Each dull wheeze
— half-glass-filling lungs, tarred —
records my moments
like reel-to-reel tape
And the heart is a quivering branch
If not a paperweight
Pinning will and testament to the
desk

That plastic wine “glass”
turned out
to be
glass after all
My woman throws me punches
with the gentle touch
— all the virility —
of a little, lonely, old man
feeding bread
to ducks
Then goes to work on the meat of her hand
with the glass
Damages the nerves in her thumb
   tussle ensues
My arms are covered in blood
That two-penny copper smell

sister’s fella has anger issues
and wants a straightener
Tells me I need a job —
Is this not work?
If I had Molly’s blessing
I’d go to work on this *******
But she’s crying
And begs me not to
Begs him to calm down
I wanted to widow her
Her
And my bleeding wife

several months ago, i wrote about love.
how i thought it would be fire, sunlight, a single candle in an empty room.
i built a girl to put all my love into so i had a way to let it out,
but i had never loved then, and now i have.

i love a girl with short hair and dark eyes who is allergic to all my favourite foods,
and she made me realise that loving was easier than i feared.
i love her without hesitation, without waiting, without restraint.
but when she loved me back i was afraid. i'm afraid now.

because what happens when - not if- she wakes up and sees me as i do?
she sees she was wrong, and i am not warm or kind or anything she thinks of me.
and a voice whispers above the fear that maybe she's right, and i am wrong.
if she does not see how awful i am, how awful could i really be?

she thinks i am good to her because i am good. but its not true.
i love her because of her, not myself.
i am good for her because i want her to be happy with me, and i want to deserve the esteem she holds me in.

and in the core of my heart i know i'm just scrambling for reasons to ruin things,
because i'm happy in a way i've never been before.
and i hold onto her like i am afraid she'll vanish once my brain stops screaming at me.
i wonder how she can look at me and not be repelled like i am.

but i don't think i would hate myself if i were somebody else.
if i was a stranger, what would i think?
the truth is, i don't think I'm a bad person.
i think i am loved and that terrifies me.
because what have i done to deserve it?
it cannot be enough.

i was used to dealing with myself at my worst,
to licking my wounds like a cat in silence
but now she is here and determined to stay
and i want her to.
so if she wants to see everything i will let her,
and the rest is her choice to make

What is there to do?
Late nights and late mornings, coco pops for lunch.
Mourning Wetherspoons with friends, drinks and
3am cheesy chips, laughter like clowns on steroids.

Today I cried over my laptop dying
and I can’t use Facebook on a wide screen.
I’m pining more for real faces though
and having jokes heard and my expressions seen.

The evenings mission is dinner, lining up
the vegetables like soldiers and making
food does seems that serious now.
Outside the streetlights somehow look dimmer.

But when spring hits the watts of sun will
glow like shining daffodils and we shall
bloom too and grow using fertiliser that
forms out of the depth of solitude.

Bored - of all this ****
Please God free me
Give me what I need
I'm on my toes, you see?

I am tired of waiting
Of nervously pacing
around the house
around my head
I have marks in my wrists
still I break the chains

I am bored
I am ready to burn
in a free release
form
Let me break
Let me become

I am bored
but not ready
to give up

God, is it you? God, did he speak?
If you spoke, can we really hear?
It was like a stake through my heart
Like a stroke of cold midnight
Premonitions drenched in fear - should you listen to such things?
How to know whose voice it is?
I heard it say, "he doesn't love you" via small moves
I felt it rip me apart, but maybe I wasn't attuned
These little ideas of reference that take or break
How to know who speaks? Do you speak the language
they use?
everyday carries what you've been looking for
stay tuned, to the world's beat
to the true things
to what you can see! these moments when you can feel
undoubtedly clear
and let go of your fear, that's what it is!

Want to know why I did not die?
Because I did write.
Want to know why I survived?
Easy - because I write!

I was 13 - I was lost
and I wanted to **** myself
I wrote a letter to, but instead
I had a story to be told
my own...though I did not know...
a brain to arrange - my feels,
my thoughts
Art up, broken child!
Bleed onto the page and go drain the pain!
Do something! Make sense!

The night was threatening and I could not sleep
Everything so sharply and hurtfully real
I touched life and oh, ****** blisters
all over me
Opposites coming close
I am the mixture of them all

And my soul was shabby and in ruins
I could not tell what was me and what wasn't true,
so many times
Nothing was clear but the soreness
I felt, yet that was the proof I was there, too.
Art up, broken child! Do not lick the wound,
stitch it with a few rhymes!

And there were faint rays
of what could be
The kiss I never got these days
The dreams I had that got delayed

Later, the flow got stopped - because I got clogged
All pain, all emptiness, all doubt
Frozen inside, fetters outside - caught up
I decided to retreat because I could not be
yet I thought I was striving to be freed
Had no certainties at all, so my mouth I shut
so my power I shunned - I was blocked

So I can never shut up
without shutting down
And my words came back at me
as soon as I entered again the scene
I am here because my pen never sleeps
Therapy can be expensive but notebooks
are cheap

Yet now sometimes I feel so full
My pen is bloated in it too.
And we lie happy, satisfied,
just seeing things go by,
just wanting to be by your side...

something big
goes on when I don't write

what keeps you free?
i know you very well
but what makes you feel
as if you’re in hell?

is it the trepidation
of your minds’ own creation
to fuel you further to
your true disposition
of what you want?

the concupiscence for me
beaming throughout the space where you live
inside this biosphere of my heart
where you lie barren

fermenting your own despair
i truly appreciate your time
can you continue to only be mine?

it’s selfish
but this world is too cruel for your beauty
shielding you has become my duty
god cannot take me from you