Spin.
Faster, faster.
Don't stop yet.
Just keep spinning.
Fall.
The little white sparkles
In the sky
Spin in a magical light show.
He takes me by the hand
But what he doesn't see
Is he takes me by the heart.
Star spinning he calls it.
Me,
I call it,
Falling faster and faster
for the boy of my dreams.
A boy,
Who sends me spinning
In a whirlwind of emotions
allowing me to completely
break free.
Only,
he will never know,
what he truly does
to me.

Silence.
The typing of a computer.
A piano next door.
The clicking of a mouse.
The tap running, the toilet flushing.
Distant chatter from the house across the street.
A car on the road.
Footsteps.
The slow ceasing of a motor engine.
A dog barking.
The setting down of a briefcase.
The removing of shoes.
A chair being dragged across the floor.
A hand, patting another hand.
A man, singing in the night time.
Bare feet against a staircase.
The door opening.
The lightswitch.
The door closing.
Silence.

Stand on the edge and look down ....

























It is so far down that reality blurs
into an abstract haze.

Is it solid ground,
soft verdant green
that will envelop you in its caress as you land?

Is it hard concrete that waits
to shatter-splatter you into a liquid pool?

Is it that empty eternal void
you tumble into night on night,
as you clutch at your throat,
as you gasp for that last, lingering breath?

Perhaps it is Death
that awaits you in his welcoming grasp?

Stand on the edge and look down …















The ground is giving way beneath your feet.
Your heartbeat rises to a crescendo in your chest.
You cannot breathe.
Frantically, you grab at the cloth by your neck.
Your legs are weak.
You feel the earth crumbling away.
Your eyes stare wild and wide.

A scream echoes ghastly, panicked,
reverberating around you
in a maelstrom of despair.

Is this your voice?

Stand on the edge and look down …

















only scant seconds remain.
What will you do?

Dare you step back?
Can you will your shrieking mind to comprehend, to obey?
And if you do,
are you safe?

Reach behind you,
go on, you can ....

Feel it?
The wall, rough and damp?
Touch it,
grasp at it,
your scrabbling fingers
shredded and bleeding from the sharp rock
it doesn't matter.

Find a purchase
and drag yourself towards it,
rest your clammy face against the rough-hewn stone,
caress the damp rock with your cheek,
ignore the ****** tears that course down your face,
breathe again;

Your chest heaves,
your mouth agape
drawing in draughts of cold air.
The pounding of your heart lessens.

Now close your eyes,
sleep, sleep ...

I cannot speak to you in metaphor. It is not enough
to paint me as the water and you
as the boulder I crash upon, and wash clean.
Certain truths cannot be betokened
by something else.
Your hands, for instance,
are your hands.

And when I think of what else
you could have become I do not think
of the metal badge you wore
when I was young. There were many
nights when I kissed you goodbye
before you left, in the kitchen you painted
with those hands.

Hands now dry, now lame.
When I hold your hand I forget
who is the child -old. Who is
the parent -young. It is hands in hands.
I tell myself nothing could be more plain.

Everywhere, clocks and gears oversee
The passing storms that time their paces.
The leap between air and faces
Is more imagined than shown.
Forever lost among the few
Are trails, leaves, and traces.
Given up on chases-
I'd rather be alone.

I'll *******,
If you want.
Cause I want it
Just as bad as you do.
But I also want to hear the rustle of the sheets
When you turn over in the middle of the night.
I want to feel your hot breath on my neck.
I want the stubble on your chin to graze my cheek
As you kiss me gently on the forehead.
And when I whisper "goodnight," you don't have to reply.
Just nudge me with your knee
Or poke me with your elbow.