Who was that arrangement of bones and ligaments you once held
What was that clump of hair you used to touch in your precious mapped hands
Those elegant or false words that were told, were they deserved
The chipped nail varnish upon each digit is more sincere, each truthful shattered fragment portrays brittle yearning like the fluttery fragments of pollen grasped within a drying flower
In each trigonometric microscopic distance there is light, darkness and colour
There is so much more than the laughter and saliva spilt upon the foggy expanse of past that once was.

People are carefully ripping the vouchers out of newspapers
Folding them in half
The people neatly place the vouchers in to their coat pockets or purses, in their jean pockets or bags

Drag your teeth from my heart
I uttered.
Stemming the flow of gold you were
Please stop forcing such a clot
I will give you all the empty spaces
They are for you
Simply leave alone the flesh of the heart, it cannot be a dog's toy again.

I adore you.
That is all there is to it.
Sometimes red poppies blossom in my stomach because of it
Like ***** watercolour water it grows increasingly murky
I find it is a beautiful shade of hurt and soul
It contrasts nicely with my porcelain casing
Like a tea *** I am poised to empty my contents
I adore, you.

you get so used to something;
to someone;
never expect them to abandon you
though you condoned their departure

you saw it coming

it was all experienced yesterday
except, then
it was only a distant speck
you brushed away the dust you kicked up and
ignored the arguments that weighed on your conscience

you saw it coming

yet it still hits you like a freight train
with your back to it;
your earphones in
because you were trying to enjoy a walk
on such dangerous tracks;
such thin ice

you saw it coming

so what choice do you now have
but to finally collapse;
to let it run you over
and let your
omniscient bones
break?

you saw it coming,
but you let it hit you anyway.


please, get out of the way next time.

Why are we pretending that people carry solutions.
Another blood filled person is not a solution but a cavalcade, a fisherman's net of un-solutions.