.

He doesn't realise...
The weight of his actions and words that pummel her to the ground.
Beating her down for every time she rises up to undo his ropes with which she's bound.

He doesn't see...
Past the darkened lenses that she dons.
She wears them,
not to shield her pride that was wrongfully taken,
but to protect him from the repercussions that would come with accusatory speculations.

He doesn't know...
Of the soaked pillow that accompanied her.
The rivulets of tears...
She had quietly shed without a whimper.

He doesn't hear...
The silent altercation between the treasure that beats in her chest and the thing that thinks in her head.
The struggle that ensues when the mind tries to rescind what the heart had wholly given and carelessly said.

He doesn't care...
To think of the devastating waves that come.
Only to erode the last bastion of hope she nurtures...
This frail wall that she prays for nightly.
Just so that it would hold up through another day's endeavour.

He doesn't feel...
The need for empathy.
For he thinks that he's god with one devout follower.
He commands her loyalty with his deluded testaments
and his fists as sceptre.

She doesn't live...
To see future suns.
For her day finally set when it all came down.
The wall she had feebly held together with her life...
Easily gave way when he came at her armed with a knife.

.

You a man
I a man
We walk very different paths

You walk the path of the mind
To seek knowledge that may mold your wit
Into a crown of crystal jewels
Which when acquired
Shall grant you access to the royal court
Of well-known scholars and fatal geniuses
You seek to be a tragic figure of brains
And at the end of your path
A crowd of followers will weep for you
Cleansing you for your entrance to Heaven

I walk the path of the body
Strength on my conscience
Protection my aim
The ability to fight back is what I seek
But in this strength is weakness
My emotions run marathons
My head is constantly loosely ******* in
The two creating havoc for me
And causing me to roll in pieces
The end of my path
I fear
Has nothing
But a sign that reads
‘No Exit’
For when you go to hell, there’s no turning back

Our paths lead to such opposite destinations
I to the east
And you to the west

But

Our passion is one
And we dig up our paths
To replant them intertwined
No one offers you a lover that you really want
You find your own on a path
Or make your path to fit
The way you want to go

Though we’re not meant to cross
We do it anyway

You a man
I a man
We walk very different paths

I find myself in pieces
Scattered across
Beautiful landscapes
Cities,
Countries embedded in her skin
Entire
Continents pooling in her pores

Kisses splashed across
Red raw lips
Starved of affection

Her name hammering against my chest
My heart wandering lost
Clasped firmly
In the soft touch of her fingertips at 3 in the morning
The bitter sound of her goodbye
Shattering my rib cage

What a lesson it is
To learn that love does not simply end
It is us that grow tired and weary

What an honour it had been
To leave a fragment of myself in her smile. **To leave a small fire burning in the darkest corner of her soul.

Deep in the creek
where speckled light kisses the saline shore
and mud hole bubbles leave crab trails
I knock upon her door.

She opens with a whisper on her skin
licks my **** with her southern tongue
winds rise the dusts within
the mangrove falls quiet to her moaning song.

These words...
They traverse the fine line between earth and sky.
They dwell not, surface-deep in the dirt.
They be haloed not, as the chorus of heaven.

They're just murmurs that swim intangible.
Like reticulated wisps of smoke.
Incapable of materialising...
Or take definite forms on their own.

They only await to be carefully selected,
rearranged and harnessed into a jar...
Before being sealed infinite with a title.

Be quiet and still...
For you will hear them.
Milling and floating in the silence
that exists between your heartbeats.

Listen close...
For they are fragments of you
and the universe.
They're thoughts and feelings that come awake
as you slumber.

Awaiting to be selected...
Awaiting to be rearranged...
Awaiting to be harnessed...

By you,
the conduit with a pen.

There stood the good boy and the nice girl,
There stood joys from their curls,
They moved closer, awkwardly like chess pieces,
Until they folded like checkers,
And all the feeling released;
Never had he took ecstasy,
But had given it
And she never inhaled
Anything like him before,
Red poppies growing
Between the cracks
Of a checked floor.


-Jamie F. Nugent