Seasons

I'm waiting for this broken clock,
It's hands refuse to move.
I try and push them past midnight,
To see only time disproved.

I'm waiting to start drifting north,
My compass points towards a star,
Should it alight, or it ignite,
It seems the same when I'm this far.

I'm waiting in this redundant room,

The lights strewn across the christmas tree,

As the emptiness around is consumed.
By the flashing compliant colours, unpredictably,

I'm waiting to open the present, vacantly
And in preparation I take a guess,
As to what would be inside.
But nothing's waiting under the tree,
Nothing sitting set aside,
Nothing that I can access,
And nothing has been left untried,
There are no knots to be untied,
There are is no failure, and yet no success,
The clock's at zero, I must confess.

Bauble

I carry it so carefully,
So fragile in this crowded procession,
It's smooth spherical surface slipping
Through my grasp, though I still clasp,
I can almost feel it's frailty,
Nearly cracking through my suppression,
But without it lacking any cause,
Just a simple object of obsession,
The virtually utopian orb, another
Ornament, happily smothered
With practically perfect progression,
But the quartz is counterfeit,
The gold in imitation,
The silver, just a simulation,
And all tacked on without support,
Sold to for another cunning celebration,
So when I forget and let go,
And as the silent tears run from all around,
Such an ersatz Earth falls to the ground,
And it shatters without so much as anyone making a sound,
And the lights in my head, all aglow,
What matters is what was inside such a shell,
Thought to be the sounds of the sea from so long ago,
Or the sights on the summits where the sun bid farewell,
Or the touch of the trees which now rest down below,
But there was simply nothing in that shattered mess.
It was wholly overflowing in emptiness.

Stell

I haven't been sleeping.
Outside, it always seems dark.
It's the cumulative curse,
The divide I had been keeping,
Which seems to have cleared,
What's night, and what's day?
It's this detachment that I feared.

My hierarchy lives, or lies in its hearse,
But the service is set to replay.
There's no time to rehearse,
So just bury it halfway.

At any time of midnight,
The alignment seems adverse,
Maybe it's the clouds, but
I can't see the stars. Condemned,
Forever shining but from this distance,
The prejudgment cannot be stemmed,
Everything is similar, nothing so diverse,
I admire them from afar,
But aspire to be obverse,
This almost identical illumination,
Isn't better, but rather, worse,
Due to my objective expectation.

And what of these connections,
Do we determine dislocation?
Maybe everything's just sprawled,
And we think of things in reverse,
But still I'm so enthralled,
By this celestial separation.

Depletion - Clime

I
My guilty feet don't stop walking,
They crush the snow on which they stand,
My guilty mouth cannot start talking,
It's rush of words turn my tongue to sand,
Now a rock-river, it's crystals chalking.

II
I'd feel too ashamed to look down,
The clinquant desert of silver-white,
Soon, in the dry heat they will drown,
The brilliance will fade into spite,
And our heedlessness will redound.

III
When it is here, it is ivory incandescence,
A blank canvas in it's purest essence,
Then tarnished by our fallacy.
The argentate becomes anthracite,
And we see no difference in it.
It devolves into charcoal overnight,
It is the bloody ink we try to overwrite.

Hail

As the strangers walk past me,
I almost have a sudden urge,
To shout and see if they respond,
To the boy whose feet shuffle on the verge.

True, a slight rain was forming,
The hazy drops feebly fall,
The lazy wind fails to correspond,
As if the water has no weight at all.

But they make no difference, those clinging crumbs
Of moisture. Usually they just drip off the coats.
Sometimes, they get caught in your hair,
Or they paste themselves to your face,
But how you brush them off, with such haste,
The beads now unchaste,
The trail of the skies tears retraced,
This endless tautology of comfort's comforting,
Yet needless embrace.

And I wonder, what would it be like
If I stepped out from under, my stoic and solid
Shelter, and for the first time felt
The trickle filter through. Welter
In the climb, but yet a descent, heroic yet squalid,
If only I could misrepresent this brick box
Where I dwelt.
What is this ascent,
In which all that is warmer can't melt?
Stuck in this stone-stable state.
If I were to fly I would be a liar,
The pattern won't shift as I get older,
But as I reach higher,
I only feel colder.

Eventide

This longest night leads me back,
To the shortest day with the most effect,
Still feel your delayed touch on my shoulder,
The lasting light faltering, yet still it can ignite
Your absent smolder.

I can see it setting just beyond the fire,
Lit to illustrate the year which has passed,
The cinders soar out of my sight,
Higher and higher.
They move at last.

Like an burning butterfly which spreads its wings,
Like a sallow skylark which is suffocated as it sings,
Like a barren bell which rusts as it rings,
It is the ashen harper which strikes sorrow on its strings,
My sovereign remnant, my crown of kings.

I wrap it in discrepancy and seal it with desire,
I carefully lay it in its cold coffin box,
This the unopened gift of which I never tire,
My useless hope of the equinox.

Plastic Tree

My hand slips as I try to slip the star
Onto the top of the tree. This year,
I've gone for a different approach.
This year, the tree glows white,
And it won't take traditionalism's reproach.

Interspersed with almost transparent bristles,
This fir immersed in it's own mild light,
No need for extra bells and whistles,
As my hands run through it's hair,
It makes it's own Christmas night,
Although perhaps it's role reversed,
It stands out, well in sight,
Dives headfirst into public dismissal,
And dries itself whilst being submersed,
It's black and white dizzying with delight.

My upside down, wrong way around,
My rotting, misguided, vulgar pine,
Has my undivided attention unbound,
It's provided endless decoration, unconfined.

So when I missed the top,
And as my star fell, down a few degrees,
I let it perch there, perkily askew.
And for once, it seems that I am pleased,
With my not-so-impressive debut.

Inimical

For which reasons I allow myself to ascertain,

I do not know. I allow petty prospects take over again,

My hand wrist-deep in winter snow.

Surely once before is enough to make me maintain,

That it is too much. It is the broken records' refrain,

I'm too cold to feel the frigid touch.

Pretty soon only what's left from the last time will remain,

Though the distinction weary. Perhaps too tired from trying to sustain,

The chill and its burn become bleary.

I should have guessed, but instead confessed what I chose to retain,

My keepsake. My memory of predilection intrinsically abberant and arcane,

My star-crossed snowflake.

Mirage

It came, in an apparition clear,
Or perhaps in a breach of observed trust,
The motive melancholy, so sincere
But still I feel it so unjust.

From far away, it may appear,
Glimmering with wealth and worth robust,
But dare to get closer, the notion austere,
And all you shall see is distorted dust.

And how can such prosperous pretense shed a tear,
When your eyes are drawn to it's waters of lust,
Everything saturates into a veneer,
As the flood within begins to rust.

Defrost

Your thoughts like dancers, sliding across ice,
Unwilling figures leaping towards answers,
It's the shallow fall which led them into hiding,
But the composition's not concise.

They claw their way through dignity,
Their footsteps leaving lacerations,
Scratching through what you could be,
The water-ice bruised in oscillation.

Though still pretty in this softened state,
All that was grazed restores in the thaw,
A chance to remunerate, recreate
But the art is lost on the melting shore.

Abstracted

Your transitory absence like a numbness on my fingers,
Your presence stolen but in paralysis your essence lingers,
My allegory replays in surprising evanescence,
Its sharp stiffening story enmeshed in luminescence.

So when I seek those fever-like feelings,
There is nothing there to prove the permanence,
The fervor never healing, the frenzy unrevealing,
I am in enraptured, captured by the ecstasy I'm stealing.

But when you leave, my need is annealing.
My rooted-requisite displaced by your ubiquity,
My interpretation lost in your ambiguity,
My enchantment in your obliquity,
And the distance due to our contiguity.

Body - II

My lines I had not the chance to draw,
They were sketched and then were scored,
My lines cut across the dotted door,
As the rigidity of the inevitable is restored.

Slowly filled in by portions insecure,
Inconstantly furnished with ornaments unsure,
And soon the crux is covered,
Laid beneath wreaths of rhinestone chains,
Deception deluxe, never discovered,
Hold onto life by it's platinum reigns.

And ride it, it is the horse that never fades,
It's powerful legs whip through the earth,
It's mad-mane moves through all the shades,
As if aware of the anguish of your birth.

Wordplay

When I was bored, I ripped apart
Bit's of books I could have written,
Paper castles in which I hid my heart.

I borrowed security, never getting
The full fortification, seemed so upsetting,
My dull fixation obstructing with obscurity
The migration of my maturity,
The words' constrained cremation,
The meanings' drained donation,
The tears' ascertained accusation,
My adjustment abstained from adaptation,
Now what's last is impurity,
And what's first was surety,
The stained satin allegation,
The twisted starvation,
In the overgrowth's application.

Covered - III

My best impression, speechless
As the bed lays unmade.
Untouched since I've been awake,
I left the blanket as it was.

Faking into body form,
Flaking, starting to conform,
But then it's the morning,
And as the shivering succession is yawning,
Too early for it to aspire,
It prepares itself to transform;
Another pattern ready to expire,
Another impression to admire.

If I leave it, walk away, and then quickly
Turn around, I can make out
Where my legs were falling,
Deep into the cast, my near-invisible indent,
The constricted contours' appearance inspired
By the skeleton-soul which was required.

Covers - II

My clock faces me, standing precariously
By the wall. I remember taking them out,
The batteries, and now it's hands are frozen.

Choosing one was harder that I would imagine,
I looked for hours, and told myself,
That there should not be numbers edging around
The edges. I opted for shapes,
Universally subjective, singularly elective.
It's facial symmetry encloses me, but still
I am free to choose the time, I can turn it
So it's half past three, or half past nine.

And I can forget about what I have chosen,
And I can forget about how I can't live without,
My perception, me, my minds escapee.

But there's always been that glass.
No matter what I see underneath,
It's still there, reflections' sheath,
My mirror looking into the past.

Cover - I

My shadow splits,
Unawares of where to turn.
It wears its smile unseen,
There is more than one light,
So it divides, with the weaker side
Always behind the screen.

Maybe it seems stronger,
The ambling flicker makes it last
A little longer. Who knows
About it's true shape or form?
It staggers behind the opaque glass,
Meant to see through,
But it had been miscast.

There had always been,
That split-second lag, slightly
Out of place. The almost-invisible
Contrast, between the actual pace,
And the actions of the veiled trace.
Face to face, the white-warm fleece-flag, nightly,
The two reconvene.
They think they are divisible,
As the gloom is unseen.

Under The Tips

In my room, on my wall,

There stands, or perhaps hangs,

Nothing special, nothing sacred,

Nothing rare, nothing robust,

A certain frame-less photograph,

The embodiment of my trust.

An image of some bottle-caps,

Under their glass blanket.

Their edges rub against one another,

An almost metallic lust,

The contours of the picture's corners,

Lost in comparison

To the tell-tale signs of immature rust.

And so many colours!

They seem so sure of their brightness,

Almost fighting one another

In order to be seen, 

Embracing their own tightness,

Whether it seem like mere politeness or obscene.

"Lime Soda," shaded green in its lightness,

Expels that it is "artificially coloured."

Yet still it excels in falsity made serene.

The constant coda, "Kola", I must admit

The label put me off a bit. But in it's regal blue,

No childish pettiness shall put it off displaying

It's royal hue.

And then there are two which are nearly the same,

"Nugrape" and "Grapefruit drink",

They have the same content,

Apart from their name.

The masculine brand, "Ted's root beer",

Contrasts with the calm yellow.

It's true intentions unclear,

It rests powerful, and yet mellow.

The simple sunshine; "Joy Juice."
It's orange splendor so aptly called,

Slightly bent, a bit obtuse,

But in its own happiness it lays installed.

The misty white and the milky blue,

Mysterious "Sun Cream" reveals not its destination,

The apparent seems to be taboo,

But obscurity smiles in dedication.

The bitter preconceptions of "Lemon-Lime",

Would have led me to otherwise avoid,

A taste I found sweet and sublime,

And sudden sullen rancor is destroyed.

The "Pale Ginger-Ale" classes itself "Dry",

But if we care to look beyond it's design,

It will blush with saturation, with the satisfaction

That it has been given the chance to shine.

The last which caught my eye,

Has a multitude of definitions.

Simple "Like", on a simple white.

And it tells me something I cannot deny,

In spite, 

Of the admission, the omission, 

The condition, the transition,

Or the position. The knot untied;

They are only as deep as a falling snow,

And if we wish to understand anything,

Other than the apparition,

We must wave what's on the surface

Goodbye.

Armor - IV

My checkered shirt, a neutral tone,
With cardboard-brown-boxes over the creamy stone,
Almost like little houses, overcast,
The shapes drowned by the circle-sea of the past.

The buttoned sleeve didn't seem so tight,
But now my hands try too hard not to touch.
And I walk out in the mist despite
The knowledge that I can't see too much.

My early December helps me remember,
The cold of the bright mornings,
Lost in the ice's adorning.

And I want it, it's passive warning,
The transparent edges which I fold down,
The last sheet of winter paper,
My words' vapour,
Spoken as what's ahead is dawning,
My breath transforming into its own creator,
As my writing's fawning.

I feel a tug at my wrist,
But it seems to impossible as such,
And I should have known it when I turned.
A breaking branch, it's leaves clinging.
And all the while, the wind is singing.

Carefully, I take my other hand,
And with fingers forever still,
I catch the button, and the other limb trembles.
My fear shortens my breath,
This is the risk I am taking,
My last waking,
My middle faking,
My first; aching,
But I must go on.
As the fog is flaking,
The attachment disassembled,
And not only does the branch spring free,
From its fearful bind,
My hands stop shaking,
And although my eyes can see,
My fear is blind.

Armor - II

I like to set my alarm early.
About twenty minutes, give or take.
I know that I have time when I wake.

Whether the early sun marks another start,
It's shrill brightness cuts across my eyes,
One deeply in dark thought,
But the other forced to see through.
Or if the fading night stars play their game,
As I watch them wave goodbye,
Back into the past,
Where their constellations mark your name.

I never bothered to learn them,
Any shred of reason I have left,
Has been trapped by emotion.
And somehow it recognizes the patterns,
A sign of my delayed devotion,
My hands reach out,
But the signs only play out memories,
And to open the window would be
To let them go.

Sometimes I pretend that I'm
Somewhere, sometime, someone else,
I clutch my blanket to myself,
A spectrum of opportunity,
My closed eyes see more than I ever could.
The smell of a new dawn,
The first fallen leaf in a wood,
The last drop of rain, falling misunderstood,
Never knowing if it should,
Hold back, it's purity withdrawn.

But it's that musty smell of waiting,
The lingering vagueness, predestination translating
Into various longing, to break out
Of this half-sleep.
But where do I return?

I like to set my alarm early.
About twenty minutes, give or take.
But when it rings, the heartbreaking call.
Do I sleep, or do I wake?

November

The subtle package,
That time cannot trace,
Poison playing poison's race.
But sadness spreads at it's own pace.

The standing, when the seats are taken.
Waiting for the train,
That they have forsaken.
Facing the wall, as they face the crowd.
The sound of impatient silence,
The waiting seems too loud.

The would-have-been tiled walls,
A darkening creme, the empty frames,
Where colour would have teemed.
The bare and brash emptiness
Of the uninviting floors,
The non-existent doors,
Only a lack, that's all there is.

And I want to sit, down,
But I've already explained,
I don't want to feel that harshness,
Not again. And to look around,
To see that contrast, the blankness
And then them.

They lean against it,
They bask in it's neglect,
Pressed up against it's omission,
The peeling paint reflects them,
A less than perfected rendition.
But my passive eyes reject them,
The evanescence of my condition.

The tracks, that's where I keep my stare.
They only go so far, either way,
And I stand in the middle, neither here nor there,
Not knowing from where the train will come.
At both ends a tunnel, at both ends unknown,
Their direction leads to a close. As it approaches,
The beat of a drum, my thought postponed,
The undiscovered attacks,
And I stand alone.

Utterance

A broken brush against my cheek,
A careful crashing in my heart,
A wholesome heavy-handed blow,
The bruising grows, week after week.

My desperate search, hands everywhere,
But I know bandage, no plaster,
Will make me heal faster, nothing I wear
Will hide them.

The new perfume, your love in bloom,
Yet the scent mistaken,
Your nectar taken, the sting remains,
But your wings cannot take the strain,
But in flight you feign blossoming,
In your costume.

Before you were embraced,
By the apathetic hands of time,
You basked in synthetic prime,
The light infiltrated the poetic rhyme,
But you could not resist, as sweet
Variation insists, that change
Created this shock, belated,
But soon your other half elated,
By desires dwelled on for too long,
That the idea of symmetry seems not strange,
But the thoughts you've held,
Have led to imagination, dilated.

And I, the magnetic tree,
Who draws these traits, in order to be,
Able to draw up moisture,
And drown my state.
The constant immobility,
Renders me into stone.
I am held straight my by branches,
Yet left on my own.

My once fated self,
Has now lost all fate.
My once weighted self,
Has now lost all weight.
My once gated self,
Is now open for debate.

What is the difference, between
Love and hate?
For is hate not simply,
Love too late?

Tidal - I

As she seals up the envelope,
Her tongue avoiding the bitter cut,
Of the fastening strip, Her upper lip,
Trembling with the thought,
That once Her words are sent,
Unimportant in that brown paper parcel,
Her breath the glue,
Closing the gap like cool calm water,
Will vanish through and through,
As if the ocean had caught Her,
And sailed Her away to a place anew.

But in that ship, the creaking wood,
The crumbling floorboards,
The faded grey washes Her thoughts away,
But she still pretends they last,
Her care brushes over back into the past,
As the damp droplets of what was lost
Reign their way back into Her life,
And she walks in the wind on the deck,
Thinking she's putting out Her neck,
When she's really putting down Her heart.

She fears, constantly, a state of wreck,
Where every inflection will lead to
An almost glossing over of rupture,
The holes hidden in between
What's half and what's hole,
As she reads to herself,
A story she once thought of,
But let drown in the wind.

The memory, detached
As she hopes it will disembark,
Leave at a stopping point,
Never to return. The speech anointed,
The meaning patched, and
Now the puzzle is gaining to many pieces,
As the image itself,
It's complexity increases.

Armor - I

I look down, to shield my 

Face from the unyielding chill.

My pace picks up, but still my

Mind wanders in the icy thrill.

I raise my eyes, a stray

Strand of hair has stolen it's way

Into my sight, and the 

Carefully created creases, of

My hands in leather, first in pieces,

But now in two, reaches to

Brush away the unwanted.

I need to check the time.

My thick-skinned friend,

It leaps for my pocket,

And although I know, that

Inside that small patchwork maze,

Of fabric and thread,

There is something which lays,

Which if I focus my gaze,

Can lead my curiosity, to its end.

Of course, I cannot feel this,

The tortoise shell armour encases

My fingers, but still the sense of touch,

It lingers, but I know that it is there.

I shift my numbness, all five attached,

In an attempt to gain entry,

In an attempt to know.

But as much as I slip, and switch,

And swirl and twitch, my forged fervour

Seems but a glitch. The only way, the

One I know, is to dispose my gloves,

And dive right in. 

But in such fascination I forget,

That if I take them off, 

The stone will set. 

And although it may seem,

Like what I could feel, would be free,

I would be open, and as of yet,

I don't think, that frozen 

Is something I want my senses to be.

Bonfire Night

I leave the window slightly open,
To see how its slanted glass will cope,
I can vaguely hear the muffled shouts,
Of blossoming colors bright,
And swallow the distinct sense of smoke.

It sets off the aftertaste of a flame,
It's bitter spark still left on my tongue
As it yearns to set alight my lung,
With the fire of your name.
I fear its failure, that its incandescent smile
Will flail in the cold open air for a while,
And then ascend into the indifferent night.

And in between each burst of blame,
As disorder dissipates into the velvet sea,
There rests a calm, timid, peaceful shame.
Until the next crimson reaches its height,
And tints the sky with a shade of the same
Dazed cerise, the aftershock released,
But after a while the tint shall cease,
And all shall return, to that blackish hue.
With that slight hint of the preceding glow,
The memory I cannot undo,
The only burn I'll ever know.

Degradation - II

I turn away,
But still I'm blinded, misguided,
By the sight, the sound,
Of what I thought profound,
But maybe the pressure
Changed your ways, and you
Took measures to stop your
Vulnerability being found.

And then by mechanical chance,
The moon hid it's monthly dance,
And the time was right,
In the black of night,
You sought to solve the balance,
The method well known.
Yet was it well enough for the results,
Discovered in the image
Of selfish generosity,
Of vulgar mediocrity,
To be so willingly shown?

Was it too much perhaps,
Maybe it seemed ancient,
Or maybe too new, your patience
Tested, and as wanted,
All is equal; you are the hero,
So many problems you hope to
Complete,
You take your arrogance for granted,
Try so hard not to see,
That all you can do is compete,
With a phantom-force, his mask, his mark
Forever left.
All is equal. Equal to zero.

Your confidence will lead,
Your figures follow,
But soon you'll forget,
Why a hole is hollow.

Impression - III

This was a while ago, I admit

But still sometimes it plays on my mind.

I was wrapping your present,

In whatever I could find, and I came across

A rather familiar foil, it's glare ensnared me,

And it's hue, it glared,

So without once turning over

I chose to use it, unprepared

For perhaps what was going to be,

My realisation of pure truth's

Retaliation, as I tied the knot,

The binding complete, 

What's outside obsolete,

But so carefully made,

Torn and withdrawn,

After the prize has been paid,

And the lies have been laid

Deep down into the ground,

Waiting for the dawn.

And even then, within it's useless gleam,

There are two halves, two sides, joined at one seam;

Though it's true that rarely both are known,

Whichever's underneath basks in it's dreams,

To have the shine of it's doppleganger,

Pseudo-silver simulated perfection,

Artificially embedded with light's deception,

Reproducing the mirror; the art of reflection,

Though it's trapped inside a shallow surface,

Superficial shine, always superficially mine,

And after a while I had to ask myself this:

Why am I the one that has to fulfill the design?
Does the maker not know that perfection confines?

My vain mind couldn't explain why I was thus inclined,

And why did such radiance become cruel and unkind?

But how vividly must I be reminded,

That I only am the ancillary section.

If you were to pick me up, I would not

Replace a jeweled collection, 

Nor would I want to.

As when everyone has made their selection,

In an apparent and cosmetic craze,

I remain simply single faceted,

But that one lucid look in your direction,

Is hopefully enough to set your clarity ablaze.

Degradation - I

You were always fidgeting,
Countless coffee rings on that table,
You kept moving the mug back and forth.
It was those little things which kept me able,
To trust in myself, stop looking down and
Start looking north.

Your star which led me, bright through the night,
Your tendency to turn on the lights, though the sun
Had not quite set yet. Your dependency to
Let me be, as I walked around the stale warmth
Of that small room. Yet it felt so open, second to none
Though it was tucked away in a little corner of our lives,
Not appreciated until our lack of adjacency.

My frog-green leather chair,
Your were carrying the books, you
Made the tear. From then on I was hooked,
And when you weren't there I would sometimes
Sit, by the stained table and pretend to be stable,
Stroking the wound and watching myself cry,
In that almost insignificant place.

The musty smell of the flailing wallpaper,
Now a feature but now like the others,
My breath, when the heatings off, like always,
Turned into vapor and my words sailing
On expired air.

Behind it, you could almost see where
The wall was breaking.
The end of our golden coast,
The end of our champagne toast,
The end of our Sunday roast,
What meant the most,
Now it's faking.
We were so close,
but now we're flaking.

Full Moon

Your face imperfect, it's shine unmatched,
Too far to touch, yet I'm still attached.
Your voice too quiet, blocked by the sky,
Yet millions of miles speak louder
Than you ever would with I.

If I look up,
Past the burnt orange lights,
Past the morning and the afternoon,
If I wait long enough,
I know I'll see you soon.

And although at times you let yourself,
Be taken by the silver ghost.
And although I can see your outline
Behind the blocks of broken obscurity,
The doubt remains.

Impression - II

I know my room is warm.

I can feel it, damp density, it clings to me

As I walk in. The door is shut,

The draught seems binding, 

My path unwinding,

And yet it seems somewhat

Confined, and I stand resigned,

All that's left is to hand in my mind,

And hang out my tears to dry.

Yet when I sit in that familiar place,

The physicality fawns over me,

My molded shadow in mental form,

My missing window won't shatter in the storm,

My blindness and my outlook interlaced. 

And like the first ray of dawn,

I can feel the first shake,

I tremble unbound feeling restlessly awake,

And I wish that I could fall asleep,

But like little pricks of sunshine

The reality slowly heats it's way,

Up and out, back to that day,

And I'm left feeling cold,

The burn seems benign.

My return was untold,

My yearning refined.

Impression - I

On that night, I became my other,
Perhaps better self. Although only
For a few hours could I endure,
Being in a place where I was so unsure,
I lost my sight, falling just short of lonely.

Still I held, I didn't want to bother
You, my endless chain of alluring letters,
My waning blame and my trust detained,
In a one by one cell dating back to square one,
I was scared; so I poured the half-full cup down
The half-empty drain, unaware of what I had done.

So with an ache I could not explain,
I started to run. To any place which I could
Pretend to prefer, the empty breath threw me back
Like firing blanks from a gun,
But this time I still felt their absence,
I felt them leave, and I could still defend
What they had overcome.

Sunrise

I am the feeling.
You make the choice.
I say the words.
Yet you have the voice.

On a chance wander,
I caught myself amidst a blunder,
It was dawn and by the first light,
I was awakening under
The fading night.

Though I had not felt it before,
The dew had become my mattress,
And I was trembling too much to ignore
The unfamiliar ache.

But I need to get up.
Otherwise I'll forever be half-asleep.
Too scared to open my eyes,
In case I look too deep.

Just Like Water

Maybe it's time I stop for a second,
And simply, in reality, beckon you near.
It feels as though I'm waiting at the bottom,
And you, at the top;
Submerged in your sea,
You refuse to sink and I refuse,
To rise.

You're the pearl, the pure potent prize,
Yet by impossible chance you hover
Just above breaking point, as I discover
That there is just about nothing left I can peruse,
Nothing I can reduce, nothing so obtuse
But I find it hard to dive into another
As longingly, and although soon it will be
Too dark to run freely, I pace myself shallowly,
But the pressure sometimes, makes it
Seem like I don't try too deeply,
But you can't see below the surface.

Though I know it, the pain in your eyes,
And sometimes I see you sit on the edge,
And dip your feet into the rain.
Though things seems distorted,
I know that your pale form seems unsupported,
And like a ghost that has haunted,
Or so it's been alleged,
My silent lake has resorted,
For your sake, to have it's currents
Aborted.

I don't wanna make a sound,
Anytime you come around.
I keep my eyes fixed on the ground,
Too scared to bring you down,
So I drown myself in shame unbound.

Arches - I

Sometimes, when I'm walking home,
I feel like the wind tries to hold me back,
That the streetlights shine pitch-black,
That the pavement cracks threaten
To trap me in their glistening chrome,
To throw me off track;
To swallow me whole
As I wallow in lack.

Part crow part coat,
My umbrella tends to buckle.
A split-second decision to let go,
As my metal bird flies form my hands,
Higher and higher into the overcast wonderland.

My kerb is my tightrope,
Balancing on the concrete roller-coaster,
The thrill touches me on the shoulder,
But I have no safety rope,
I have no seat-belt,
In fact, I have no seat
So I must soldier on through the damp.

I make a leap of faith,
The patchy grass seems to stand to attention,
Commanding it's own death by drowning.
I press my feet in for protection,
But it seems like the sun is already crowning,
It is born as the clouds smother it with affection,
Though it appears unloved, frowning.

Suddenly my escapade seems so dry,
My murky eyes just want to get back inside,
Nearly happy but I clinch a lie,
As I need to pick myself up,
And away from this ride,
Suddenly it's gone awry,
My turn has passed,
My end implied.

Terminal - I

So I left myself behind
Waiting for that day.
Though it was freedom I tried to find,
I only lost my way.

I arrived at the platform,
Twenty years too late.
I tried to fly back time,
But there was no-one at the gate.

Waiting for me was an empty case,
Which I should have used
All that time ago.
I gathered up all my strength,
And locked it into space.
As my arms were bruised,
And I could not carry grace,
I held it at arms length,
Walking at a steady pace,
But already so confused.

Usually, so many people
Would have crowded on these chairs.
Patiently sitting for their journey to begin.
Once, I thought I saw your face
But now there's no-one there.

I walk up to the bar.
The stools look so bare,
I order, and then make,
Myself a coffee.
It's tasteless; but I don't care.

I would get myself drunk,
But empty bottles never
Had much of an effect.
But the absence of naivety
Does give me time to reflect
On when and wherever
It's my turn to leave.

I look at my wrist,
At the memory of the watch
I no longer have.
I weave my way in between the vacant aisles
I choose one at random,
I take a seat.

I'm in the waiting room.
I steadily count my heartbeat.
I clutch my ticket in my hand.
But I know when it comes to it,
When it comes to checking who I am,
I can't let myself go ahead with it.
It's true, you wouldn't know
I held your hand and then you laughed as you let go,
So I wouldn't expect you to understand.
But it's not me.
That image you have in your heart.
Is nothing like what I have become
As I have grown, finally.

I only lost my way.
Though it was freedom I tried to find,
Waiting for that day.
So I left myself behind.

Woods

That night when you left, half way through,
I stayed and looked up, though face down.
Unknown sounds were my lullaby, as they surrounded me,
From behind dark trees and lonely wreathes.

The rustling remnants were my bed,
My blanket only the winter chill,
It's breath passing over me like a final sigh,
The decision made. So I lay,

As what was alive rusts
Into tawny distrust.
But I thought that it was pure,
But when the moon rose,
And when the rain fell,
It burnt down to the core.
Something so natural, but now unsure.

Feeling as if I should be somewhere else.
But I inhale the nocturne of silence,
Self-induced in my coma, I felt the need,
To turn over.

And I could see, through the tinted leaves,
Or at least, that's what I thought they were.
And in between the branches, hands
Holding me apart, the stars that keep me together.
Only every few seconds or so
Would the wind brush away the arms,
And I could see their glimmer,
Through the trembling fingers,
Through the clouds caress,
But with time the gaps become thinner,
And now I can only guess.

Recall

Once ashamed but now it gives me hope to hear your name
Found it so hard but there's no need for me to be ashamed
Silent happiness has made sure we could win this game
And it seems our bliss was bruised so long ago
Yet still we know, that time won't stay the same,
As nothing's lost until we admit that it's so.

Iris

Sunshine glows so brightly through the dusty window,
The dormant vase, it's glass seems promising,
Waiting for it's flowers to bloom, they stand on stalks,
Scared of waking up all too soon, like soft chalk
Their white latent simplicity stands tall,
As their shadow lightens the wall,
Burning blossoms still have time to grow,
Though these brighter ones don't seem to know.

Solar

If I try really hard, and look past the blurred reflections
Of myself in the slanted window, I can pretend
I'm someone else, someone I don't know,
Someone who basks in affection,
Like a sunrise which never ends,
A sunset which pretends, to stop when you turn away,
And wait for you return until it starts the night,
And ends your days.

I could imagine a change, that the flickering streetlight,
Which usually shines down upon the glittering pavement,
It's appetite wet by the previous drizzle, but now it's expecting,
All the liquid silver that the cracks are collecting,
So what once felt so whole is waiting in vain,
As the imperfections are clogged up with pain.

It's orange glow strikes through the black,
A shadow-curtain drawn by my hands across the sky,
I count the clouds as they pass me by,
They can be anything; a hand, a heart, but too soon to start
Thinking about thinking, can't bear to let my eyes start blinking,
In a second everything could stop, my dreams could fall apart.

I can vaguely make out the white striped lines,
Against the tarmac they stand proud,
The higher the go the more time it takes,
For me to guess where they'll end up,
And I wonder aloud, if I could just
Use my brakes, and hope that I'm allowed
To slip and slide endlessly on the ludicrous idea
That you and I could perhaps dance to the sound,
Of the rhythms of the rain,
And turn my life around,
So I'm facing forwards again.

Aware

The lightest touch is like the heaviest hold.
Wrapped in a warm embrace,
Muffled in layers of comforting cold,
As they numb my fears in the outside world,
Or so I am told.

The slightest breath is like the deepest song,
That anyone has ever sung.
Waiting for it for so long.
I press my ear against your chest,
And I can hear the imperfections in your lungs,
Yet they sound more perfect than you could ever suggest.

The brightest light shines through my life,
What you said was dark, what defines your touch,
Seems to glow through my strife, unsuppressed,
And it will grow to be the best that I have known as such.

Miscommunication - II

Your hand is running through my hair
And with every breath it seems it slows
After a while it feels like nothing's there
And after the shine, the grey shows

I wake up to sunshine in a cup
But the taste is no longer sweet,
A repetitive song in my mouth
The same sounds on my tongue.

The rainy days where we'd still venture outwards,
Sitting in the empty parks,
Listening to the leaves' longing,
Every drop clinging, until they fall,
And suddenly, they are unimportant.
The wind shook the branches of the trees,
Leaving the sky to our imagination,
The platinum clouds now faded,
And now the brightness of the water has jaded.
I can feel it at last.
The cold harsh stinging on my skin.

Mute - II

Suddenly the drizzle glows grey, and
The breeze nearly sweeps me away, off my feet
And into the street. But I hold still,
I can keep on. Look both ways,
Though I can't see past my own strong-will,
Adhesive-words taped to my tongue,
But nothing will come of it.

I challenge myself with jumping onto the pavement,
But maybe it was too hard, my new polished shoes
Are viciously attacked!
An army of apparent cleanliness,
Freshly picked from shit,
Like gun but not really, it's gum
Which is my adversary.

As I pace down the uneven concrete I can feel it.
Never right, the other one, always slightly resisting me.
And yet pulling me further down.
No matter, I can easily get myself up if I try
And forget.
But it's a white-black nagging,
A tug on my trouser leg,
A tap on my tonsil.

I turn the corner, suddenly vision!
It has come to me like a train as I lay on the tracks.
Shaking, chattering teeth, useless movement.
And I wait and I watch and I work and I want
More than I can feel on the two cold lines
Almost running through me, as if I'm a part of it,
I help this metal dragon fly,
But then I wake up, and my pillow snags on my ear,
And its like I've rediscovered another problem.

If I had not been here before, I would not
Have understood. It's all the same,
The cream-beige-brown bricks side by side.
Every so often they are spaced out,
Some obnoxious snake like creature of white runs through them
Like a stream through a mountain, fruitlessly trying to be seen.
But then the doors,
They all open so differently.
And in different colours too!
Red, green, purple, blue,
I wandered if they once opened to you.

But I am silent and I remember.

And as if each one were scared of the rain,
Now drudging it's way through my coat,
They all wear hats, made of slated skin,
Thick stone slabs that won't let anything in.
Every so often I can catch a glint,
Through one of their eyes,
A drape, or a blind, something, anything
Which makes the similarity less bland.
But then if I dismiss them,
They all feel the same by the touch of my hand.

Range - II

I can compare it, the red bricked rotting
To coarse clotting, the joining of reputation
Without consideration. Let's assume
That no-one else matters,
Rather, no-one else knows enough to matter.

If we stand at the top of our little raised mountain,
We think we can see it all. But we see so little,
But not phased we carry on,
Mixing together cultural catastrophe with unchanging
Atrocities, intellect's pet with a burning desire
To further ourselves, and on our golden island
We drift further.

Miscommunication - I

The small change, the new words.
Sent to the wrong address,
But I must confess, hearing the sound of the error
It filled my ears with such joy.
I took it in, seducing the syllables,
Made them feel as if they were right.
But soon the game was over,
I knew I was not the one,
And I said goodbye.

Mute - I

I managed to catch it; the dull sunlight's reflection,

As red turned to amber, and then that to green,

And the mass it seemed to hurry forwards,

But from where I was standing they were moving back,

But I suppose they were just following the road,

And soon they went so fast that I couldn't tell the difference:

Which was the vehicle and which was the passenger.

After a while this became boring, and I turned to 

Face where I was supposed to go, and set off,

Pacing myself, for I knew I tend not to go slow, but

To rush, as if there were an imaginary deadline swallowing it up;

The earth behind my walking feet.

From the corner of my eye, the red balloon drives past.

I was separated by metal-glass, but I could sense the agitation,

And sure enough, a few metres later and the doors opened.

A river of people became a flood as they jumped off the sinking edge,

And walked towards occupation, recreation, other things like that.

Then what once was the ark sped off, considerable 

More empty than before. But now the flood was dry,

And the path awry. To my left I could guess them,

and as I looked I was rewarded with confirmation. 

Each brick being laid, each brick the same,

Each brick was balanced, on another of it's name.

I never understood why people build more walls.

As the kerb neared me, I had to stop and wait,

My steps they started to hesitate, just in case

I couldn't see, or couldn't hear. Though I had no reason to be

So nervous. I leaped small movements across to the middle,

The best place to be. Either side was vacated,

But there was a chance.

That anything could pass me by.

Halfway

I tried so hard
But halfway through
I stopped pushing
And you didn't start pulling.

I was left with burning hands
Trying to hold onto a bare rope.
It's stopped moving, left in between
Where it was and where
It should have been.

Before I started, I thought
That maybe I could see change.
But it must have been just an obstacle.
A shadow in the way of the sunlight.
And you don't know who it belongs to.
Too many seem to have drifted past,
And now narrowing down is out of your range.

I was left with a burning heart.
But I had to bury it.
Though impossible to move apart,
As I feared all sense in you would depart,
And that you'd fly into your darkened art.

I was left with burning eyes.
Tried to unsee what was too clear for me to forget;
Past what I thought was genuine regret.
I thought it was worth something, our
Slight exchange.

I was left with a burning mouth.
Nothing seemed to ever last.
My words seemed lingering in the past.
And when I tried, tried, and tried again
My doubt in myself
It became so vast.

That I was left with an empty book.
Every page I wrote seemed transitory.
Lost in my blank glory,
I still attempted to fill in
What at first were gaps.
An incomplete reminder: memento mori
But now they have become
Most of this story.

Epistemic Epidemic

The white falling robes
The unholy eyes
When the Saviour was born
When my pages were torn
When I reached to find forgiveness
And only found scorn
My fingers were worn
As if they had tried
Ten thousand times before
But only come to one destination
That I was celestially ignored.

Could it be falsified?
We follow the same road,
But when it comes to a turn
I stand shaking, terrified
Could I not have realised?
You were burdened with happiness
As the words they started to burn
Themselves deep into my skin
They left invisible scars
That I could never fill in;
But the outline would stay
Shaping everything I yearn
A half finished tattoo
It won't let me learn.

With the blink of an eyelash
My sight, it faltered
My vision altered
I can't see through what's written
Though I know that behind
It, something lies which can blind
It, but right now you are binded.

I thought you'd be kind,
But it wasn't that simple.
You drowned out what was mine,
And made me start again.
Thou and Thine
Two more lies I take in pairs
I had to take what was theirs.
I had to tell them, they had
To be scared.

Flailing flames were enough.
As I said there was only one.
But with each new person convinced
Another rebellion had begun.
The cold stone was rough,
I thought it was right.
Thou must not - I hated.
And I have seen the light.

Apex

Though the wind still shakes me
Weary leaves they fall once more
The willows that once wept, they dance
And for the first time I can forget before.

People they pass, and people they pause,
As there are many ways that they can go,
At one point I wouldn't have had the chance,
But it's easily hard for me to know.

To my left is a door, opened yet closed,
Which would have taken me back to where I knew,
It's familiar green glows with recognition,
But the places I can go there from are few.

To my right, the red has faded.
At one time it shone bright with passion. Of that I'm sure.
And previously decisions obscure my vision
And what was once emptiness is no longer pure.

In front of me, I can see, my fears
So clearly. The vastness of the blue unknown,
Which my eyes once saw as so so far away,
Doesn't matter as my heart has grown.

In between, neither here or there,
The beautiful blankness of words still unsaid,
Maybe I'll go straight ahead.
And not care about what happened yesterday.

Range - I

The awkward touch of silence.
It abruptly rips through my comfort;
Uninvited hands on paper skin.

A lump in my throat.
Many things I thought I wouldn't say.
Uncertainty will find it's way in.

Though this time, through known faces.
I can still catch it, the split-second stare.
And me knowing you don't approve
The edgy laughs, the forced grin,
Only pushes me deeper into the fading air,
Sucked up in selfishness
As you feel the need to breathe.

APOR

Pour a daydream in a cup,
A spoon of sugar sweetens it up.
The stinging honey is abrupt,
But soon it will become a salty touch,
And your taste will vanish.

Your devotion is worn and weary,
Chocolate cold suppresses those teary
Final seconds where you nearly
Swallowed the savory truth,
The savior in segmented form,
Weakening yearly.

Now the solution is diluted
You chose to spread the pain
Into things convoluted
The tinted mirror.

Manipulate

You the thief who steals the hand
Which would have otherwise taken hers
Now she treads lost in a foreign land
Scared the ground will open up and swallow her with each step.

You the dancer who wears the mask
It's many-faced diamonds caught his eye
Not the only thing with more than one side, your task
Would have been impossible if you were to show
What lay beneath the pretty lie.

You the rose who pretends not to have thorns
But you stripped the real fragile flower of her scent
And she who was so rightfully adorned,
Believes all her virtues have been spent,
Though all of yours have been lent
To you by various forms of deception.

A stolen lyric,
There is no saving
The broken bricks
You have been craving.

September

I stood in the rain for a good half hour
As it soaked through my black fabric case
But didn't manage to make me feel it's salty touch.

Would I have preferred it?
The irksome bother, as the moisture smothers
My otherwise unfeeling skin. And though
Cold to the touch, it's warmer than a lover's.

Well, warmer than some.

Though in some respects, they are alike.
Once it starts, you think it's constant.
Reassuring, but somewhat it seems
To blur your vision.
I find myself having to look twice
To make sure I'm seeing what's right.

Though the ground is solid,
Always has been, ever step is like
Walking on thin ice. Always scared
To make a small slip
And everything comes falling down.

In the beginning, you want to
Zip yourself up. You pull
Your hood down deep over your head
Scared to reveal yourself to the incessant shedding
Of extra drops of innocence mislead.

As time passes, you think you can trust it.
The pitter-patter which never leaves.
It surrounds you with it's transparent bedding
As you begin to undress, thinking you're well concealed
Protected by what you think will always be there
But in reality more of your weakness is being revealed
And suddenly, the rain, it stops.

You're left cold, wet, and alone.
Shaking in the feeble sunlight.
Feeling so bare.

Petals - II

You see only what you want to see
Nothing to do, nothing to say, nothing to be
Nothing will make you happy.
Not when I'm being me.

My youth was a brightening bloom,
A rose freshly picked. As the seeds of
The others were taken by the wind.

But sometimes I don't understand
How you didn't know there'd be thorns
Which were all I thought of,
Turning into a man.

By adolescence I was a fallen flower
My petals taken by an unwanted groping hand
Maybe then I chose to hide for hours
As my health waned and thinned.

My stem I thought was then too weak
And all I could do was bow my head
By then, I wished I had already fled
This game of chance from which I am banned.

I grew, I think, in the wrong direction
Towards the wrong sort of light.
I thought that I could choose my way
But I am not eligible to make a selection.

And then, I think I was rooted.
I had grown too used to the breaking earth.
And to my delight,
I thought I had stopped the clocks.

Suddenly I could not convey,
As my life took an unexpected turn
Or so I thought. How foolish
Of me to believe I was worthy of such perfection.

Still I yearned.
And I tried to learn, from what I had known.
But for a long time now, my eyes were dry
My vision locked inside a watertight box.

I tried to soak up all that was left.
But everything leaves.
And everything burns.

I realised.
Through loathing reflection
Through lethal rejection
Through loving disconnection.

That I have no recollection
Of what others call affection.

Tiers - I

I let it slip from my hands
It's skinniness cut through my fingers
A clean sheet, paper bones.

But there's still the heaviness
Of what it was. Though now
There are no more empty seats,
That's only because they've been
Ripped out. Pages that never were.
But if you look closely enough
You can still make out the tears
Where something once was.

Shiny glass can't hide it's transparency.
Seems unscratched, tough, but
Still it has fears,
As complacency lays undeterred.

Lot

I used to sit there, on the hill.
And look down at people below.
But still
There is so much about them I can never know.

There were books I used to read.
But every so often
The need
To look up suffocated me.
I was tired of the dulling words.
Which I had read so many times before.
The pages had turned yellow from exhaustion
And I just wanted to read no more.

And in front of me, it doesn't matter how far how far
I saw -
Such earthy eyes, as mine widened in surprise.
And to think I was at the centre
Of the gaze.

At that time I assumed
It was my book, a popular one
Which must have been the source of interest.

I could never have guessed
Otherwise.

So I held onto my fiction
My dream in paper form
My silent addiction
Torn at the binding
Yet still I'm whole.

But after a while, I did get bored.
It was almost as if
I knew the last page just from the name
I knew the last word just from the first
But still I was as disjointed as Faust unrehearsed

Oh I wished I could end my sorrows like Werther
But then I realised I'd have to look much further
For the magic lantern without light
For the shadow which shines so bright

I used to sit there on that hill
And look down on people below
And I realised that it was I who needed to shrink
And not them to grow.

Cogs - II

You are machine.
Your cogs keep on turning.
Your stomach still churning.
Your lips still burning.

You are machine.
Your smile is planned.
Your touch is sand.
You hold no hands.

You are machine.
You lie awake.
For honesty's sake.
Your sleep can't break.

You are machine.
You raise your fist.
Again, again.
Your thoughts are mist.
The rain, the rain.
You're just another number
On another list.

You are machine.
You can still feel it.
The pain.
The pain.

Random House - V

Don't fall in love with the autograph
Printed one thousand times but not the same
Nothing beats the day
When you exchanged printed names.

But now the pen has run out of ink.
And it seems all those years
They've passed in a blink.
And for once you have to stop and think.

When you were building your house
Brick by brick
The blood you bled didn't seem so thick.
As you were checking your list
Tick by tick
And you wanted to choose it all
Pick and pick
Until what once held such beautiful roses.
Is full of pricks.

Your thorns have cut open her lips
And it hurts so much to speak
Your hands have left burns on her hips
And your hold on her has left her weak.

You stripped her of her petals
And didn't let her shine
You thought that you could stop her
But she's running all the time.

Maybe not out of sight.
Not yet, anyway.
You think that she can't win the fight.
But she still fights it every day.

And in between all the broken walls
And the ripped curtains hanging loose
Someone's sitting, feeling so small
As fragile as a hanging noose.

Random House - IV

The lights they are tilted

By gloved hands

The touch is fine tuned

By those who cannot feel

Only in times of raining despair

Do they realise, but they turn away

From you and I.

And then it rains, yet unfair

From their skies falls gilded prizes

But beneath the unscratched surface

Misery lays in an infinite number of disguises.

And when the time comes

To take off those gloves.

When cold metal's lost it's flair

When the ice has lost it's glare

You can't see your hands.

No-one can hold them

Touch them.

It's as if they're not there.

Random House - III

I thought I was safe.
I built my walls.
I broke my door.
The handle turns,
But opens no more.

I took the key
And locked it deep
Within my fears
And now I keep
Them away from here.

But every so often
I forget to cover
The entire surface
And a small space appears
And it offers me
It's sickening embrace.

You put your hands in my hands.
And I don't feel scared of this place.

And now theres nothing
I can do. I stand on a tower
Made of balanced blocks
And like a risky game,
You take them out
One by one
My shivers never stop
I can't feel the same
I draw myself in.

You offer me your hand
But I close my eyes.

Pretend it never happened.
Because I know that when I open them.
There will only be the crack
The sign that I have crumbled
And that there's no going back.

Cogs - I

I'm scared of of your metal flair
Your crimson cuts of steely hair
Your clockwork smile
Your stony stare.

I try to push away the hands
Nearing 12, my time is up
My feet are frozen in icy glass
Which melts and drips
Into the lighted cup.

It twists and turns and tries to follow
But still my tears they stay inside
Your mechanic hands they try to lift
The lid, but its fastened by my pride.

I can't find where the joint once was.
No screws to unscrew.
No words to renew.
No start and no end.
Just have the live it through.

Ice Cream

In the sunshine, the sweet solid acid it drips

And you stop it from falling. You

Catch its icy warmth with your tongue

And slowly, it melts.

Puddles of silver shudders,

Gleaming in your mouth.

It runs down your chin

It runs down your fingers

And you can hear every drop

And soon it becomes too much.

Desperately, you try to lap it up;

The soothing substitute,

The seemingly safe sparkle.

When it's gone it'll leave you destitute.

1 hour

The minutes scratch away
At the shiny surface. Flaking silver
Caught underneath my skin.

And no matter how hard I try
To shake off the spark
It always ignites,
And I'm surrounded  by the dark.

The once bright platinum,
Has now faded into grey.
And shall join the sea of
Tattered once gleaming guns
And as they are fired they fold
Lost under the new day.

Years of yearning, the constant feeling
The hurting, the hugging, the reeling
The burning.

The cutting, the craving
The running, the raving.

False gold falling from the sky,
For the first time, and everyone they smiled
But still I caught it's cold in my eye.

The tides they turned, and drowned our sense
As the mattress springs they spoke too freely
And betrayal smothered bitter consequence.

My strides, far apart, yet concerned
Walked through childhood like an adult unknown
But I know my direction has been well earned.

My first vice had been perceived,
But into classical stone I wish I had fallen,
Instead of the unwilling arms for which I grieved.

Bitter arrogance changes nothing; a mouse still a mouse
And small unimportant agony I thought had passed
But he had mislaid his trap, and caught in it a house.

Once crumbling it had fled, a contrast
Which I had not predicted.
And now it stands with a heart as vast
As any I could have hoped for.

Still some lay addicted,
The needle of naivety,
The slow heroine-death
As her eyes close constricted.

But then with a window crash
I was brought back.

Still I know you can see
The faint porcelain cracks.
But you have nothing to fear, as you're
Stronger than that.

I realised we cannot hold them too close
Precious, yet proud to baptise
Lie upon lie.

Unlike I imagined, when I let go
There was no breakage.
I had myself pinned to the wall
But cold hard bricks are no different
To the cold hard floor.
And if I fall I will rise
Of that I'm sure.

A tug of war with an invisible rope
You're the only one that's hanging on.
Nothing will happen if you release
Only the imaginary link between us will cease.

Somebody tell me
Why we all try to hold
On to something so free
Just because we are told

That it will hurt unless controlled
But from what I have learnt
When something is burnt
It doesn't have to stay cold.

Somebody tell me
Why we all think
That once it's over, it's over
When everything's on the brink.

Jeans at a wedding

To be joined in communion
A man and a woman
The high judge, the host, of
The masked ball.

White-lie purity hand in hand
With youth encased. They take
Their place, luckily one is exempt
From the chase.

Sin-sweet steps on the
Hallowed ground. And then
She gets there.
Her form is shaking submission
Ignorant to the childish omissions
The cowardly conditions, her tears
They blur into wistful visions.

And then the cold grey mountain, man
Rises to meet his woman.
The actors, they seem to withhold
Their breath. As the scene unfolds
The studio audience laughs and scolds.

The moment of truth. The vows
Are said. Both repeat what is allowed.
Their throats constrict and don't ask how
The deed almost done.

And then pandora opens her box
And the holy circles, finite in meaning
Seem the mock me. Snarling, gleaming.
As if they know, their shine will go
And tarnished gold, bursting, teeming
With things unsaid. And seeming
So lovely.

Exchange of possession. Equality bound
And sometime in the future,
Broken.

Exchange of tokens.
That's all they are.

And then, it's done.
The curtains, they fall. Hiding
The dusty light. It would have
Traveled far, otherwise...

In my eyes:
The moment of truth. The vows
Are dead. Both repeat, no longer proud.
Their throats constrict and cannot complete the task. Now.
They must bow, the performance over.

And I sit.
In my bright blue jeans.
Daring to be disapproved.
Due defiance, ripping at the seams.  

Stone

I thought that where I stood
Was unbreakable. I admit,
When the night fell. Like a shadow from
His throne, cold concrete wasn't
The most comfortable of beds.

In the morning, the distance
Became even more evident. All
I had to do was step,
Once, twice, maybe
thrice, and I'd be into a whole new world.
Full of life and happiness,
But with each step
I'd have to roll a dice,
Which would tell me in it's
Numbered honesty,
Where I could go.

My feet felt warm on the chess board.
I, the pawn, and you, the king.
Opposite sides to the same game.
Opposite sides to the same name.

If I look back, and scream remembrance
Maybe I could claw myself up
And I would lay panting, tearing
On the fossil floor.

But then you held me
And I walked again for the first time
Always forward, never back.
But then you held me
And I pushed the others out of love
Always forward, never back.
And then you held me
And you told me, if I reached the end
Always forward, never back.
I'd no longer be compelled to be,
But I lost you as more than a friend.
You stayed white and I stayed black.

And as I realized, I turned around
And for the very first time, again
I had to pretend, but this time, in reverse
As I reached my grey paradise
But all the squares were broken.
Nothing had changed, and truth's curse
Had shattered their gloom, leaving nothing
Said, nothing to say, nothing spoken
And I tried to pick them up
And as I cried my hands they bled
And now they touch no more.
Feeling is sore, as I remember
The cold concrete of your head.

Random House - II

I don't feel the empty sting.
You've taken it, honey
And then loved away.
Your irksome voice,
Sleeping in my ear.

I remember your wings around me.
Protecting me from the rain.
But without the water, I could not grow.
And my petals they have turned
Dull and grey with fantasies gone astray.

Muffled things you said
I wouldn't want to hear. Best
To keep the clouds far, but I heard
The thunder without the noise.
I felt it prickling my turtle skin.
As you held me close
And told me not to let it in.

Random House - I

I, the recluse, dim the lights.
I close the curtains,
Shut the door.
Though I can never forget
What I saw.

Some may say, that
I am ready too soon
For the night. That all I do
Is lay and wait.
The only lasting impression
I make is that of my head sinking
Into my pillow.
The closest I know to human touch
Are the blankets which I have held so much
That without them I feel alone.

But I know so well,
Where I am.
If there were to be the
Slightest change, if the movement
Of a single volume on the shelf
Were to be arranged,
I would see it before my eyes had opened.
So accustomed, so deranged
Yet so fulfilled.

At this stage I hadn't thought
Of cleaning up. My mess is my own
And I can cope with whatever I've misplaced.
I would have never imagined
That you would still be here,
Patiently defaced,
Happily disgraced.

The Tunnel

Searching for that small thing lost
Slipped underneath some time ago
And now you look towards the stars
Fooling yourself that you've outshone the past.

Scrambling fingers try to grip
The scattering skin. Soon,
They'll be trickling through the bars.
And all you wanted was to be happy.

You stand so high, yet feel so low.
You want to know, yet not to try.
You caress a fading flame,
But soon the wax will slow
And you'll be left untamed.
Lost before you played the game.

Sometimes you'd wait for the hit.
Hold still, and then quick
You'd try to turn your back.
Smother it with words and wit.
But you've forgotten the trick,
And so you're stuck with it.

Sitting on the tracks. In the gloom,
You look towards the smog.
But you know the train will never come.
But the lights have been lit.
And you think you are done.
And in your hands, your punches never thrown
You keep your seeds. Life never grown.
And restlessly, the ticket you can never use.

Searching for those small things lost
You, the quiz-master, him, the quiz
You bet your wings, not knowing the cost:
Never knowing what right is.

Refinement

I tried it once. I promise
You, I did.
The sulking dew on my soaking skin
Soon melted away,
Leaving raw residue.
Shattered grey where you said I would find
The gold at then end of the rainbow, some day.

Now I'm lying ashamed, the only
Arms that will hold me are my own.
In a crowd, but without you I'm so lonely.
Any other's touch will make me alone.

I cannot regret enough.
Trying to run forwards in
This backwards world.
I want your poison, unpolished, rough
Like a hidden diamond I'm looking for.

I wish you could be less transparent.
For now it seems that everyone is searching
For something which wasn't forever apparent
But buried under years of dirt.
I thought I had found you,
In your purest form.
But it seems I walked around you.
And now I'm torn.

Who do I believe?
Should I have kept you,
On that silent day.
Imperfections so sharp they cut through
The beauty.
But I cannot deceive myself.
I let you go, and then wept through
Those moonless nights.
I watched as they took your shine
And you were one with the other lights.
And now you're everyone's.
Everyone's but mine.

Heteronomy I

Like clockwork mice they run around
Drawing painted circles in my mind
So I leave them to their own devices
And wait until their time is tainted

They think they see new plains with
Each of their planned turns
But all they do is forget where they've been
And return with a new game, set, match
That I strike against the coarse ground
But they scamper and scurry away from the heat
Their still shadows on the walls,
Almost perfect and yet so hoarse.

Willing to score out their message
Again, again.
A chorus of echoes
No beginning and no end.

So they stay in their cave,
And  they can follow their trends
But they'll always fear the truth
And like a wallowing wave, at any moment
It can come and wipe out those bitter sands
A broken mind that we cannot mend.

Counter

It's such a shame
You had to go. You took first place
You won the game, but then you
Said you had to leave, and I waved
Goodbye
As you took the board
And you took my piece
And you left with luck
As then it seemed mine ceased.

You won your points
When I was away
You glued together,
Aching joints.
You watched as the puzzle crumbled.

You told me the pieces would fit
And I believed your distorted truth
But soon I could see it
As it leaked water colour,
And it looked like no other
Dripping soaking dry
So I hung it up outside

You won the race.
You overtook and overturned
But in the end you took a fall
And now I've learned
To wait some longer.
So I clutch my dice close to my chest
And hope some day it'll land on six
And then I won't worry about the rest
As you'd be here
And I'd be fixed.

6

I try to grab you
The smoke before the cigarette burn
I know it, I die when I breathe you.
But it's my try, it's my turn.

I see you flung up in the air
As I skid across the dirty ground
I know I'll be stained if I don't move fast
But it's my choice, I'll stay around.

The empty bus with the grimy seats
The sweating no-ones in the heat
Standing when there's space to sit
But still you fall, you take the hit.

And suddenly.
the lights come on.

Detachment.

You sat, legs slightly crossed
On the windowsill. Though

I knew that it couldn't rain on the inside,

I could still feel things were damp.

You laughed, a sound so full

But yet, even with you here,

I felt so empty. You looked out
And I felt my heart clutch
Desperately at words never said.

So instead,

I reached up and brush your cheek,
And as you looked around,

I felt content. Almost as if you were

Back from a journey.

You leaned on tattered patterned tartan cushions,

Saying they still do what they 

Were made to do.

I don't know how you couldn't see

The way they were broken, bent, battered.

But I had to agree.

I couldn't risk setting you free.

The threadbare rug served it's

Multiple uses to us in the past.

Half bed, half sofa, half table.

So many purposes.

Yet not one of them fully fulfilled.

We laid our floor ourselves.

The small rush when the antique pine

Clicked

Into place. We imagined it'd stay forever

Shining, almost gleaming.

But it wasn't real, just plastic.

And after a whole they were scratched,

Bruised, dented. But we convinced ourselves

They should stay where they are.

You put together the lamp.

I remember looking for a shade, until

You told me there wasn't a reason for one.

It would only get in the way.

But sometimes, when you're gone.

I try to sit and read, but it's too bright

And the very thought, brings tears

To my eyes.

We didn't bother with a dimmer.

"All or nothing"

You kept saying that.

Over and over again. And

I found myself believing.

We decided we didn't need curtains.

We had nothing to hide.

No point in deceiving

Not only ourselves, but

Those looking in on what we said

Was just perfect.

In the night, I used to wait for you

Sitting on the bed come sofa come table

But just paranoid, that there was someone else

Peering in from the darkness.

The sofa finally did arrive

All sleek and bright

Almost intrusively so.

But it was fine, we had agreed

That we needed to liven up.

We laughed, we cried, we loved

On that thing.

Now I almost pity it.

It seems lifeless, torn in places

And just...

So dull.

I miss when it used to be

So happily red.

But still I cradle your head.

But with a difference.

After I found the messages

I finally got it. Everything had been 

Ebbing away.

All your words and promises

Turned to ash at my feet.

And as you sat there

On the bed come sofa come table

And begged.

And told me that you were sorry.

But still I saw it in your eyes.

The ones which from that moment on

I could never meet.

You took my trust.

And neatly cut it in two.

I was a half.

And now so are you.

A Day

Once upon a time
I lay in a bed of gold
And as I lay silent sleeping
The garden began to grow

Wild flowers, with their strangely
Coloured blooms, they flourished
In the shameful showers, as you warned
Of sparkling doom, so for I while I accepted
And sat in the colourful gloom
And then understood why I was troubled
And I ran from this perfect place
As they flowers died, malnourished.

But oh, did the rain follow me
It fed the hungry cracks, with teeth
So sharp I tried not to look
Lest I fall victim to the lack

Of what you can an environment
And what I called, a gaol
And then you mocked me for the word
And I thought that I could not prevail

But I skipped into the forest
Where I saw the weary wolf
Who told me he was tired,
And In his scary arms he engulfed-

Me in a fatherly embrace, as of yet
To me unknown, and then  I smiled
As with her grace, she returned from the hood
 And by her shining face, I saw she was with child

“How wonderful it must be!”
Said I, “to bring up what came from the wild
In it”, and even more wonderful was her reply:
“Oh, it fell into place within a minute!”

At that point it was strange, for I thought
I felt the need, to close my ears and hide my eyes!
From what you called the devils creed.

But they were not who I sought.

Onwards I did walk, till
I happened across three bears
I began to shriek and yell
And funnily, they became scared!

They then apologised profusely
For having caused me such a fright
And then a pretty blonde girl asked me
If I would like to stay the night?

Her hair was long and splendid,
Her face a lovely shape, and so
Something which I’m sure must have been forbidden
I carried out, and there was no woe!

Strange I added to myself, after having left
Their care, how all I seemed to know before
Doesn’t really seem to fair
That well in this world well and true
It seems much nicer than home, for sure!

It was nearing noon, when with much dismay
I chanced upon a sleeping man
He soon awoke, and cried out “Wolf!”
And suddenly, from everywhere people ran
Towards this sound and then they sighed
“Not again, but do keep an eye!”

At this time I felt a bit bizarre,
So I followed one of the people home
She told me stories about her pleasant life
But I found out she lived all alone!

“But don’t you want a golden ring?
Or to wear  a sweeping whitened dress?”
At which point a man he just walked in!
And all she said was “sorry dear, I am a mess”
And then she seemed to slyly confess,
That she and this man shared a bed!

In all my years, such a fantasy had never entered my head
For if I were to mention this way back home,
Then surely any hope of living would be dead!

Now I’m no expert, but I could tell
This young couple were quite fond of me
And with such happiness, they kindly asked
If  would like to be with them, in a three!

I was quite shocked, but I declined, and then asked
“Won’t your relationship be worth nothing at all?”
To which they heartily chucked, but then stood fast:
“We’ve done it many times before, and we’ve yet to take a fall”

Oh My! I do wonder how many more I can find
Of people, not ordinary, yet not deaf or blind
In fact, above all, they seem to be quite kind
And I am happy, I have left my old home behind.

For if they knew the way I lived today!
I would no longer be the apple of their eye.
I bit into one, along the way, and no serpent came
And told me why things are the way they are,
And now I know.
People are people.
With or without rings,
Liking apples or oranges, they’re still people
And that’s the most important thing.