The man who said he was a giver,
Chose to put his feelings first.
My vulnerability made him waver,
As if being vulnerable was a curse.

The man who said he didnt want to hurt me,
Led me on to believing i had a chance.
When we cuddled in the corner of the backseat,
Butterflies in my tummy started to dance.

He strung me along like a puppet,
Orchestrated a plan that was so wrong.
He played me like a trumpet,
Perfect tune to my favourite song.

A fool i was to believe every word.
Still, he is worse for being such a coward.
Being vulnerable does not mean I am weak,
It means I'm strong enough to weather through the bleak.
Maybe one day he will finally understand
That trying not to hurt me, hurt me in the end.

Infected satellite

Quarantined transmissions

The gory story is one whale of a tale

Turn up the volume

And hear it flatline

Or wait for (doctored)

Film at eleven

My eyes
They hold my secrets
They shine with tears
They shine from heartbreak

My wrists
they show my pain
stained with red and white
stained with my bad choices

my heart
it pumps blood but I’m not alive
it’s been broken too many times
it doesn’t know how to love

my mouth
it’s covered by a mask
I’m the joker
my smile has been etched on

look at me
really see me
you miss all of these things
you don’t notice

hear me
listen closely
you’ll hear my cries
covered by my laughs

don’t tell me you know me
don’t tell me you know what it’s like
because you don’t
you don’t know my pain

you don’t know anything
you don’t know why my body is scarred
or why I jump when you touch me
you don’t know why I don’t eat

I’m the book you never read
You think you know me because you’ve seen the cover
But you haven’t even read the pages
You couldn’t be bothered to dig deeper

So, don’t get too close
Because you don’t know me

Maybe one day I'll walk out of town
and say I'll see you around at the movies
Since I know you like to mull over
everything you'd never be

I don't need another perfect summer
lying on your lap
So you can tell your friends you knew me
Over that stale paper cup of reunion coffee

But for now you can pretend I'm yours
Living off couch benefits
till I finally take off.

In this place where we lived there were
no doors, every room had a mirror.
            A reflection of what was, is.

And each was unique to the observation
that was seen beyond the tinted
                                            frame of creation.

                  Some places were, could be,
not a complete reflection of what was
contorted and beyond the conciseness
                                           of tangibility.

For some places were either hairline fractured,
on purpose or by mistake, most of these had
                                                                ­ warnings.
            
                         "REALITY DERUTCARF RETNE TON OD,

All who entered these were doing so at there
                                         own health and life..

Some did it for the buzz,  some weren't lucky..
         The Mirror Collective,
that's a posh word for reflective reconstitutes.

Ladies and gents that fixed the flaws,
                         fragmented reflections that
could lead to either two version of reality..

An obituary of an abattoir,  
where the breaks even though hairline
were like papercuts on the flesh.
                   And where they stood is where
the pieces collected upon each other..

Some rooms were purposely fractured,
           for those who broke the rules
were kept in shard rooms..
     These were places where others of less
reputable reflections were kept.


                             Solitary confinement,
there was just a jagged piece of mirror left,
enough space for a paper plate to be left.
Once there sentence was completed  
           The mirror collective would be called
to reconstitute the whole mirror..

If they were of sound constitution, not mad...
          
Then they were reintegrated in to the society..
                                  What they didn't realise is
the lights of different frequencies
were purposely shone within there room.
            Nearly all were unseen to the eye,
but were used to program them,
sublimely to have a more compatible persona.  

Me I wants like those others, my reflection was
                  always polished. I would enter
a reflection and be the person who'd stepped
through a moment before.

We were a society mirrored on the refection
that everything was meant to be perfect.

         But what we didn't realise that
every refection is distorted no matter how
                              perfect we think it is.

And the perfection we looked upon,
             was cracked beyond our contemplation.
We were just slaves to the mirror of our own
                                                                ­              egos..



But what ever you do don't look at the refection
staring behind you,
                        you looked....

                                                     ­          I'm sorry.....