Believing in love...
Believing that it will last forever
Is what broke me before

Believing that I was loved
And that that wouldn't change
Made it all so much harder

When it blew up in my face

Believing the words "I love you,"
And "I won't stop loving you,"
Led to my dislocated heart

So how could you blame me
For inevitable insecurities
Surrounding those words now?

Because I love you...

I cannot get enough of you
But every time I ask for a kiss
Or declare that I love you first

Internally, I am petrified
That you could reject me
As damage is more than done

On my self-esteem, on my heart

And I love you so so much
I just wish that didn't scare me
As I'm sick of feeling vulnerable

For the sake of being happy
And you make me so so happy
But that scares me every day

Because I will love you forever

Finally rid of you.
You've clung to me for two whole years
like a parasite; fetid, vestigial.

This mild Friday was the surgeon's scalpel,
carving away the rotting flesh
till I could breathe again.

First came giddiness.
Light enough to float with the burden off my shoulders,
ready to sink into the depths of the dog days.

My bag practically emptied itself.
The papers and books interred in a box so I could
finally remember what my tabletop looked like.

Languor overcame me then, and I set about
drowning German recitals in episodes of QI,
burying Hamlet quotes with a controller as my shovel.

A thought crossed my mind as I
gutted the last of my sorting algorithms and Python code,
that I had been destroying part of myself.

Like the ***** that earned his fortune by
pleading for coins and pity from others. I had
forgotten what I was before.

I'm not worried, though.
Now I can write my Name, Centre Number and
Candidate Number on the next paper of my life.

Just remember block capitals. Write within the boxes.
Don't communicate with others. Keep your phone off.

In lines of age
we find a trace
of history,

weathered responses
that come to haunt us
as we are weighed down
by all the gravity
that we have found
in this life,

creases of flesh
molded to express
all of time’s
presence.

We earn each line
with perseverance
resisting death’s
determination.

Until, the end
when death finally
takes its revenge
and wins.

Bets placed
eternity takes
all the wrinkles
on our face,
and turns them to rot
and decay.

You and I were a photo finish
Crossing the line together
Neck and neck like always
And in the end
Neither of us could claim victory
But both of us managed to hoist the trophy of misery

They say “life happens”
and it turns out, death waits.
I am like a bull
charging into his flourish
The matador, opposite of my emotion
I am lucky, for he is patient

It takes two to tango but
it’s just you in this
this dance with death
and as you slip away, into it
charging becomes
running
becomes running to
becomes running from
and in the end, it’s all just
running

This bullfight is anything but
a dichotomy
escapades are laced with
fear and aggression
impulses are masked by
roars of the crowd.
To them you’re not you, just who they think
they wouldn’t know emotions you don’t even know yourself

It is a fear.
Calves are trained to hate humans
conditioned and cultivated in fear
fight becomes flight
it is a game.

Run free in this coliseum
chase what is the end and what defines the beginning