Ship’s tipping,
children crying,
water lapping
against my feet -
summer-side beach shores
flashing Polaroids
through clasped hands
in false prayer.

You,
atop the bank
rough hands; calloused
grabbing the rail
as you hang onto the upper hand.

No longer horizontal,
ripped apart from the domestic bed,
your chants to God
beg Him to take my life,
and spare yours –

It’s easier to be the underdog
when everyone else is falling, too;
I am the water,
I wait to lap you up;
please, I ask,
fall onto me
and let me love you to death.

In short, sink.
In shorter, drown.

I trust and believe
that the words of others
are truth and law;
we’ve always been standing
on unequal ground here -
forever on this titanic plane.

The crowd of everyone
and the universal singularity:
me.

You say whatever
and I say okay;
I say I’m drowning
and you say
you’re waiting for something
in the water,
to pop up and tip the scales.

When you knock on my flesh
I tear open a door
for you,
let you worm inside
and deposit your truths
under my skin;
let them grow like parasites
within me,
festering in septicaemia.

With my rotting body
like sea-soaked decks
at the bottom of the ocean,
I’m asking you to validate
the fact that I am becoming the decaying waters
and swallowing the boat,
because you made me
this way - and I?

I am somewhere in the picture, too.

We bought the galaxy
on a mortgage of borrowed time.
Because I wanted
to give you something grand
and you wanted space
and all of the stars.

Who’s in charge of this?
Not us, lying in a single bed
traversing the skies;
you need a bottle-opener
for your wine,
so you destroy a planet
and forge one in a star –
one use only.

I tell you that if we fall
into a black hole,
we’ll see in front of us
everything that will ever happen;
and you tell me you’ll look behind,
instead.

We try and find one,
but our hands come up empty,
and you say you never liked
vacuums, anyway.

I know all this.
I’ve always known all this,
and yet still,
I let you destroy
any home we create;
your hammer on the mantelpiece.

Perhaps spinning through the universe
is worthwhile,
because it means you
have to hold onto something;
finally.

What happened with me and poetry?
I haven't written in so long.
I feel a little dead inside let's say,
when I have to be opening up.

Do I have trust issues?
I do sometimes trust and have faith.

It's the intimate thoughts and emotions that I'm scared to uncover.

"Control".

I talk a lot about it, yet I don't have any.

So I strive to carry it out on myself.
It's not such a terrible thing in my eyes.
But to others,
I'm a ticking time bomb, primed to explode.

Although I don't have that explosive self-hatred gunpowder anymore.

Everybody's a critic.
And I guess I'm just scared of the judgment?

And I do to an extent!

I leave for one year and come back,
Completely different in all body and mind.

To be fair, it might be a little overwhelming
but. Why should I care?

and pick up the pieces for those who have fragile incentives?

It isn't my problem.
This is who I am, albeit being primed to destroy.


nobody can fix me but myself.

I used to go
swallowing matches
filling up on lightbulbs,
light lunches

second degree burns
through my throat, I
coughed up blood,
splintered glass, ash

but the moths in my stomach,
they loved it, you see,
flitted around just for a glimpse,
a tiny ray,
until
blood-soaked wings
stopped
sinking insects
dropped

I bumbled through the bramble,
****** and stings and me entwined.
They cut me deep and deeper
As I stumbled through the vine.

I fell out onto a clearing
Where I bled smally on the grass
And though this moment pains me
I pray to gods it lasts.

She sat above me,  beautiful,
Upon a throne of thorn.
Her supple frame caressed by they,
Yet remained untorn.

A lady or a fairy...
Or even better still!
A godess of those prickly vines
That wrapped around her will!

With every step the ivy squeezed
And yet I dare not care.
If she would waste but a breath on me,
I would not want for air...

I still don’t know the color of your eyes
They go from gray to green to blue
You like cold showers and clear skies
And I like crawling into you

I get so caught up in the endless sea
I don’t notice when my lips turn blue
The psychedelics take over me
My fingertips numb from touching you

A violet girl with tangerine dreams
Can’t ever pull off those shades of blue
My tired blue boy in baby blue jeans
I almost dyed for you

you can't fall in love with a corpse

so you breathe life into a blank skull

one full of wonder and sunshine light

placed delicately upon shoulders

that have mastered every pain

the arms come next

chiseled and carved with attention

soon after follows the chest and torso

which were crafted with care and restrain

legs are after this heinous track

built tall and long and with no regret

the taste of being in love

will follow there sometime

don't get too close

She was staring out the window
On a rainy afternoon
She liked jazz
but he always played blues

Tune after tune

So it was blues she listened to
With mock appreciation
for the records in the room

A lazy lovers weekend
with books and plants and puff

She smiles every so often
But she knows she’s had enough