"This isn't going to appeal
to the general
populace"

What do you have to say, you ****?
Put it in poetry. If I've shocked you I just want you to know
that last tuesday the clerk at the bank
shook my hand, because this is art,
and I'm not like this when I talk, when I walk,
or when I pull words out from the gutter like a street-walker,
some loser who screams "It's a defence
mechanism, so ******* sue me!" If I saw you in real life
I promise
you wouldn't recognize me, I'm plain
and innoffensive. I wouldn't wake anyone up, open anyone's eyes,

so that's what this *******
poem is for. It's your wake up call,
so open your  eyes and look for the beauty you'd see
if you weren't deaf and blind to it all. This is an ugly ******* poem,
but it's meant to be- I want you to look up, look out your window
down to a book or down at your hands
and see something beautiful, and unlike this
******* poem. I want you to hate this
******* poem, and let you love something that, before,
you never knew you could love.

ah,   the sky fell
                 and nothing was left
but the stars
    
what resilience;
we tore it all down
   until destruction
              clung
to the air

we breathed it in;
prophetic dust
         in our lungs
telling us
‘a conclusion is inescapable’

If the world knew what I knew
About the broken heart-disease
And how it festered deep inside you,
Or if they’d seen you change as I had
Caught quick glances of the real you,
If they’d watched there be no cure
As it became a trust infection,
If the world weren’t so sure that you
were just an imperfection
Then they’d box up their rejection
And accept you.

When I'm older I'll
**** with my eyes closed
because I don't love my body
and I'll let go of you in the morning
because you never held me and tomorrow
there will be no arms sleeping round my shoulders
telling me not to leave

I'm young and stupid and I've given up
on love. When I'm older
I'll **** with my eyes closed
and I promise I won't
expect you to be there beside me
when I wake

bitter isn't something you taste
it's the feeling seeping onto your tongue,
the desease that makes you want to shut your eyes
and pull the universe by it's threads:
twine it around your fingers like a kite
and pull, watching it plummet, the magic broken
everything unwound

as intimacy is our lie,
would you hold my hand?
would you breathe for me?
you statue

i hold the door closed because
i know you stand outside
alone, you living statue
you real
living statue

i can hear your lungs fill
outside the door
(because you do not exist
i can pull blood from a stone
and if you find me empty,
bloodless, you will know)

this is the death
of ideals; romance only
the laughter on our tongues