Named

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I knew it was not love
By the way you said my name
Twisted and snarled
the vines of an ancient oak
Slings encompassing branches
Holding secrets of silent wars

My mother stores three syllables
In veined arteries of her heart
Breathing relief each morn I wake.
Inscribed into my father’s whorls
Made of and for their love
A melodic percussion of miracle

Some say Love is a mystery uncovered
But I have felt small hands in mine
The broken pupils of faded friends
Light brought through caring frowns
I do not need you to wax me poetic
To know their is poetry in phila

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Galaxies beneath eyelids.

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While you were sleeping I painted the universe across my body.

A nebula of blackened bruises and piercing stars: an exact replica of the silence outside.

You still refused to call me home .

Even the rings of Saturn swirled on my hips cannot seduce an eternal wanderer away from distant  galaxies.

Wanderlust

My eyes burn, calling you to stay.

Searing with the heat of undying questions, but wise men know stars burn brightest as you watch them die.

While you were sleeping I named all the people in the world who would not care if you died.

Trying to convince myself, the world does not end with you.

Life doesn’t end with out you.

I counted quite high before realising, they would not know to miss your broad smile and cold toes.

But I would.

The oblivion of the world cannot erase the annihilation of my universe.

Which in it’s infinite loop, begins and ends with you.

While you were sleeping, I hoped you heard every fibre of the universe; calling you to stay.

Mindless regret

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When I was a child I found control

in sharp edges between protruding ribs

rain falling stubbornly on bruising skin

the knowledge I was no ones

but mine

 

Hollow corners of decadent lights

straight lines and empty skulls

There is nothing

but tales of what would, if I was not

a corroding pit

He who knows

ImageYour words pumice any good feeling

leaving my fragile body red and raw

My mind, worthless and broken – once again.

 

Your dismissal leaves me utterly destroyed-

there are bruises on my mind that wont ever heal

words ricochet like bullets in a hollow casket

 

As slowly I believe all you say

through violent angry tears –

I am voiceless, I am nothing. I am destroyed.

Star light, Star bright

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There was a time when

I use to wish upon stars

That words world lose their weight – 

depression, depression, depression

– that white flags and rifles

would remain holstered

but often words are heavy

despite the helium of laughter

drenched in meaning 

but insubstantial in the face

of anything meaningful. 

Words will not tell you 

the way your smile

splits your face and my willpower

into fragmented mirrors

reflecting the hope

you will not have to know

the pain of my radius

or the sorrow of destruction. 

Today.

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She said that I was the realest thing she’s ever known.

But I am nothing, I am unknowable

Not the romantic mystery

but the temperamental turmoil.

 

She said I was equal parts smile and melancholy

but I’m sick of it, inadequacy and emptiness

I’m tired of not caring

of caring too much, I’m so tired.

Yours and Mine

mask

There were nights when I needed to be drunk

to kiss you. When shame dictated

I was ignorant to the words I whispered

intoxicated off sleeplessness.

 

There were days when we pretended

to be strangers in overpopulated congregations

only to return intruders in our own lives

unrecognisable beings in familiar sheets.

 

There is an emptiness I feel when I see you smile,

clouds of complacent apathy

that I know wouldn’t be there

If any of this was true.

 

But there are also nights

When hard weather falls on soft minds

The rain drenching us free from imagination

Leaving only the tremors of heartstrings

 

Playing the symphony of your laughter

And the poetry of my tears

There are nights when my body explodes

Into fragments of existentialism

 

And you question why I need to find answers

To problems that don’t exist

Grounding me home

To the reality in my arms

 

The scarlet ash your hair burns on my forearms

Reminding me

The infinite delight I found

The first time you called me, yours.

Unknowable Friend

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There is a place on the border

where my childhood hopes lie.

An old town, familiar yet unknown

Where I want to hold your hand

and show you pieces of my heart.

 

There are maps in your fingertips

I want to follow homeward bound.

Words on the tip of your tongue

That would form poetry in my mouth –

If only your fire did not singe my skin.