
above the traffic
and the circumstance,
above the slaughter of the sheep.

You made me sing at my guitar,
a grown man falling to defeat.
Now I cannot find The Answer
in the company I keep.

The game is rigged, we know it is,
in a hustler's *******,
the bank cartels
and corn-fed chicken
descend upon the weak.

I held you in my arms
on a precipice brave and steep,
above the breadlines
and the cannibals,
above the slaughter of the sheep.

You have me writing poetry
about landscapes left unseen,
you kissed the addict on the mouth
and now he's looking to get clean.

But the day is long, you know it is,
forgive me for sounding bleak,
a sucker for
those sad, sad songs,
and that chemical retreat.

I am not working on perfection
in a lifetime stretched and brief,
but I am working on a promise
that for once,
I intend to keep.

See, I've got a knack for giving up,
for feigning inner peace,
I've had my fill of oil spills
and the slaughter of the sheep.

You've felt it too, that burdened love,
the dead-end of familiar streets,
you lay down with him,
habitual ease;
lilac skin now a slab of meat.

The dignitaries come,
the friends you have to meet,
a compromise of ancient ties,
amongst the ******
and the thief.

Words are falling fast for you,
though I lack the skill to piece
all the fragments you paint for me
in this temple of disease.

The race is run, you know it is,
a pace we couldn't keep,
our lungs are full
of cigarettes,
our tongues of old deceit.

The Lie is out amongst the crowds,
but I have no time for war and peace;
I am slipping into
my lover's robe,
into your twisted sheets.

Once I held you in my arms,
I loved you in my sleep,
this wolf's disguise,
those bells that chime
at the slaughter of the sheep.

I saw the tears swell in your eyes
they began to fall over
I tried to wipe them away
but your tears weren't made of salt water
they were made of acid
and everytime I wiped one away it burned me
I tried to forget the pain
but it got worse and worse everytime
so finally I stopped, and let your own tears burn you

This is not a breakup poem
This is not me liquifying when I open my eyes in the morning
This is not my furious animal tearing at my chest to control the thrashing inside
This is not the bile that burns my throat
And this is not the hollow in my abdomen

This is not a breakup poem
This is not your static sobs and back-breaking voice cracks
This is not your acid apology
This is not your deadly uncertainty
And this is not the jagged shards of yourself

This is not a breakup poem
This is not the blood bursting from my scraped elbows and knees
when I went head over heels because you promised you would catch me
This is not my pavement-smacked stinging palms
This is not the gravel in my wounds from when you let go too soon

This is not a breakup poem
This is not your whiskey bottle on the shelf at the foot of my bed,
a gentle reminder that now I have nightmares alone
This is not the toothbrush and the hair gel and the speakers and the things that have more staying power than you
And this is not a breakup poem

I followed you out of the picture,
our subtle breakdowns, anti-matter,
too drunk to function, too vibrant to sleep.

The tables were numbered when we sat to eat,
uniform plates, revolving staff, doors open
to the public, red wine on tap.

I met you in the bathroom, venetian white,
***** on your sleeve, tears in your eyes,
love on your tongue – an emptied stomach.

I know I can poison you with words,
stop your taste for wine with a kiss.

I followed you to the open grounds,
pollen thick in my lungs, the wind ate sound,
removing all history: you and me, you and me.

The fountain turned copper with generosity,
faded queen, bottle-cap fraud; crowds took us
to alleyways, to your opened front door.

I met you in the kitchen, synthetic white,
heart on your sleeve, *** in your eyes,
tongue upon tongue – truth amongst lies.

I know I can save you from endless distraction,
this need for a fiction; this want for an action.