how is it the world keeps spinning but nothing
in my world ever changes
how anything can happen
but nothing ever happens to me

they've cut off the branches i used to hang my
self on
stubs remain
wet and crumbling
and the ornaments lay scattered on the floor
my soul quivers and folds in
to the ground
every time i return any desperate regrowth
is cut back shorter
the stubs break piece by piece to the floor
and my trachea bends in a red-knotted bow
around the stump with the largest
bump on the end
out through my rib
cage around my throat wrapping
wrapping lethally around
my soul and my
heart and under
my chin

give me sleep
the waves have lapped over me
for years now
and the crashing has left me shivering

give me sleep
until the moon pardons these waters
for just a day
while we wait
just let me be null

give me sleep
so that when i wake again
my throat is clear and air flows freely
and my chest sways with the tide
instead of against it

until then

give me rest
give me rest so i may wake refreshed
to face the rising moon
without this salt water chest

i'll never write for you
after this day.
on this day
i dust you from my heart
declutter my rib cage
remove every careless remnant of you
that i kept as sentiment.
after this day
i'll redecorate my brain
with seedlings and lights
and your memory
on my mind's windowsill
will consume me no more.

i sit in the still air
that asks nothing of me
only useful because
my body deems it so

the air
not needy
like me

or accusatory
or insinuating my purpose
is to have a purpose
like me

my chemical body
so earthly
changes the air
elemental
powerful
like me

the air does not belong to me
and its purpose is not to serve me
the air understands me
and to be free
in tune with me
just be
is all it seeks
like me

i'm in the sort of mood
where i feel i should be able
to write the most exquisitely torturous poetry

i'm in the space between my memories
in which i see the cracks in time
and the cracks in my future in
to which i could so easily slip

and
yet

i find here a barrier between my torn
and throbbing heart
and my brain
much like the opacity between my
last experience here and today

what words could possibly describe?

when i'd be asked in the past
'do you collect anything?'
as a child i'd feel an obligation

my friends collected buttons,
christmas ******* rings,
compiled shells,
or gas station keyrings

so i collected can tops
and squishy toys from beach side shops
pointy pointless scraps of metal
that now sit in a dusty jar
and stuffed lizards and seahorses
in a box under an old bed

and when they said
they didn't get it
i knew i didn't either
but i'd say the metal
is sentimental
it really is a keeper
honest

and now i'm older
i'm no objector
to being a collector
promise

because in a box
inside my heart
beyond the dust,
i'm honest,
i keep a stash
tied in a sash
of all the things
i've sprinkled with stardust

of all the memories
of days i loved
and too ones fogged with miseries

of scars formed from thunderstorms
for thorns are as much of a blessing
as the caressing from surrounding roses

of people who loved me
and people i despised
of eyes i glanced at once and
should i see again
would go unrecognised

for when i'm collecting moments
i am collecting lives
and there is no better way
to be alive
than revising every moment
as if it were chosen
by you
from that gas station
instead of just through obligation

I wish I could tell you
How much the quality
Of my day
Depends on the quality
Of our interactions

But the quality
Of my years
Depends so much
On your reaction

I'll bet the first man or Neanderthal
To write a melody
Was lonely

So I'll sing to the stars
Never so alone
Yet ever so alone
And I'll sing to them
I'll sing
Of how a little ditty saved my local city
In the home my stars have built

And that man
In irony
Encased us
And welcomed us to be
Never so lonely
Thanks to a uniting little melody

...
....
.....
......
.......
........
.........
..........
.....­......
............
.............
..............
...............
­................
.................
..................
...........­........
....................
.....................
.............­.........
.......................
........................
......­...................
..........................
..................­.........
............................
..........................­...
..............................
..............................­.
................................
..............................­...
..................................
..........................­.........
....................................
..................­...................
......................................
......­.................................
...............................­.........
.........................................
.............­.............................
...................................­........
............................................
...........­..................................
..............................­................
...............................................
­................................................
................­.................................
...............................­...................
.............................................­......
....................................................
.....­................................................
................­......................................
..........................­.............................
oh oh my god it's only the first line

my legs feel heavy
i am massive but weightless
i am floating and stomping
my heart feels like a brick in my ribcage
the earth beneath me is lifeless
i'm afraid to stay but too cowardly to go back
i am dead and pointless
i am small and invisible
i am tired but destructive
my eyes feel heavy
i am drooping in a similar way
i am close
the tree at my back is hard and sharp
and beckoning
i am fire and air
and i am rendered null by me

I crave bitter things when I’ve not eaten
Like how water tastes perfect when you’ve an angry thirst
But it’s really normal
Fundamental
And nothing more than necessary
Like breathing after swimming the whole length underwater
Well I’ve not eaten yet today
It’s the way I feel most like a bad person
Crave the devil for punishment
Find comfort there instead of in a willing peace
I’ve always been a reckless wanderlust
Nothing’s ever easy
Because I make sure of it
And if it’s offering I make sure to decline
If you want my love I’ll be sure to keep it
Just out of spite
All to myself
If you want me to do well
I’ll fail just on principle
Control
Chaos
All a servant of my choice
I’ll choose you
The bitter food
Deliberately starved as I am

i’ve been wondering lately
about the cynical views i hold dear
i identify with them greatly
but i’m not sure if they’re sincere

i don’t want to be sixty
and have not appreciated life while i have it
i never even wanted to live till sixty
but life’s all i have isn’t it

the idea of God always merely humoured me
and while an afterlife still eludes me
does nihilism’s peace really compete
with a serenity birthed purely from belief?

i’m non-committal for a family
but a child to guide and be close with
is a ***** kind of alchemy
that maybe would make me a goldsmith

i’m not one for a spouse
but i'd love someone to know me
maybe i could settle for a real house
enough to quench the wanderlust in me

society is cruel
too, life’s fatal rules
but i'd sooner be cast aside and sixty
than six feet deep at twenty

the selfishness of humanity always disgusted me
and while the blindness still eludes me
does humanity’s grief really compete
with a beauty Earthed like a stampede?

i wish i could be floating in space
instead of stuck in this one intolerable place

replaced where audibility
is impossibility
and the cries of the living on earth
can be muffled by my mirth

i could just float in the pitch black
perhaps take a backpack
leave this place behind
and be unconfined

i’d pass places vast and
simply forget my past

stars so bright
i willingly burn a retina
like a moth to a hopeful light
and age as they collapse to a nebula
with colours enhanced by the night more than any daylight

places more sensational than the mirth on earth
faces now incapable to memory
so distant i’m seeing the past
as i glance back
and this time it feels they are the ones outcast,

with me free
floating in space
free of this place
free in this space

I like my poetry
Like I like my coffee
Unlike most,
I prefer it strong
And heavy

I don’t mind it rushed,
What I really want it to empower
Is the sweet bitterness
That’ll keep me up for hours

How’re you to live
Without a little contemplation
A bitter drink
To match how you think
About the world and its desperation

Its desire to acquire
A meaning higher than is truthful
Since the only rectifier
For all of the gunfire
Is that we remain faithful…

“Faithful”

Faithful to shadows
That we hope to be
More than more than just a domino
From long ago
Toppling into tomorrow

But even so
Truly, we know
We cannot hope to be
More than the smallest
Ripple in the sea

There’s nothing more than what we see
Despite what we wish would be
There for us now and when we
Leave this place

In all of space
We’re merely dust
Upon dust
No conceited reason
Behind every season

No, that’s just the world’s childish desperation
To see more behind each rotation
Of God’s “divine” creation

Since, truly, there can be no rectifier
For all of the gunfire
And despite how I think I may desire
This blessed ignorance of faithfulness
What I value more is truthfulness

And what it’s telling me
(Thanks somewhat, perhaps, to the coffee)
Is that our best intentions
Will not result in intervention
But in blind destruction
Thanks to humanity’s corruption.

…A bitter drink
To match how I think
About the world and its desperation.