I can't see you

I can't hear you

I can't touch you

But one thing....

a whisper...a mention...a nod in your direction...

I can feel you

I can taste you

like you are a tsunami

and I am the beach....

Like a pebble on a beach, lost, hardened and alone,

you washed over me, wash over me, wash over me,

and just like the sand remains beneath the sea

and is removed piece by piece by the waves

I am removed by you.

Each and every time...

and it feels too good, and blissful and intoxicating,

and it feels overwhelmingly terrible and destitute,

and i want you so desperately

to knock me down and let drown in your current,

and i want you so desperately to never come back again.

Let me get lost with the driftwood,

and you just spit me out and leave me on some other shore

til you come back again,

to cause some more destruction.

I am always here,

Waiting on the shore.

The TV plays on in silence in the background,
and i watch it like it's a painting i no  longer understand,
nor want to.
I sit here amongst the noise,
silently hearing the voice in my head repeating the same
dead voices from the past,
though not from dead men, nor women.
And in the silences,
where i should be more aware,
I am, very too well,
as i should be more conscious,
I am, too well,
as i should be more mindful,
my mind, is full.
And if  i should be silent between the trees, breathing,
between the leaves, breathing
the branches, breathing
and the sky, breathing,
I should, take, a breath;
but my feet, they makes this sound
as i walk on  through  life,
reminding me ever so succinctly,
this is just one version of life.
And it should be by the ocean,
the breeze, I am breathing
and the sand, I feel like i am breathing,
where the silence should come to me,
easily, as i breathe......
But the waves, they don't care,
they're here anyway, to remind me,
this is life,
it goes on.
And in each silence in a conversation,
I am lost, because i forgot how to talk from being so quiet
in order to remember who i really am.
So i sit in front of a mourning picture, or i walk through a living
epitome of life, or i stand
at the precipice of the circle of life, and even now,
I am clearly forgotten, in the silence,
of being, me.

Left and looking alone at the night. Is this is? Was I right. There is nothing more left than an essence of you. There are no more bruises, no purple, yellowish hue. And there are noises in the night, I twist and turn and I lose the battle but I win the fight. I sacrifice my heart on bowed head and folded knee, because in order to let go, one has to let go of being free.

There is no more illusion. There is no more delusion. Your eyes are cast aside. You brought me here, on this crazy ride, and left me here at the edge. I yell and I scream, because either you or me will fall off this edge. You are not ok here, what you have done is not right. You are not safety to me. There is nothing inside of this that you can take and be. I am a brilliant ball of burning white sun and you are the devil whose day has come. I am firing missiles from within, they rise to the surface like a submarine in purple bruises on my skin.

Can you be so sure. No one wants you here, not anymore.

On the darkest night
on the whitest sands
i said goodbye
and shook her hands

I took her mane and threw her away
rode the dirtiest horse across the moonlit bay
i felt the wind in my hair
and the light at my feet
i watch the world turn
without missing a beat

I lost a heart echoed behind a waterfall
and rose again to a brand new call
I pushed against the clouds
and raised my head to the sun
i lost the feelin then
that she had been the one

I tripped over streams in my bare feet
i left my body to feel the heat
and now i feel renewed
by the swift swallow of the sky
i turned circles within waves
and dried tears that i'd cried

And now, who i am is who i will be
and no-one can break it, now i am free
and everyday there is a glisten of rain
i find a teardrop of fighting sun
i see your smiles and laughter
and i know i have won


Go swiftly, sweet serpent
go search beneath the night
ride away a further heartbeat
i no longer feel your fright...

Because not every dream has been alive,
As we hold them in our chests, in deep cavernous wells, of silence, darkness, intuition and empathy,
And we use the words that drips from these stalactites
On paper as we try to connect or connote some kind of meaning,
With an other type of human being who,
Is as lost as you are.
And whose dreams are held too tightly sometimes that they die out,
Like a flame without air.
And the in the air that is too hotly bound to the oxygen we need too,
Breeds a source of discontent for people.

And we read you,
People whose dreams have died a long time ago in the arms of, of a faltering god;
Whose responsibility you take,
Militant faith where you store an arsenal of weapons to use,
When you know you're good enough,
And when you're ready to protect yourself in the arms of something as,
Clean and crisp as rotten air,
yet there is a, heaven within us,
One that you see and try to take, use, misuse and abuse,
Wrapping tendrils of our beliefs around your fingers and pulling it, out,
Like you are pulling our hair, because being good sometimes means you have to be bad,
To enter paradise.
And your dreams lie within that attraction and it's as vulnerable as a flame.
So, you can never, stop, breath-ing.
And so we give you our breath, and we forget time is living, within us,
And that dreams, are not meaningful, unless you deem them so,
And beliefs turn to ash in our mouths, and our fingers become useless,
As our eyes,
Which are now turned inside out,
Because what is paradise, if hell is as hot as flame,
You're trying to protect?
And so the pursuit never stops, In the endless fashion,
To create something worthwhile out of nothing,
And we become clay in your hands,
And we feel you.

And we hold you,
the people, whose parents were the big bad wolf and the wicked witch,
And the monsters that you came to fear so that you hid under the bed,
And in closets,
and let your words suffocate inside of you,
And we the poets, see you, and feel you,
But, you, you, never ever see the beauty in the mirror, before you,
Created by the magic of a thousand mothers and fathers,
unable to complete the job,
And you in turn become the beast, the pumpkin, and the eternal sleep,
And finding someone to awaken you from your slumber becomes a life long mission,
There is no dream here to die out, we try to enliven you with our own,
We set you on fire in the nighttime,
The time when you believe all, comes alive, and a human touch,
That leads to an ****** or two, is the medicine you need to,
Climb, over, the, top, of, the, cliff and find, a way home;
But touch becomes emptiness, it dries up in our hands.
We are the dirt in your claws, and,
Like some thing has died, it turns to dust between your fingers,
And the more you, try to have us,
The more purple, black and yellow we become,
The smaller we grow,
in the cinders of your dying fire,
And we find beds to hide under, and closets to hide in,
Because dreams are something, not everyone can have,
So we hid ours deep enough within ourselves,
Because any flicker of any kind of intention, or emotion,
Is enough for your ancestral traumatised hands,
To try to dig it, out of, us,
By force, of necessary.
And we, feel you.

We tell stories.
Far too many of love.
Of people and love,
of a displeased marriage, whose loss of faith in love is renewed,
By someone else's smile,
That you take and wear them secretly out In a back bedroom,
Behind closed doors, behind peoples unmarked backs;
Where lost souls go to be reborn into new names and bodies,
And you take their body, and consume it,
because you were given a smile, and,
A smile in your language means some thing completely different to mine,
And this is what dreams do without air,
and won't let go of the *******,
And the alcohol,
and the ****,
and the songs that you listen to when you feel like,
You......are......dying, out,
And the fuel is running low.
****.
There is no ******-e in this story,
But the chase is un bountiful and therefore never ending,
And we try to become everything for you,
The fairy godmother, the prince, the magic wand,
And we try to consume you bit by bit,
Eating you up, in hopes you'll grow, bigger,
And meanwhile we are posioned by the food, exhausted by being made the demon, and
The madness that sits at our table is relentless,
You, are the by-product of a lost womb, and a fatherless hand,
And our dreams flicker in your tornado,
In the storms you create, in order to ravage, some emotion,
And, we, feel, you,
Oh, my, love,
We feel you.

And we the poets we take it in,
We see it all.
We see you angry, and disatissified,
We see you breaking,  broke and broke-n,
We see you destroy, thus, we are destroyed.
Our petite precious souls, with our epic hearts, our universal souls,
And that place where we hold our dreams,
We let you in.
Because we have warm fires, Big arms, and we,
We can create magic with our mouths and our fingers,
And we can help you to forget where you are and what you are,
As you, drag your fingers, round the cavernous walls in my chest,
Looking at wonder, that I've held within me , all. This. Time.
And we, the poets, can do this.
Because we have risen before and we gently glide in the night,
Looking for the sandman to pay a visit,
So that we can rejuvenate our eyes to stop seeing why,
We are not loved, oh so much, as if not so right,
And if, how, can, why.....?

Because here within in me is where your dreams came to die,
And my fingers are like pens of withdrawal as I try to **** you out of me,
Or us. We,
Are the ones whose hearts become so heavy, you will have to hold your breath
Pretty ****** tight to dive to the bottom of our seas,
To find a dead mans locker, where our love is buried.
And your faltering god, and your displeased marriage, and the mould that grows, through your ancestry,
Is no match, for us
For we are the poets, and we tell here stories, because we can't just write, a book;
The words....just don't conjoin together enough to make, me an author, worthy of a paperback,
firewood for someone's belly,
But simple words, here are built,
To keep the flame alive.

Because we are not some flittering, falling, pretty,
little whispers of things; we do not come bearing arms,
Or a key under the mat,
Or gifts at the end of the bed.
Do not be mistaken that we are the wick to your flame,
We are not treasure hunters, we do not find gold, and silver,
We are not jewels for you to sit and pore over in the night,
We do not want to join your crusade.
Because we, the poets, are the keeper of words,
The holder of dreams,
We have caverns within our chests, so large and vast,
Dreams cannot die out, or suffocate from you.
Because you, are the stories we write about,
A million souls who use their emotions as bullets on paper,
A billion breaths weaving together inbetween rocket fuel tears,
Ignited by you, a match we use to burn a new script,
A thousand pairs of hands building a home so big,
where you can never find the lock,
Because we are the poets, and we are the keeper of dreams,
And our flame never dies out.

Here i am, ripped, open.
Bones bared, muscles scarred and torn for you.
As you inquisitively take your eyes and survey the damage,
like some sort of architect,
of a future grander, design,
you have in mind.
And i must miss every single heartbeat you make,
in me,
i lost it when words came from your mouth,
and ordered me away.
So each beat lost its echo, it lost its twin,
it, lost, me.
And my bloodied chest was pinned back;
my breastplate, no longer a piece of shining armor,
lost its shine,
dull to your touch,
as you peeled it back to get to the very heart of me;
though the plate was in no hurry to leave,
it was stuck down quite hard,
and still words whispered around me,
a thousand different voices telling me what to do.
Yet, all i had, was, you.
It was you, i wanted just you.
You.
You, who is putting fingers into dying flesh,
You, who, is taking the very best of me,
of us.
You were my morning, and my nighttime,
my right hand and my left,
my second ear, my watchful eye;
And this concave chest of indescribable treasure,
is where you, used to lay, with me,
telling me that my heartbeat is too fast,
and i'd tell you 'its for you'.
So now you come to claim it,
for who would have such a thing to play with,
and never use it for fun?
So you said those words, and pulled my heart from my chest,
and as i died,
you said 'don't worry, its not for long'.
So i listen to the last beats of my life's drum,
pulsating in your arms,
you make 'it' into a new plaything,
as i lie dying, bare *****, dying slowly,
wrapped in peoples arms, crying to fill the void,
I can hear myself in the last few contractions,
trying to hold myself within,
and you're stroking my heart like it belongs to you,
and no-one knows why,
you've left me to die,
lost, and lonely,
so you could go out to play.

s superfluous to the realms of your imagination
I am not the demon on your procrastination
In tongues I do not speak
I do not prey on the young or weak
I cannot cover my eyes in case I fall blind
My head is weak, my heart is kind
My awkwardness is muted by inappropriate delusions
Which are bespelled by your inadequacy and illusions.
And we paint so many pictures of mystique and rhyme,
Which fade and digress over time?
Fear and nepotism paint over your face;
Once was beautiful but fell from grace.
And people are troubled by love and attention
And we never let our heart sink by detention
There is not need, nor lust or body benign
And me, my love, my heart is not thus or thine
It is set free by that which is not disturbed
But by words and feelings perturbed.
And by wish or falter or running away
Every new sun sets on a dying day

Some people would say that I am a fantasist, an idealist or a romanticist. They would be right.
But its not innocent; I've seen love in all its powers; its glory, its sacrifice, its understanding, its passion, its beauty, its happily ever afters, its successes, and also in its suffering, its misery, its hardship, its jealousy, its insecurity, its possession, its cruelty and most of all its longing. Love is illogical. The amount of love you have for yourself, will attract that same love from someone else. Its hard work or its easy. Its equilibrium or its imbalance.

Everyone in your life in whatever form of relationship holds this love for you, and you for them. You become a mirror image for whatever you desire in life from others. What you lack, you hope they will fill the void, making you whole. Or sometimes where you lack, they take a look around, sniff the air and make themselves cosy in the cavern of your longing. Sometimes just sometimes, you find the jigsaw puzzle piece to fit the void.

This is what I believe about love.

Love is sacrificing yourself for another, but not all of you until you are deplete of reason, choice or circumstance.
Love is making the effort. Actions speak louder than words.
Love is giving til you want to punch yourself in the face, because it seems too much, and then getting over it because you learnt from it afterwards.
Love is breaking past that barrier, taking down those walls, even if its brick by tiresome brick.
Love is travelling 4 hours to see someone to make them smile, to let them know that you care.
Love is attuning your inner spirit. Taking pride in yourself. Taking care of yourself.
Love is loving yourself.
Love is cartwheels, fairytales, hand-me-down stories and a rollercoaster ride.
Love is 22 cut out love hearts, each with a 'I love you because....' hanging from your living room ceiling.
Love is listening. Really listening to one another, and talking like adults.
Love is loving someone, way after they have gone and made their own lives away from you, just because.
Love is letting someone go, for the last time, giving up and slamming the deadbolt on that door, so they can, never, come, back.
Love is letting go of control, negotiation and acceptance.
Love is forgiveness. Internal, and external. Even if they are not there, even if they continue to try to destroy you. Understand, everyone has their own demons to deal with, and theirs aren't yours, you're purely a emotional punching bag. You accept that or you don't, your choice.
Love is understanding that you are not part of their life, unless they make you part of it, then you have a say, but you still might not get anywhere.
Love is saying sorry and meaning the **** out of it.
Love is giving a second chance.
Love is sitting up with someone in the midnight hours, holding them while they cry themselves out of their pain and living nightmares.
Love is believing in what you want, and respecting someone for what they want, despite your misgivings about it.
Love is being honest, in every which way.
Love is a cup of tea in the morning.
Love is your hand cupped on my cheek, so I know you're there.
Love is play fights, pillow wrestling, hide & seek and treasure hunts.
Love is laughing til you cry and your belly hurts.
Love is knowing when I have had enough, really don't want you here, nowhere ******* near me, and holding me anyway, because you know I really do, but can't help myself.
Love is creating trust. Breaking down boundaries and letting someone in.
Love is chinese whispers, bbqs, outdoor fairy lights and midnight fire pits.
Love is a mutual appreciation of the same music.
Love is mutual appreciation of each other. Mutual understanding.
Love is fighting for those you love, against the world if need be.
Love is giving, sometimes until you are spent and weary.
Love IS kind.
Love is acceptance.
Love is being a best friend, a role model, a partner in crime, and a creator of mutual dreams.
Love is wiping away the snot, the blood and the tears. Placing magic kisses on scrapes, scratches and bruises.
Love is believing.
Love is holding someone til they're ok with letting you go.
Love is packing up the car early in the morning with a tent and walking boots and driving off in the sunrise.
Love is teaching someone how to ride a bike, understand a question, try a rope swing or do roly polys down the hills
Love is letting them get it wrong, so they know how to get it right.
Love is giving your life to something you believe in.
Love is not giving a flying **** and jumping off the cliff. Recklessness abandonment.
Love is an adventure of mass proportions.
Love is unconditional - if you place conditions on love, you are limiting yourself in every avenue of your life. Place conditions on other things - respect, commitment and trust.
Love is passion; passion til it overflows into all avenues of your life, til it reaches your happy place, and puts a smile on your ****** goofy face.


Love with all your heart.
For no reason.
Forget the rest.

Failing to breathe, she eats me whole
my heart explodes like a squashed orange.
She took the words from behind my teeth
hidden for years beneath a different disguise.
She takes me for long walks to teach me
how to skim stones
and still in my dreams my teeth fall apart.
When it snowed i covered myself in sheeps clothing
I stood on the rooftop and screamed every inch
of you out into the silent air,
each word, branded and glowing red, eaten by
snowflakes.
She ties me up and covers my eyes,
I'm led down a merry path of beauty and destruction
I hid for a while
but her words are a labyrinth
I drew the way back on my skin in black ink
Yet she poisoned the air so i couldn't see
anymore.
She threw me away
She dragged me out
I caught her looking att me as she walked away
I had fallen down
and she wasn't there.
A crack in the pavement.
Now i'm more careful when i walk.

They ask me why i might not fight
and i tell them i have no will
no quiver to set in my bow
no archer will fight my battle
i have no pride
my lions mane has fallen from here
there is no more golden glint of sun
They ask me if i'm alright
and i tell them i have no crimes left to deal
no more cards left to give
and no more my pen will write
and i tell them why i do not fight

They ask me why i walk away
but my footsteps weren't borne for this
my soles are ragged, weeping and torn
bleeding from the inside out
i have no footprints for this
i hear that there is music in the air
and yet i am deaf
to that brillaint electric sound
They might ask why i move that way
its a wrong thing to place such a word
and i am blind to their sight
and i tell them why i do not fight

they ask me why i do not speak
yet my words are silent
clauses bore of broken hearts and mixed promises
and they become dry
i have no sound
the wind blew it away
dried up the air i was left to breathe
and now i drown
They might ask me why,
and all i would commit
is that my heart feels heavy of light
and this is why i do not fight

I’m laughing without breathing, my heart can’t make no sound, I feel myself lie in your arms and your arms held my ground. I’m the only pebble on the beach. The wind skims my skin and wraps around my neck and head. Blowing through my ears, until the sound of the clarity rushes through my lips. Does your heartbeat relinquish your fragility? No, Rachael, because this is not your dream, this is my reality. This beat, this tempo, is a rhythm of accusation, whilst your words defy meaning and lack concentration. You are but a fragment of light. Be still my dear heart, quiet my wandering mind. Be still. Do not flicker or quiver under this light. This sun’s dream is not for your day.

I’m exhausted by the very thought of you. By the burning flame I find smouldering in your eyes. My mind finds no peace. Here. You cause me to ask questions that I cannot answer. The very thought of you exhausts me. Your lack of integrity astounds me, your ingenuity befalls me; your haste quickens my desire. You are but a prism, a facade to bury the light. Your darkness is but a shadow of your former glory, your effort is benign and lacking, there are holes in your story. And when you are alone at your loneliest hours, your drink from the heart of those who live with light in their eyes.

I feel the heat on my fingertips, lost in the moment of a kiss from your lips. And as I lie, I lie, complete in your arms, my lack of worry enhances your charms. I cannot begin to beg to differ with your mind, your words are cruel, your body is kind. Restlessly I drag my hands across your back, making a movie, a different soundtrack. Why can’t some other conviction lie crestfallen at my feet? My belief is astute, my morals are neat. I do not heart you. I am not lost without you. However I feel useless and bound, whilst I watch you run aground, and I see you drowning up on the shore, I realised this is not me, the one I was looking for.

I feel my sides, my ribs ache for your arms. You, you, you I see from the corner of my eye. Counting the moments under your breath, whilst you kiss the back of my head and ask me how I’m doing. I’m fine, I’m fine, I repeat after time; for shall my ribs crack and my hips stretched out for the story, I wish I had nothing more than to feel your glory. To fit in your hand, to be lifted to the wall. I hear her voice it takes the beauty from me; for you just to lie down and take asylum and be free. And this is not your story, no, it never was, it was a reason why, it was your reason because.

And i? I am mindful of what we choose to do. I am mindful that life beats with you. But still, again, but still, I can’t help to recompense, that the size of your heart leaves me feeling immense. Her body is lost to me, my hands useless and found, for I hold your hand, whilst you run aground.

One stop ****** pit stop
i aint no 2 bit drama
i'll pull out your back bone
i'll rip out your karma

I'll be your trouble of troubles
your weariest of woes
no **** queen head ****
or how the story goes

I won't make no sense to you
all but one word is all to confuse
i'll be a minefield of enigma
from a heart bore of abuse

Don't keep going
there's no righteous stop from here
i am fed up of you taking it all
i no longer am your fear

I rip out all the *******
its a speciality of mine
to worry too much about you -
*******, i'd rather let me shine

No longer holdin on to a memory
of deeds failed to uphold
and now where is your heart
where is your broken soul

Don't try to win me
with your sorry words and confusion
its all just ****** words
you knocked me down with an illusion

I don't **** around for apologies
i aint no drama seekin *****
i lost you long before you began
so walk out my back door

I yearn for more, i am the hunger
that you cannot thirst
don't **** with me *****
come on do your worse

I am fed up of your loneliness
your attention seeking ways
i am not the light you seek
i am not your lonely days

Flit away dear little moth
my light does not burn for you
and when you are lost, you are lost
i am not what you are due

That **** thinks they are the King and Queen of neighbourhood
well **** me, have i got a story for you.....

There is something there, in the essence of this, something that i tasted, salt and sweat, dripping from your fingertips. There is footsteps in the stairway around my heart, i hear them creaking in the moonlight, as you find your way in the dark.
Where is my vision?
I don't tend to look at your eyes, i cannot, i do not have to be that strong. I found a million pardons, when i was asking if there was something i did wrong. I feel the scoop of your hand on that familiar place on my back, and i headily breathe you, as i hear your knuckles crack, from the weight of my familiarity.
Where do i come from?
What is that whisper in the ****** air. The dreams that i have are so absent and so bare. I lost and i lose and try to walk again, on broken ankles, with broken toes, my legs have the strength of ten men. And i am lost, i am lost, and i will say it again. But i am lost in being lost, so is this my religion, my prayer and my a-men?
Where is my heart?
Free me, throw me into the air, shoot me, ****** me, act  like you don't care. There is no obligation in an ounce of your tone. Your music is denotation, your heartbeat becomes a microphone. And you sing, you sing, a love song to me 'Dorothy you are home'
Where is my place?
Dreaming of second comings, and i desperately seek your face. I want to kiss you, to kiss you, with my lips, i will erase. You are nothing more to me, than a seeker in this battle of sun-down to sun-up. Find me, come hide me, come fill me with your cup.