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ls Jun 2019
'do you hear that?' i whispered
signalling to the birds beginning their slow rise with the morning sun
the 4am glow on a tuesday morning in mid-june

i see the outline of your figure as you bring yourself closer and press yourself against me
'you're the one who has to go to work'
she teases as she kisses me again

she sends a shiver down my spine
and chills though my bones
in the stuffy room filled with the heat of our breath
and the warmth of the summer air

another hour passes and we are still awake
we sang with the birds and our hands danced
until the light became brighter
and trickled ever stronger into the room

we drift off into a soft sleep
to the sound of the waking birds still singing their morning songs
sweetly she rests on my chest
unmoved by the noise

again we awake at 7am
i slip away from the bed and ready myself for the day
hiding in the corner of the room quietly so i don't disturb
but i catch her subtle sleepy glances in the mirror

the bright sun now beating through the gaps in the curtains
she is illuminated in all her glory
more radiant and more beautiful
than the warm summers day that awaits beyond our four walls.
ls Apr 2019
no sooner had we bloomed like the cherry blossoms on the trees
we wilted
and i fell

because like those cherry blossoms we were beautiful for a while
not destined to last longer than a week in March

with a whispering gust you blew away
while heavy with the weight of aprils rain
i crashed to the ground
ls Mar 2019
Like the pages of the book we ruined that day in the rain
When we walked through the dark ***** streets in secret
Without a care for the downpour that endured
We are warped and the ink is smeared
Overcome with blackness and nothingness
Distorting and destroying the beauty that once lay there.

Our words are gone, just the memory of what lay there before
We were made of the weakest material
Paper wasn't made to last forever
Stone would have weathered the storm
But stone was too heavy for you to carry and not as poetic as paper
You always loved poetry, so how could you let the book, our poetry die like this?

You ignored the clouds before us and let it drown me
While you stood up on my shoulders to keep your head above the flood
Careless, you left our pages cockled after I carried us
Damaged beyond repair because of our - your ignorance to what encompassed us
Beauty in words couldn't protect us from the onslaught
That fate had set out for us
The perfect pathetic fallacy for the fairytale ending we never had.
ls Jan 2019
The soil where I am supposed to grow
Can be found deep under concrete
Under layers of dirt and steel
Sheltered from the sun under skylines of glass
The fertile earth lays not at the surface
But saturated far below
That is where I will be planted
When I can find the strength to dig so deep
And I will root myself in place
And burrow back up through the earth
Breaking through cracks in the sidewalk
A tiny sprout of life that will flourish
Into a seemingly beautiful accident
And become too striking and too mighty
To destroy
The natural phenomenon among skyscrapers
ls Oct 2018
I collect sunlight and warmth from the summer to keep me burning

Enough to keep me alive long enough to watch the autumn leaves form crisp orange tunnels

Until I begin to simmer and fade in the winter when the snow falls on bare branches

Before the cherry blossoms bloom again and the flickering glow on my skin returns

But nothing can ignite the furnace in my chest like when I see you. The flames roar and flare scolding anyone that comes too close. I collect the heat from the summer sun, but if you were here beside me, all my life, you could keep me burning. Brighter than any sun. A force of nature unmatched.

Instead you have left me shrouded in my own personal darkness and you leave me to smoulder dimly all year round. Left to hold the images of the summer to keep me ablaze. But winter came early and I don't know if I have enough light within me to keep myself alight.
ls Aug 2018
I rest my head in the dusky hours
early in the hope I'll awaken refreshed
instead in the lonely hours
at 2am, 3am and 4am
my body rests
while my mind races with complex thought
caught somewhere between sadness and complacency
the past present and future merging into one
clashing and colliding
working hard into the night
sending my heart to palpitations.  

I close my eyes and the words I see written on my ceiling
are engrained on the insides of my eyelids
crawling with the spiders
I overthink instead of sleep
I dream in my conscious state
of what could've been
what is
and what might be
restless in a state of exhaustion
lucid in a state of total consciousness
hopeless to stop the relentless tide of my imagination
from rotting my brain inside and out
ruining any faith I have in a night of sleep
or a day of clarity and competence.  

The thoughts leave when I rise again at 7am
as planned
with the chiming of the bells on the nightstand
my head snaps into reality again
focus returns in the form of routine
get up, go
move on, mend.
Distracted and oblivious
my lack of sleep haunts me
until I repeat this dull cycle again tonight
I live my nightmares in the lonely hours
at 2am, 3am and 4am.
ls Aug 2018
I no longer keep a journal
But these words I write on paper
Are my deepest thoughts
The ones I keep inside.  
I would rather romanticise them
In poetry
Written over time
With rhyme,
And broken
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