Rusty axe in hand, cold air on the face
Holding down with a single damp hand
Recoiled in place
Slammed down with a thud and a crack
Another in rapid succession
And then another still in a dark progression
Pain racks the mind, disgust sights the eyes

The twilight moon covered by clouds
Refusing to witness what has transpired
Mind dulled, and heart torn
Eyes front, recoil once more
With a final throw a shatter rings out
The land convulses, the wind cries out
Something beautiful is thrown throughout

It was a cold dark night when it came to pass
That from out of the dark and into the light
I shattered my soul to keep you alight

For while you grant me the strength to live, and the resolve to thrive,
While you grant me the loyalty of the most loving companion,
While your kindness draws the eyes of strangers and the hearts of the bitter,
And while you have pledged all of this to me, in an act of love I can never hope to see again, I must depart.

Because for all your virtues, you could never see that your flaw was me.

He is the sunrise over the black hills
He is the feeling from which my soul spills

He is the beating of my heart
He is the pain of being apart

He is my song
He is where I belong

He is amica mea

I still can’t find the words
Because, perhaps, a part of me feels
That you’ll look at me like I have ten heads
If I say how I cannot heal.

Perhaps I don’t want to heal at all,
Now I am a vulnerable, scorned thing.
The looks of realisation passing over their faces
As I tell my sorry story, my frightening fabula.

The tale of poppies and lilies and
The coldest winter I have ever known.
I was skin and bone with a ******* coat
And I didn’t like who it was that I was.

The tale of glassy eyes and cold ones
And throwing yourself at me
The tale of black and white pudding
Of Brett Ashley and Daisy Buchanan
Of ostentatiousness unrivalled.

I still can’t find the words
I’m angry, sad, tearful in public alone
Confused and bewildered.
Is that how you love someone?
Or claim that you do?

Is that the ‘nice thing’ you’re holding back?
Is that the swivelling chair or the casting couch?
Is that why I cannot seem to get over it?
Not over you, it.

And you say you weren’t well at the time.
I supposed we were both stuck clinging to each other
To broken to move away, to scared to be alone.
But no, this isn’t an excuse.

I still can’t put it into words
How profoundly odd I feel these days
You didn’t hurt me but you hurt me
And all I can see if your smirking face.
‘Calm down, you’re gorgeous.’

Oh, I could hate a hurt like that.
My sorry story, fantastic fabulam
Is it too posh if I speak outside English?
Why do you care? You knew who I was.
You know who I am.
You know.

And I’ll bet you also can’t find the words
So you hide behind cheap drinks and albums
And everything scummy because you despise who it is that you are.
Hoi polloi, the common man.
Whatever ‘common people do.’

I still can’t put it into words
And I don’t want to.
It’s too complex and I don’t have the energy to tell a story
To tell the world of the war I won
The hollow victory, the end of our empire.
Red lips, red boots, silver shoes.
Go to sleep, it’s over now.

We fight and strive for very little in the end.
The results we seek never come easily and because of that,
We suffer.
Without preparation,
Without knowledge,
Without passion
We become at war with ourselves,
Seeking some type of short-term goal
And we are satisfied with just that little.
I choose not to take my anger out on you.
You choose not to make assumptions about my actions.
Yet you cut me down and we're back to square one.
Screaming.
Fighting.
Crying both together and apart.
Maybe one day we'll be stable again but until then,
This resolve is okay for now.
This battle isn't our forever.

Rumblings shaking the earth
Names cried out, long lost
Blame the gods, or us
Who forgot to pray?

Buildings collapsing
“Ubi est mater?”,
Children cry
Who forgot to pray?

Ash everywhere
Miles and miles of dust
This is it,
Goodbye Pompeii.

My mind is a pin spinning on its head.
Round it spins and round it goes. 
Left alone it would spin forever, left alone it would be content.

But the world is cruel and nothing is ever alone. And so it wobbles at the breeze and it wobbles when blown and it wobbles sometimes by it’s own to-and-fro. It wobbles, and wobbles, it looks like it may just fall. Topple over and spin no more. But it never does, it always comes back. It always recovers. It always wobbles back.
And it keeps on spinning, round and round it goes.

My mind is a pin spinning on its head.
Maybe this breeze will be the one to push it over the edge.