Blink
The light enfolds me now
like a whisper of thoughts
rushing across the door frame.
I wait

Still
Your echoing thunders in my veins,
Distancing our shadows
like the shortened ends
of autumn days.

Scrape…
Like your yawn
down emptied phone lines.
where silenced hearts
call out, rendered behind dusty stone walls

Listen…
Memory is lapping at the pavements.
And fear disguises itself
beneath pink frosting
in Italian cake shops
3 doors down.

waiting

I shift between lightness and being…
as though it was the change from wine to beer.
Daringly and not without consequence!

I hand-ball my grudges to the back of the room
and watch them bounce off the china-ware.
Shattered attempts aching to become a self-indulgent mosaic…
I crush teacup handles beneath boot as I head for invisible doors.

Met with missing door handles
I poke my lips through and holler for attention
“Feed me”
“I’m bored!!”

White-jacket nomads pace the corridor
as though they have somewhere better to be!
So I weep a little,
but tears can’t be heard through door handle holes.

“Time to start digging!”
I announce aloud
and the whistling winter
acknowledges my thoughts from beneath the door.

It’s the waiting I could never stand!

tell me this is real

I will not call you
Or paint you into existence with the dying of the sun
Orange chair
Please hold me here
For this longing stretches across these grey carpets
And there is no room for begging in grace

Will you smile on me the way the movie boys do
Will you watch me from your afar
Before you come to hold my hand
Will the music
Tell us that everything ends just fine

Don’t hold back your words
I am waiting for you
To be near
Don’t hide your fears
Mine are baked and dusted
Ready to be eaten
by our hungry tears

But today I will not call you
Flicking through the pages of our past
I will live there a little longer
until you whisper in my hair
and tell me this dreaming is real

There is danger in the curve of your lip.
I smell it dripping from your skin...
right before you release...
it claws at my ribcage
gnawing to open
raw!

and panting
I watch as love gushes to the floor.
she is rich with wet
red ribbons of surrender
cascading down soft porcelain flesh...
emptied!

she gropes hungered for more.
blindly tugging at you from beneath furniture
where you gather dust
reluctant as a forgotten sock!
caught on the splinters of time...

her anxious needs tear you to pieces
she weeps over your shredded corpse
glad you too are in pieces.

Embossed time

I search for ways to stop caring...
Between grass seed and weed, flowers grow
and nettles won’t be pulled without pain.

We are not empty spaces…
we are flourishing in different directions.

Drowning you is hardest in the moonlight.
When your eyes have the ability to meet mine
and you reflect our history.
It’s harder to blacken you out
when your skin is lunar wet.

Our pistols are drawn
but our barrels are empty.
There are sunsets to be walked into
but we would both rather stand kicking at the dust
til our eyes grow red and teary.

You won’t be erased by clear empty nights
so I remove your trinkets from our around my fingers.
Their memory stains my flesh white
their sadness an irremovable indent
embossing time
and lies gone by.

In the daylight you mean nothing to me
But in my silence I make believe.
I didn’t invite your into my castle
So why do you stay?

Pitbull to the balls 23/12/10

Pitbull to the balls
your inability swallowed my heart
with painful precision

anticipated
I field the incoming news
like an awkward debating champion on a baseball field
Helplessly!
I fall into the vulnerable abyss
as though it was rehearsed,
yet gag on the unexpected revelation
that nothing would have prepared me for the pain I’ve been awaiting

I mail back lies
and their convincingly sincerity
acts as relief

I want to spit it on every stranger I meet
but I fear the reality will burst my neurotic bubble
I cling to this grief
as though it is the last thing that belongs solely to me

I wear your ring
and give you all my bitter tears in return

This emptiness will always be looked upon with blank stares
My hateful words will always paint me black;
even if muttered beneath voiceless pleas

You always took what was mine
and yearly I wrap hate up and place it under the Christmas tree
tagged: to me with love
a gift to myself to replace the one you never manage to post.
One year you sent me an empty advent calendar,
then asked for it back…
it was returned full

I fill this space between us with plastic junk, broken furniture and blackberries
I want you to be scratched up and bleeding by the time you reach me
I want to see red trickling lines down your legs
and a disheveled golden main

You made the distance empty and cold so I filled it with hate…
To block my view and give the space purpose.

Will there ever be a loss deep enough to allow you to hear me?