where have you gone?
i am bleeding out
all these secret histories
being nailed to a **** cross
and i try to be brave, i do;
wanting to spit in their little grimy faces
and growl and scream and writhe
but i can't show any of it.
my spine is fluid and curling
like a drooping dried flower
pumulled by a blazing star.
i just wanna hold your hand
and look in you eyes and know i'll find my way
cause everything is closing in
and where i once saw a city sweeping before me
i now only glimpse a tunnelled spot.
so come,
get over your pride
and hold my **** hand.

what a sad slip of a boy
who wears grey jumpers and hats
sitting in the dark of his bedroom
writing stories of the past

a haze clouds his eyes
for the future he cannot see
grief-stricken and dissociated
he does not realise all he could be

the solitude comforts him
as he's pumulled by history, the sundrenched kisses
wearily typing
imaging all of his tragical wishes