I wanted to
give you the world
but all I have
are these
two small hands
and they
only hold so much

I find comfort in Death
When I look at the Stars

Because I see them suspended in the sky
And think

How I came from those very lights
And one day I'll die and decompose into dirt and nutrients for the soil

Then, millions of
Years later,
Our sun will die too, and turn everything we've ever known
Back into the atoms
That make up those very stars I once viewed

Then I'll be home.

Then I'll be home.

Society is just a bunch of little kids
Playing in the dirt,
Grubby fingers digging in the mud,
Wide eyes and buck toothed grins
Awestruck by shiny pebbles.
All we will ever know or will ever see
Is contained in this 10 by 10 square
Of ants and stray blades of grass,
Hands sticky with fruit juice.

My mother always kept a supply of chocolate and rain boots close.  

I never questioned her morals because mother knew best.

I realised down the line , after many attepmts to work it out , she showed me her love in many different ways.

There was no problem chocolate couldn't fix , sometimes chocolate wasn't enough so she would hand me my rain boots and tell me to go stand in the rain .

She would join me and  hold her hands out , palms facing upwards towards the sky that was crying, I would copy her stance and hope I understood.

I never quite liked the feel of wet hair draped against my neck , wrapping around my face , it always resembled a tangled mess.

But my mother always looked content with the rain pouring down , beating off her chest.

She often told me life had a peculiar way of showing you what needed to be done.

So with her hair wrapped around her face, getting caught in her mouth, the water dripping off her chin a smile would appear.

She told me good things come in three but so dose the bad, she told me don't hold your nose up in the air unless you plan on smelling the rain .

She looked at me and said " rain is good, it washes away everything , i hope you learn from this "

We would go in and hang up our coats , make sure to wipe our  boots , she really did love that wooden floor.

Years on I released something that I'm sure she knows herself, rain can cause a mess , but like she always said " wipe your feet on the mat darling , the past is in the past"

Cinnamon peppers
the rooftops in December
and the shattered
whispers over the hills.

It makes you sneeze
and your fingers
freeze
which causes
evermore solace
with the warming fumes
of myrrh.

The bubbles
which circle the edge
of your tea, darling,
pop on your nose
as the steam rises

we sit in rose,
while outside
the horizon is smudged
with ash, and coal
and dirt.

I see you.
I see you for what you are.
I see the hate and the self betrayal.
I see the lies of a life that was never to be yours.
I see a devil inside you, dancing beneath the pale moonlight.

I love you.
I love you even though its wrong.
I love you through the pain and deceit.
I love you with every bone within this decaying body.
I love you, even though I know you killed me with a smile on your lips.

I lie here.
I lie here in my hole.
I lie here in my hole with no name at all.
I lie here because you put me here in my bed of dirt.
I lie here with the hands of a devil around my throat.

I see you; don't you see me?

I love you; will you love me?

I lie here; wont you come into my bed and rest your head?