a warm, windy, muggy day
where i have blissfully snoozed the arvo away.
men parade the streets chanting about home,
the football hits the net repeatedly whilst my mind puts on a show.
i am always dreaming of you,
i hate that i do.
not you,
but me,
why have i so suddenly gotten back the capacity to dream?

The sweet and sour taste of four a.m,
when all that can be heard is deep breathing and slight rain.
I lay in a bed that no-one owns,
in a room perpetually cold,
and pretend that my endeavours to educate this blank piece of paper,
that doesn't actually exist in this physical plane,
are not in vain.
But in reality, does the few thousand words that try to define
how we translate cultural films over time,
actually matter?
I think not.
Because every few minutes I have to stop,
just to check that you're breathing, that your skin is still soft,
just to whisper better dreams in your ears.
I'd rather be asleep than sat here.
I'd rather be somewhere that does not exist.
I'd rather be driving down that road,
the one where the bluebells are just opening,
with absolutely no concept of tomorrow.

you could pretend
there’s all the time left in the world
to hold a hand
or watch her toes curl
that days are slow
in their release of hours,
there’s always one more left,
one final hour.

but time is running
and you’re quick to follow
memories are blurring
because days are slipping
and summer will become one long day,
where you started a different person,
a long day where you did everything
where you lost a thousand people
who you’d never dreamed of losing
where you found
and fought
for a thousand more
who you now dream of keeping.

if only time wasn’t running
and we were sitting
in the busy restaurant forever
or laying in an adopted bed
or wearing jumpers you never own
or driving along the infinite country roads.
we are all pretending that
another hour will follow
time is running
and we wish we could walk along forever.

sleeping in the dark
always makes me nervous;
an aversion
to curtains
i like to watch the stars
glide across the ocean of infinite nothing
hear screaming lone cars
and cats colliding
a solitary dog bark
as my mother sighs in the dark.

the sun cannot decide
if it is good enough to show
so it ducks and dives and hides
behind black clouds that will not go

you are a light breeze
and i am a complete thunderstorm
how many times have you cried?
i don't say this to misinform.
you are not mine
and now i think i'll be fine
one summer
in how many more to come?
one summer left
to just have fun

a whir heard at work
and when the lit end of a cigarette burns.
the trees are dead
and yet the doors are still open.
an atrocious haircut
such a misfortune.
hook nose talks to ill-fitting jeans,
tender child
shattering scream.
and I will not recall standing here in my twenties.
a boy will converse with me
and I realise that humanity is generally friendly
realise that hate and envy
are probably just pretending.
he drinks the water
and for a second I imagine kissing
aren't we all pretending?
how can you validate an emotion
that lurks on a spectrum
with no shared connection?