You are bonfire smoke
Clinging to my favorite clothes
Washed my hair 30 times
Felt your hair in my fingers
Every single time

And when I look in the mirror
I wear your smile
This glow in my eyes
Is reflecting off your skin

If I pricked my finger
It'd be your blood
You're coarsing rapidly
Through my veins
*I need a transfusion to escape

I'm in love with someone's daughter
living in the shards of a broken home
Cutting herself on two year-old letters
These are moments she can't fake;
reasons to feel alone
So used to abuse, her tears start to shake
I hold her close as her head starts to ache
"I love you too much,
so I can't let your heart break."
She said, "I know you love me,
but you've made a mistake."

I never meant for anyone to be my pulse.
I promise not to step on your feet
if you teach me how to waltz.

You walk through the sands,
an eclipse red in the sky.
A temple lies at hand,
Wherein truth reveals the lie.

Two figures block the door,
you release a note.
Whatever lies in store,
may be your last hope.

A book lies on an altar,
also a chalice of clear substance.
Your heart beats faster and harder,
so full of suspense.

You open the cover gently,
the pages crinkle with age.
Alas,
Each sheet was empty,
same on every page.

In confusion you look around,
Eyes falling on the reflection in the cup.
Now your truth has been found,
But the news has your heart sunk...

Black Space
(eyes without a face)
Poverty lingers
like an ill gotten taste
giving up her secrets to no man;
teaching lessons in life
at every turn.

Poverty taught me to be frugal
how to beg, borrow or steal
live on £1 a day to eat once a day
the truthful instinctual perusal
the unreal zeal
blocking the thoughts of hunger
the puerile senses;
the basics on how to feel.

In the near dark I found you
sheltering from the storm
under the bridge just like I was
wrapped in mottled harsh cloth
sitting on cardboard for warmth.

You spoke many languages
had a degree in anthropology
and a penchant for gambling
and alcohol;
we shared a bowl
of disregarded noodles
in the rain.

My friend Murphy knows all kinds of things about everything.
Like the chemical composition of LSD and how to dance ballet.

He told me once that there are an infinite number of universes,
where each possible variation in life has happened and I think
it's kinda funny and I think it's kinda sad

that I'm stuck in this one

Bury me in peaceful pasture
underneath a cobalt sky
far now from the battle raging
far now from my mother's cries.

Lay me down neath boughs of splendour
where the breezes speak of love
safe now from the wailing sirens
safe now from the drones above.

Lead me now to heavens garden
where my soul once more will play
games without the fear of dying
games without the fear of pain.

There I'll find my friend and brothers,
all the children gone before
too young to leave a world now mourning
too young to die in bitter war.