Touch the sky with me
and we can fly, fly, fly
away from these places,
wrong faces, all the traces
of the spaces we created
between our lonely hearts
and forgotten minds;
the parts of us that shouldn't exist
crying in their cavernous
pinholes, echoing
and rupturing in feeling
through the waves of something
more, something undeniable
and true. The pinprick
in which my emotions
are contained
is gargling with a blood
that pours black yet,
as it trickles through
me, I can feel it restoring beauty
to the yellowed valleys of my skin.

What is justified about you sitting there,
the devil's grin on your face,
when she is crumbling to the floor?
You touched her, moved her, forced her.
Now, she's gone.
She spelled it out for you
but your illiterate limbs moved on anyway,
and now her heart is disintegrating
from the horrors you put her through.
How did a boy like you ever
deserve a woman like her?

There's something about the way he holds the
door open, something about his strange, straying
eyes, which scare me. Maybe it's the charm within
them, the blonde boy acknowledging my existence
without ever hearing the heartbeat which
goes with my name. Maybe it's the lost boy
who left her behind and is now paying
me the same regard, looking at me with
a kindness all too familiar and
an eagerness so unwillingly accepted.

There is something that needs
to be dedicated to the beauty
pictured within: the effervescent and wild
youth dancing in the rain
of your heart. Alone and free,
buy yourself a single flower.
Watch it bloom in its impermanence
and keep it until
there is no colour left
because you never want it
to stop singing with its clean beauty.
Appreciate its life and decay
and allow yourself to be happy
because of the beautiful colourless flower
you sought out to be alive with.

Capture me in a moment of whirlwind
as I dance by the sea, floating
bursts of fabric backlit by
the midnight moon. The water calls me
in to dance with the waves
it sends to me but I cannot go
there, so I must keep dancing
for the water so it
will continue to love me.

Porcelain bodies are hovering over
me and my shattered remains, yet here you
are, in your soft beauty, pulling my shards
together with thread into a palpable
stretch of thought. Who would have thought that beauty
like you would see this in a pile of
dust that was left to disperse?

There's no deeper meaning or connection
here, nothing at all to spark my brain into
a chaotic explosion of thought. I
can't even use my words to string you up
to some greater power, or an invisible
force that is controlling our lives, because
you render me useless and simply apathetic.