You tore me apart starting with my heart
And ending in my head.
I still can't count the number of times,
I thought I'd be better off dead.

It started with your eyes,
And ended in your word.
Your smile was the perfect picture,
Your voice the sound I wish I never heard.

Somehow I thought I was too broken,
Too scarred to ever be repaired.
I never thought that love would be something,
That could cause me to be scared.

But an angel surprised me,
And took me by the hand.
Four years later,
She's made me understand.

I don't need to feel broken,
To feel someone's love.
And it's possible that,
You weren't sent from above.

Maybe you were my demons,
But she saved me from you.
And now I've found.
I'm the right one too.

Words that echo in the corridoors
and passageways of an empty mind,
with no company from any-body, from any-thing.
Because no bodies, and no things, can replace what is missing.
Lonely, and looking for a place to be.

Lonely, in the most unsettling sense of the word.
The type of lonely that makes your bones feel cold
and the only thing that can warm you up
is a lightning bolt through your skeletal remains
but that requires you to feel something.
And you know you can't do that, you're too numb.
Too numb - because your mind is too empty.

It's like a game that you can't win,
you've always thought this, but you dare not admit it
because this will happen. You know your mind is vacant
and that once you think it, you will always think it
because words echo inside your head, and you can't forget it
once it's been said.

Oh to live amongst the glitter of stars
In unbroken velvet silence.

These inkstained fingers
bare my soul
naked and spiralling
I deceive myself with your memory.
It was you,
the first touch
on naked flesh
too young to grasp
the magnitude.
It was I
that loved your every breath
never questioning that I belonged
right there
within the warmth of your laugh.
It was time
that showed me it was a lie.

We were
the most beautiful lie
ever told.

i could write so many ******* poems
about your stupid,
******* face.

On a stool he sits
at the beer sticky bar
his face deep furrows
his eyes sad pools once aflame
lost in memories of vigorous youth
and hearts broken.
Nicotine stained fingers tremble
and seek purchase on the cold unyielding glass.

He remembers the gleeful shouts of boyhood
all muddy hands and scraped knees
lollipops and liquorice
tally-**'s and triumphs
before the end.

He remembers a girl
bright eyed and winter wild
wrapped in lace and garlands.
and the dreams they shared of things to come.
He remembers tiny fingers, laced with his
and sleep-warm milky breath against his cheek,
his reflection in adoring eyes
before the end.

He remembers arguments won and wars fought
friends lost in battles raw
young men returning with torn futures
their glory but a murmur
before the end.

He breathes a fractured sigh in memory of ghosts
and gossamer thin echoes
His long dead comrades at his shoulder now
beckoning him away, for they know his time is nigh
" once more" he whispers in silent hope
Before the end.