How do the leaves fall?
They fall like safety on a Sunday.

Can the petals always stray?
Petals that curl like the morning wake.

No longer will there be a favourite colour.
Hues of the sky, the rain sets and
Nourishes the pallette in the eyes.

Girls take out their bows and ribbons.
A lad says it was a sweet surprise.
In the wondrous tinted twilight
The leaves agree to hold the twinkling
Before the blooms stir.

There I plant you in
My garden for you and I
Will always return.

Tell me five things you can see.

I can see the glimmering flame of a scented candle. It's spiced gingerbread, or pumpkin spice sugar cookies, or something. The flame dances above the wick, swirling hypnotically in my vision.

I can see my cat, curled up and sleeping soundly beside me. His little chest is rising and falling slowly, and his ears flick every now and then. His paws are embedded into the fabric of my dressing gown.

I can see my lamp, shining a warm yellow light across the room. The body is a dull chestnut brown, but the shade is silvery and glinting with spilled glitter from when I was young and played with fairy dust.

I can see my ring, golden and inscribed with some Hobbit language on both the inside and the outside. I wear it everywhere. It's a bit wet. I just washed my hands.

I see the moth sitting in the corner of the room. It's waiting for me to turn the big lamp on, I think. It's very small, with its wings all tucked in into a little rectangle. I haven't named it.

Tell me four things you can feel.

I can feel the soft cotton fabric of my duvet, running slightly coarse under my fingers as I rub it absently. It's rippling slightly from my fan.

I can feel the air from my fan gently lifting my hair off my pillow, blowing cool winds over my hot neck and chilling my exposed hands.

I can feel my wall and the paint chips flaking off it down the side of my bed. I can feel a small hole in the wall, creaking slightly when I push it.

I can feel my glasses resting on my nose, slightly slipping each second. There's a wisp of hair stuck in the hinge, and I gently pull it out.

Tell me three things you can hear.

I can hear the quiet buzzing of my laptop, humming monotone beside me, its heat slightly warming my ankles.

I can hear my fan whirring, singing out its little tune as it rotates around the room, occasionally clicking as it knocks against a bottle of body spray or cologne.

I can hear my cat purring softly as he sleeps. He sneezes every once in a while, and he burrows into his paws with a small squeak as I watch.

Tell me two things you can smell.

I can smell my candle burning away, a Christmassy scent that reminds me of watching old Netflix shows with a mug of mulled wine or gingerbread latte.

I can smell my cologne, a Diesel scent that's intoxicating. It's calming, and reminds me of sitting around a picnic table with my friends, rolling dice and leaning on each other too close.

Tell me one thing you can taste.

I can ******* toothpaste, gritty and sweet mint flavoured. If I lick my lips, I can still taste a bit of the ice cream I was eating - chocolate caramel.

Please relax, and go to sleep. You're too tired. I love you. Goodnight. I'll talk to you tomorrow.

On the map there 's a tripod
And an eye blinking trying to focus
Far away on a land called Tierra de Fuego
And there  goes  my Muse's Range Rover
Greenlaning la luz del amanecer
Tracking butterflies orchids grasshoppers and dragons,
Sad salads and fired bananas and dew
And all sorts of bits and bobs
Keeping corrections to a minimum.
If it looks Topaz
She didn't do it !
She's more like aurora,
Traveling long distance with laughter
Or lenses cooking light with cuddles
Or stir frying a full curried moon over the volcanoes
Of seven types of fired bananas
Always worried about aperture and exposure
My muse wouldn't live without her lens bathing
Diving and swimming into the warm and shallow depth of field
Just as she wouldn't live without her daily dose
Of nine megapixels of bioluminescent plankton
Because my Muse is an addict
My muse is a Nikon D800 addict
and an aurora addict as well
Earthing and grounding relentlessly
The inner storms of morning light
Leading to her native archipelago
Of Tierra del Fuego !!

And the ground beneath
My feet vanishes.
The air in my lungs
Evaporates within me.
The blood in my veins
Exsanguinates through my pores.
And my mind shrivels and expands
Like the core ready to explode.
And I’m dying.

5 things I can see:
The chair
The sky
The door
The walls
My hand

The walls are closing in.
4 things I can touch:
The floor
The chair
My hair
The walls

The walls swirl in my vision
3 things I can hear:
The birds outside
The fan
The sound of my feet bouncing off the floor.

The walls move in and out of my vision.
2 things I can smell
The cut grass.
The sweat on my skin

The walls
1 thing I can taste:
The salt on my lips.

And then the walls vanish.

It is on the nights, when I can think,
That there is nothing left for me to do
But drown, panic, sink
This music around me changes the scene
I can't figure out how to feel
My mind is so mean
Please save me from what I am fighting
I miss your warm touch
Please save me from dying
Please be my crutch

You took a chance
saw my wilted petals,
the people passing by
hearing them say
I was too far gone
and watered me
with your words
you took the time
you trimmed the leaves
you turned the soil
you planted my roots deep
you shone your light
you brought me back to life

When I needed words, he gave me silence
When I needed quiet, he gave me noise
Yet I have come to rely on his steadfast presence
His chaos - the only grounding force in my life

At least I know
That even though
Humans disappoint me,
That this soil and earth
can heal and feel this soul.

At least I can be grateful for the fact that
A storm can relate to my broken mind.

At the very minimum,
at least I know that I can connect with something
in a way that I wish another could.

But souls are a world all their own
and it takes a stroke of luck
to experience something that strong.