You were a boy
Whose heart didn't beat,
Yet you made me feel
Complete.


F.Z.N

Your skin doesn't lie,
Your lips don’t either.
The soft touch of hand,
Upon body,
You give in.
Sweat, spilled wine and swoon,
Your heart skips a beat,
Only to match mine
In sync.
Lights on, lights off.
Beat harder,
Breathe faster,
Using our bodies to see each other.
Stop and go
Holding our breath,
Gripping the sheets
Until it’s over.

The Silence Is Terrifying.
A creak from a chair or the rustling of paper is all that breaks it.
My thoughts are so loud.
I pity those who are not alone.
I feel scared to think,
for I might sound a whisper.
The Silence Is Terrifying.
Should I speak?
No...
I would startle myself.
Maybe the others hear it too.
The silence,
I mean.
It is so loud that my heart is like
the beats of drums.
My thoughts are the words to my lovely song.
The creaking of the chair and the rustling of paper are the offkey note.
The Silence IS Terrifying.

There are poems lingering
in the pit of my stomach,
syllables hidden in the
depths of the bags under
my eyes,
sonnets cowering in dried out
veins
and haikus dissolving, drowning
in my arteries
at the pale midnight hours
that no paper
could ever materialise.

I’ve drank ***** that tasted
better
than your biter heart
and smoked cigarettes that
smelled sweeter
than your gut wrenching pride,
glided razors across my body
that are softer than your
words
and swallowed pills that numb
me
more than this heartbreak.

I have witnessed poets clinging
onto life by the skin of their own words
and the finest novelists terrified
by the bullet tick of their typewriters,
in knowledge that each click is part of
a continuous countdown to “The End”.
The late night sound of their pens scratching
upon paper not made for emotions so raw
drives them insane, urges a hunt for something
that will hurt them more than who they write for did.
I have read poems that scream “save me”
when the voices of the composers silently echo
off cold walls from therapy offices and cracked paint
in chapels that forget each of their
empty confessions.

I liked to feel
Yours hands
Not quite on my
waist
but just below my
ribs.
you'd put your hands
there then
pull me forward
Till our chests touched
and we were one.
you'd look into my eyes
And I could see what
you were thinking.
I'd lay my head down
with my right ear
Over your heart so
I could hear it get
Faster
And faster
and faster
Till one day
It stopped.
and I looked up into
Your eyes and
they were gone.