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I am the seaInside I am blue and violent,
Just like your eyes, which saved me
From drowning - I was calm yet crashing,
Waves of apologies and sad smiles.
You hooked me through the heart,
You and your crystal clear blue
Keep me floundering, not sinking
To the quiet places in the deep.
The dark ocean of empty gestures
And bad decisions drags and pulls,
But I fight to the uncertain surface
For one breath, to call your name.
PorcelainLike porcelain, your skin was
Pure white and flawless.
You were perfection, and
I was mesmerised
As Glosoli sang
And I cupped your face
Into my imperfect hands.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
And your collarbones,
And the ambient lighting
That highlights you with shadows.
My hands flit across your chest,
Down to your hips,
Smooth and porcelain.
But hard too,
An unyielding shell under your skin,
Stopping anyone getting in.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I run my fingers through your fingers
And your smile stays cold,
Porcelain and far away.
Ambient lighting highlights the shadows,
Under your eyes but it hides
That blotchy after-crying skin.
Mesmerised I want to reach out
But I see the cracks around your smile,
So I don't.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
QuakeThey call it heartbreak,
But really it was more of a quake.
Cracks spread out from the epicenter,
to my neck and to my thighs,
And widened until
As little flakes I fell away.
A damaged ornament, slowly
I collapse in on myself, and
In vain I try to hold the shards.
And after the aftershocks
There are too many pieces.
I feel myself fall from my hands
Jagged onto the cold floor,
And as you walk towards me
You cut your feet.
OpenIn the night I still hear the sound of her voice,
Gentle, like the quiet rainfall.
My eyes threaten to join in.
I remember your face and your hidden hands,
And every beat of my heart
Smashing my chest like it was trying to get out.
My ribs still echo with it,
Like my chest is cracking open.
Three years and still my chest is cracking open.
The dawn is darker than when I played Apple.
Outside it sounds just the same,
I can taste the tears still.
Three years old, when I screamed out in the kitchen,
While you made another kind of scream,
That I could not hear but I feel it now.
I feel the echoes swirling around,
Like my head is breaking open.
Three years and still my head is breaking open.
Petrichor and PeaceI find comfort in the quiet after rain.
Drops on the tarmac, chaos
And then silence.
The absence of sound is a sound
And the smell is new beginnings.
Petrichor and peace.
In fall after the leaves drop,
Crispy, ochre noises, til
Rainpour makes a mess of them.
No noise now, their colours blend
Into the ground and they regrow,
In the petrichor and peace
I find comfort that after our storm,
of industrial debris and man-made leaves
Fall rain will hammer down until
We are only echoes, and then
Silence and fresh grass,
Petrichor, and peace.
CountdownOn these long nights I am scared of death.
The changed moon reminds me that I am closer
To the time when my love gets grey hairs,
To the widow one of my parents will become,
To the empty rooms of children gone.
I fear the slip and fall,
And the look on your face on January 14th.
Both the inevitable, slow decline
And the unexpected screech
Of metal hitting metal.
To stand once more in a resting place,
Life once loved, now lost, and knowing
There are more lines on your face this year,
More things that you have forgotten,
And more cells awaiting rebellion.
Spring blossoms are a countdown
To a time without your eyes,
And more black suits and wilting flowers.
On these long nights I am scared
That I will be the last one left.
Do You Know What It Is Like To Be Unmade?It is that four o'clock curse,
Hypa Professional Stainless Steel,
Years past and bathroom floors,
"Now to know it in my memory".
Forgotten comforts and a lullaby,
Now your careless utterance.
Three years empty,
"Burnt Away" romance and consequences.
Scratch the night quiet.
"Jagged vacance thick with ice."
The skin will sing and sting,
Hypochondriac burns, twice.
And every drop of soul,
Poured out with the maelstrom,
Of cigarette stale lungs
And Holocene erases memory,
Internal parades eternally.
No mind enough to fill this mould,
"Someway, baby, it's part of me, apart from me"
That kind of loveI want a storybook kind of love,
Witches curses and poisoned apples,
Something to struggle for,
Against the odds,
Saved just in the nick of time.
I want a fable to envelop me,
And your eyes deep blue as the sea.
I sink down into their abyss,
And then your kiss,
A true kind of love on my lips.
I want a forbidden secret.
Insecurity and unsurity,
A crescendo kind of love.
As we are in the moonlight.
I want a snowstorm kind of love.
A blizzard to end all things,
Hurricane winds ripping apart,
Like tape and glue.
I want a nuclear reaction.
Irradiate my heart and soul.
A sickness kind of love,
With skin and pain and screams,
And aloe vera you.
I want a wartime kind of love.
Worries and kisses and tears.
Romeo and Juliet,
On no mans land,
We will embrace and die in love.
I want a fairytale.
Doomed and meant to be,
Unlike these faces I see,
The endlesss searching,
Trying to find some kind of love.
Next to BestLike the window pane race.
As mercury in the chill,
Lower the racers fall,
Victory puddles on the sil.
And the frozen teardrops,
Still and second best,
They are not winners, yet
They shine just the same.
Let's glow as next to best,
Not too special, but
A shining medals worth
Close to ideal.
Crossing in our time,
Not gaudy guilded gold.
Pretty good is second best,
I should know.
MaskShe wears a mask like it’s nothing.
Sometimes I forget it was made by demons.
I forget there’s a person living behind it.
Raspy Hill"I don't quite feel like myself."
I haven't for a while now.
My mind seems displaced,
Like it's wandered too far away.
"I've been having strange dreams lately."
Images of strange creatures dance in my sleep.
I don't know them but I know they are malicious.
What do they want?
"But now you're here and I'll make you feel right at home."
My saviour, my protector.
You'll guard me from this evil.
"Welcome to Raspy Hill."
This is my hell.
And you'll join me.
I'll make sure of it.
"Enjoy your stay."
Roses and barbed wireThe beauty of the roses
Right there for me to see
So colorful and vibrant
A sight to behold
But I can't get any closer
A fence surrounds them
Keeping them safe
Keeping me away
Away from their colors
Away from their scent
Trapped in this grey world of mine
Behind the barbed wire fence
Where Lover's Dream DarklyFor it is not a fable; — that which bleeds..
And her soul may whisper obsidian,
— But I am the sea of Darkness she craves
O’ long I hath bathed in these ravenous winds,
Watching shadows weep across river’s dreary
Upon nightscapes that plunder our souls —
A bouquet of crimson shall enchant thy lips;
Where slowly we fade into requiem
Drink me naked in the abyss of hungry wolves
Among demons and insanity, I thrust and fall
Ravaged, eons of lust spill from mine eyes,
And behold the Forests sing of murder!
In a sombre kiss, we shall undress the skies
Time will yield to the treasures of melancholy
I covet thee, unto this blood-filled Moon
O’ thou art beautiful decay upon my skin,
A ghostly visage dripping wanton & darkly ..
We are Lover’s haunting deaths lullaby;
Assassins brooding in a bewailing fairy-tale
She is mystic poison; & elixir immortale
Seek you me, in the mystique of necromancy
For I am the dream of Serpents fea
Sweet darknessDarkness, my dear
Darkness, my element
With your cold embrace
And keep me hidden
Hiden from the world
Hidden from my past
You are my ally
You are my friend
The only one I can trust
Vanquish the light
And cast your shadow
All over this world
Bibliophilia --C.To all the books I haven't read:
I have become your bookshelf
of dusted titles and busted spines
with arms that are full of fantasy
and romance and a head full
of memoirs I haven't written,
their lexicon curling my tongue
around five dollar word-plays
just behind the sheaf of my teeth.
With definitions straight to the point
and description airy and lofted
a dictionary defenestrates pages
that whirl into the night, petal
papers gliding like elegant
prose in a blank journal.
There is no table of contents
to map your way; follow the veins
ink leaves in the margins of my palms
because the books I've read tell me
if they give you ruled paper,
write the other way;
you are someone else's collage,
all the worn sad evidence of humanity,
stirred and sorted by a poet
because good books,
like bad people,
don't give up all their secrets at once.
MarksIt was the marks that reminded me,
Making it only six days
Til you had to be put back.
On the edge of my bed,
In your shirt and someone else's socks,
And cold hands.
There were too many hours,
And too many marks,
Like the marks on my skin.
No clean getaway, just
Dirty failed distance, marked
By blood and salt and six years.
Six years of blue tack,
Five pence per photograph deals,
Nights like this on the edge of my bed,
When you would hold my hand.
cross our paths
for their effects
every poem begins with sometimes
every dream begins with maybe
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