Every clock stops,
         it just depends which chime.

Yours was twenty seconds ago..

This grandfather is never being wound again.

Dont worry
My wounds
have almost healed
And Ive doubtlessly grown
a very thick skin
Over it
Now the bullets
That you fire
Habitually
From the seams
Of your mouth
Wouldnt harm me
Like before
They would
just scrape
My edges
And i wont
Even bleed
A little
And yes
I'll soon forget
All about it

you have so much love inside yourself
one day ,
you will only ache

you turn
your brown glass eyeballs in fountain blue,
as you have no more tears
left
to cry.
.

i think, one day,
a hole will open up inside you
but physically —
you will bleed .

who tore you open?
i want to ask—
and who will sew you closed?

you pour all of your blood into someone else,
.
and i touch each wound.

A black is wading with my blood
it’s no longer red.


You’ve left me here to heal with wounds raw open.
Left me to love without showing me what it was
( remember I can only learn from demonstration)
And left me to cry without any more salt tears - because you drank the rest after dinner.

Now I spends days with a knife inbetween my sweet fingertips
searching for the blood, that you have left me without.

I search kitchens for a substance so overpowering
that it will strip my insides bare and wash them clean of your toxins that have spilled in places I can’t reach.

Then find me caved in this void
where I pull the trigger at my head (metaphorically)
countless times a day until my stupid thoughts leak out
and drip onto the puddles.
and all that turmoil inside pours down me,
showering me in your illnesses.

Lights are put out by the last exhales I breathe.
you winded my lungs out of use and now I sit in dark.

I’m barricaded in  deafened voices
which I do not hear over your
pounding silence.

Hands are worn numb
from ripping up pages which have your name imprinted on each line in fantasies.

Senses drunk from words you forced to run down my throat and my body is flooded by your lips and I find myself bent over,
vomiting the **** you fed me.

In bed I’m cradling myself to sleep in peices.
Don’t you dare let me see you
in a dream tonight.

Reliving and Preliving
may all my signals ghost to sway
Just falter information
i shall be spirited and a weather
A clamour among all my houses
an assault laid upon my understanding
Tired
in knots
combing out the fantastic
a floss upon a sea
and not a wound
; Misplaced I shall better be.

and then I breathe
this is no longer to be
I am in practice
; unfooled to better be

Your expectations were to high.
Your wound had a scab torn off by the unbearable truth.
A wounded animal like my wounded conscious mind. 
The injury gone but the threat and fear still aware.

The wound isn't there anymore.
The more you fought and the more you've lost. Succomb to the war it is nothing but matter now.
As it always have been.
It's everywhere now..
On you .... In you .... It is you.
You are a wound only to be discovered as a scab. Picked and naked to vulnerability that lies within.