Make your love unspeakably wild she told me
like the textures of your nakedness
in the dripping sun and blinding water
when its late, late august
before the first damp morning
when you can’t deny
that the real heat is gone from the night.
It's ok to be sentimental if
it keeps the buzz in your ears
in this nowish spot in time
when there’s less and less
to draw you out of your nest.
There’s every excuse for this dullness
after a quick seven years
the weight of it shows in your face
on your grandfather’s heavy brow.
You both wondered
why you sometimes felt like strangers in this place
and why the sweetness of brome
can send you reeling in the dusk.
Seven years gleaned of their mornings
like so many beans in a bright steel pan.
Arriving late and later still
I felt the dawns irredeemable chill
and in the bluest of October afternoons, she said,
may your love be unspeakably wild.

instead of a hearty declaration of love
i simply whispered, ‘oh, ****’

and you realised you’d never be rid of me
and now i sleep with a faint smile on my lips
and love bites tracing my hips

Four walls and one door
maintaining (perfectly) in-tune
with the outside world,
countless libraries and braver
brains in court, fingertips
away.

Too much sometimes, too much
noise and sleepless racket,
no need for hotel wifi or
roaming minutes, change nowadays
burns faster than
relationships.

I woke today to find
bombshells exploding elsewhere,
slaughtered innocents and
captives in bright silver fences
until the next time I
read about it.

My brain is spent running in
slow-motion. I have glasses now,
my vision once was perfect but
staring at screens beat biology
to the punch: a most frightening
revelation.

the day after christmas
the morning after a quarrel
i took my daughter for a walk
setting off from my parents’ house
to walk my hometown streets
in the eerie damp silence
of a public holiday
the park was too wet and cold for play
i felt bad dragging her down there
she walked a few planks, slipped
thought the mud was dog **** and cried a little
we abandoned ship
aimed towards a bar in town
where we could find hot chocolate
and beer
as we were leaving the park
a young couple arrived
with a bounding labrador
a boxing day stroll
a breath of fresh air
for the fresh young couple
ten years fresher than i
him, tall and willowy
her, short, round hips and bottom
pretty face and plaited hair
wellies, jeans and fleece coats
she looked warm and friendly
he looked relaxed
carefree
they strolled past but didn't see us
my daughter asked me a question
but I was peering into the
young couple’s lives
being obvious
imagining them under fresh white cotton sheets
on a lazy sunday morning
after a party
where they each had a few drinks
not too many
where they sat together all night
he doesn’t always smoke ****
when he drinks
and they never *****
they’re never too drunk for ***
when she’s tipsy she rides him
pulls extra *** faces
she doesn’t mind him seeing her floppy *******
it excites him
but the morning after it’s simple missionary
his bony hips pushing up
into her warm seat
eyes locked
a tray by the bed with bacon crusts and empty tea mugs
simple pleasures
if either one of them had caught my eye in the park
my stares were screaming:
‘i’m having marital problems
and i’m honestly scared!
i want what you have!’
but they didn’t look
the dog ran ahead and the girl
threw a wet tennis ball
but her aim was bad
and she caught her lover square
on the back of the head
it was a soft throw
it didn't hurt him
but he was livid
he spun around and glared at her
she apologised and trotted towards him
he stormed away
stopped by the tennis court fence
hand to the back of his head
to mark the insult
when she reached him
he shouted at her
about her lack of judgement
her eyes widened and nostrils flared
my daughter was still talking to me
i held her cold, clammy little hands
and we watched the young man shouting
at the cowering young woman
and i realised that there was
a serious possibility
that no one is happy
we’re all *******
familiarity does breed contempt
i threw my daughter on my shoulders
and showed her the tennis shed
where i used to smoke cigarettes

Love and those things aren’t as romantic anymore
It’s not as letters,
or Shakespeare's sonetts
sprinkled with red kisses and Chanel N5
We don’t call on the house phone anymore,
dreading that her father will pick up
And the cinema isn’t as it was
The boys weren’t on Tinder to “make omelettes ;)”
Girls didn’t complain about their life on twitter
And really, it’s not as romantic to dream and lose you
when the only simile I have is
“I have replayed your photostory as many times as the sun sets”
Love and those things

**26.07.14

Austyn met a bad boy.
He ****** her like a *****.
She hid and hid and hid and hid
Because maybe she deserved more.

Austyn met just some boy.
He hit her one time or maybe four
Austyn shrugged and told her mother,
"What's a little more?"

Austyn ****** a good boy.
His girlfriend was such a bore.
Austyn was mistaken for entertainment.
She hated herself some more.

Austyn is a little girl.
Daddy's creeping through the door.
Austyn is 16, alone, in bed, bleeding and screaming:

"Please
No more,
No more."

The darkness will make you strong
I promise you
It won’t do you wrong
Then why do you sleep with the lights on?

They’ll all be gone
Once the nights are long
Darkness won’t do you wrong
Curtains are drawn
You are not asleep

Wetting your bed and then
staying up to weep
So that is life
Who knew growing up would offer such a mountain steep?
Again, again, again

Sleep
Let go of the kitchen knife
When the sun has set
all eyes are black
Now you see the night as a potential threat
Wishing for the light to come back
But wait –
Dawn break is coming
Meet your fate

Don’t you hate –
the memories, humming to a different song
A song you once tried suppress
Now you’re staring down at your life
It’s all a mess
Even so
Less
and
less

The glow
I guess,
Is not a shoe fit for your toe

Panic

Light covers everything;
Unwashed drawn curtains;
Midnight dances on the carpet;
Broken bottles;
Again, again, again
The kitchen knife;
Your broken bedside lamp;
Blood drops;
Wet cheeks;
- Everything the night covered up is brought into the light
Your wight can’t live in this sight
Can you follow?

So bright
Shut your eyes
You won’t have to fight
Daylight is not meant for your lie

"He's been dead for 48 hours," the police statement reads.

**19.06.14

Why do people leave me?

Why do love only give birth to be slaughtered by your hands?

I am so afraid.

You won’t listen. 

You won’t tell me the words I want to hear.

I bring myself into the fires as I scream and smoke fills my lungs and the fire licks my body angrily - the same way your hands are all over me. I scream. Nightmares. 

Daymares. 

Reality.

I wish I didn’t end up like this all the time

I have a tortured soul, and one day, Jung and Nietzsche told me, I will too,  become the torturer

But ******

I fight, and I fight it so hard

I fight so hard to not hurt others

It’s all I ever do

I fight, and
I fight but I never seem to win

I had given in, accepted my fate

Why did you have to tear down

all
I
built

?

Maybe this all I really am;

a punching bag;

dust;

pulp;


Please, one time.
Help me up before you throw me out the window.

Next time, don’t let them get so close.

Don’t let them 

Them

and

me,

against the world. 

I should know better.

I sink. 

No metaphors.
No similes, please.
No poems. Please.

Just empty words after all.
Yes, beautiful. 
But

empty.

...

Take it all away.
Please.

Leave your knives,
leave your swords,
leave your guns.
Stop killing me.

Stop.

Please, stop me before I dive into the dark, freezing ocean - 

there is nowhere for me in this world.

So, to sleep. 

Perchance to dream… 

and all of that.

Let’s be true.
I don’t really know Hamlet’s soliloquy. 

But **** Shakespeare. He doesn’t know how hard it is. 

Ophelia didn’t drown herself so easily - I don’t sink so easily, but I still do - and every night I dream, I go away. 

Forever.

I’m not alone. 

I tell lies.

Okay, so maybe I’m not okay. 

But when will I ([n]ever) be?

I am born with this heritage.
With this scarred soul.
And William, Friedrich, Carl… 

- well, this is just another story of loneliness and giving up.
The crazy bunch.

Maybe, this is the last straw. 

Maybe, I’ll finally go crazy. 

The inevitable will happen. 

The lonely will be left - completely alone.

The self-destructing fool,
finally, self-destructing oneself. 

It’s so difficult to climb this ladder. 


…

I’ll just go down.

The water is cold.


**May 29th 2014