You’ve gone to places I can’t imagine/
Places I’m not meant to follow, with no/
Intention of coming back. I knew that/
Night was the last and I’m sorry I was/
Broken into thousands of pieces/
When you left. And, I’m sorry I couldn’t/
Be what you wanted anymore. All I/
Know is that you’ve died while still living and/
The person I knew no longer exists./
Ambiguous death has taken place now./
However, it is also true that you/
Can always miss somebody more than you/
Might ever love them. If that’s true, I just/
Might die too, buried deep somewhere with “you”./

It’s unfair that you were the artist.
You created a work of your own
out of my skin and
lived for it,
breathed for it,
died for it -
consumed
my raw flesh and became
part of something unnatural.
You bent the colours
to fit your needs
and painted my face
in white sheets
that you slept in
and I ruined your
perception of me.
You take me,
Bend me; Brake me
It’s all I’m meant to do
So tell me dear painter
Am I your favourite colour
Or have you gone onto
Something new?

I know we built these walls with many broken
promises, and that we meant for them to
be unstable and beautiful. I know
you want me to become something of small
reason or purpose, and I am meant to
be one of many. I know that. But I’m
not and neither are you and I want you
to know that. Stay a while. Don’t leave just yet;
For these broken-memory-bricks are sealed.

You kept the love alive
To **** it at the correct time
While I kept it alive
To see the butterflies
In the sky
With you by my side
Affection seeping into this kiss
Your mouth seeking my lips
For reasons unbeknownst to me

When we collide
It’s as though we’ve become
The eye of the storm
As we intertwine as one
Fleeting flesh, both cold and warm
As we collide
The barren parts of my being
Reside in your senses
Yours for seeing
And transform, implode
Into something
both new and unknown
Colliding is, if only briefly
A moment
Where I expect things to change,
For things to get better.
I think parts of my life will rearrange
Laying spent in your sweater
And then there is the collision,
The moment of impact
Where I steal myself
Look at the facts,
(Although abstract).
You are yours,
And I am mine.
We collide only to part once more.

She smoked like a chimney
Sunk as quickly as broken springs
Breathed like open windows and
Held like a home.
Her heart was a hallway of nomadic veins
Her hair golden honey
Her hands were driven paths beaten with age and
Her eyes were etched from wood
She spoke how a butterfly may land
How anchors may sink
How a petal may fall
but the thing is,
She always did seem to land, sink or fall.