Deaths of Former Selves

The spirals painted on the ceiling have been peeling since I’ve lived here,
Shedding memories I had buried deep in the flowerbed of my subconscious,
Those memories now shimmer and electrify, threatening to re-consume,
And drag me by the hair, back into the girl who used to inhabit me.

I miss her terribly, she had a special way of mourning for days at a time.
When she said something was beautiful she meant it with all her being.
But her manic neurosis had obliterated all the happiness within her,
The world never looked any better than a swatch of coral grey after a rainstorm.

Magnolias now flower where I had buried her, wafting pelts of sweetness into the air.
I wonder sometimes if the footsteps of passers-by echo down to her ears,
Shaking the locks I had used to shut her into the coffin. I could no longer open it.
I had tied the key to a rock and drowned it in a river because you had told me to.

This war has no victim’s, only strings of afterthoughts that sting my eyes.
I am blinded to the fish hooks at the corners of my mouth that force a smile,
And oblivious to the small talk that spews out of my mouth like a fragmented valve.
This happiness is forced, but the price of truth had too high a cost. And I was losing.


the price of abstinence

I couldn't decide what was worse
drowning or burning alive
I am wedged in a perpetual state of loss
searching for things I had discarded
when their uses had expired
and they had become an affliction
on nights like this when the sky looks half empty 
heartbeats would rise from the waste
the kind you memorise from a lover’s chest
I couldn't decide what was worse
drowning or burning alive
I am wedged in a perpetual state of suicidal losses 
and maybe that’s worse
wanting an ending you yourself had scripted
even if you were hated for it.


sometimes, just sometimes

sometimes, just sometimes, I feel better without you here
it’s not because you aren’t adored, I’d just rather be on my own
on days like today where the wind battles with the rain
and gusts of leaves rise into encrypted messages from the earth
I can sit on my own and spew the sadness I’ve been containing
indulgent in misery, as rain beats violently against my windows
please don’t read this and think that I have lost interest
without you
I’d be unattached
and fragmented
searching for pieces of myself
I’d lost
in the bottle green storm
of your eyes.



this was the fluttering daze of Sunday afternoons
the way the atmosphere slumbered into itself
was sort of a miracle – the brown paper bag of subtleties
hours of making tea, seeped twice, bitter but warm
and wanderings into the cold for the nicotine I’ve been craving
sometimes I think of calling you and asking if the sky
had the same pinkish hue as it did that night I told you I hated you
maybe you've forgiven my cold apathy
maybe you've finally gotten around to understanding
that the dusk inside my skull filled too many creases
to let you in to rest amongst the ruin
because my disappointments had sharpened thorns
that liked to nick the veins of the men I’ve loved
I think that I am too heavy from the blood of them
I am congealed with redness that I find it difficult to breathe
when I cough pink droplets escape from my lips
and a memory is lost, only to be replaced
by lethargic hums that had slinked up from my shoes
I did not want to betray you but you made it easy
I’ve never wanted understanding, I wanted to be restrained
to someone who knots burn and graze at the same time
because it meant that I didn’t have to be anywhere else.


my wasp in a jar

held under, un-animated, I decay.
I am a maze of bones,
on layers of excess skin; cut me,
into smaller paper doll chains,
until I look pretty hung above your bed.
emaciate me,
into the perfect image,
of destruction.


enigmas of an introvert

sometimes the sky slants
when I stare away from your lips
towards the blinding cracks of sunlight
maybe with the dusk the clouds will re-configure

I couldn’t tell you why my irises bleed
when your eyes lower to lock onto mine
every so often my arms freeze in their sockets
when you reach over to test the waters 

I have unuttered bitterness sprouting
like vines from my skull, and as you softly pluck
wildflowers hang momentarily in the air
like wind chimes on still afternoons

gusts of stale smelling smoke streak
through the space in-between our forms
as stutters of newly forming secrets drag like a hunting knife
from your chest to stomach and back again.


a passenger of inconvenience

you say I leave you blunt weapons and memories to find
maybe if you pulled something would give
and burst like a mosaic of woodlands and suicides

I’ve tried talking, tried polite smiles and greetings
but the words stick at the back of my throat
and will only dislodge with the end of a toothbrush   

now that you’ve lain here, its left an indent in my sheets
and when I fall asleep without you there
shards of soft metal find their way through my ribs

the nights are cold now and the moon is half empty
clusters of stars almost look like they could be constellations
of men riding horses through the mist.


Glitter Red

like a feeling I just couldn't shake
I become saturated into the hands of a clock
waiting for someone to fill me in 
with black and glitter red precision

it's specks of light pollute, brimming and manic
and fall like a cascade over my red stained hands
as it absorbs you are violently sick
over my scribbled attempts of romantic poems

if you are ever reborn and winged
don't forget all the promises you kept
even when my stench of frustration distracts you
blind their eyes with your kaleidoscope reds.


Oscillation Burns

I see you spin out of control and obstruct the sun
darling, you're closer to the devil than you know
with burnt out eyes and a skeltal frame - you disintegrate
into an abstracted ideal you've always imagined
long enough to stay the night, but not long enough to live.



you are a pressed flower
inbetween my favourite novel
shrivelled but adored
when you start to fall apart
I will cement you back together
and bury you internally
a bird within my ribcage
and your heartbeat will be the train
that runs underneath our home
where we will exist prematurely
and if my venom starts to seep
and blacken your soul
hold me under the water
until I am still, kind
and pure.



leather dripped and solar sphered
you soften the edges of derangement
I didn't mind
being a distraction
rations and segments cut in backwards strokes
down to soft bone, and down to split veins
I needed to be
smothered and contained
I watch you destruct as you burn and flaken
to the sound of moon rays shattering
I couldn't mend your sorry excuse
for an unravelled heart.


Barn Swallow

you are golden but I would rather you be silver
silver, pearl tipped and purer than the blue sea

beams bounce off the glimmering sidewalk
blinding the wary sun back into its amber tomb

distracted, you perch on a white crescent
my fingertips nick on the tips of the moon

blood drips towards the earth as if it were rain
you are reluctant, you skirt around my affliction

soon it will be day and you will be blackened
empty and fearful of the abrupt darkness

the sun will call and you will be beneath its warmth
because you are flight and you glow royally.


Trench Coat

the sky settles on my head
like a bird on surveillance
my bones are heavy
I’ve held up your thoughts
for longer than required
soon my skull will implode
you are dressed in waterproof blue
hand in hand with your makers
tell me, are their palms scarred?
It hasn’t rained in months
the plants have withered, so have I
punch holes through the ground
and embed yourself into the soil
with your trench coat pulled over your eyes
you are invisible to everyone but I.



sear linear lines on my forehead, methodically
disguised as a wolf I am powerless to the moon
see these eyes, black and grey, they liquidate
tomorrow the sun will rise and the walls will dance
to the howl of the dog, fastened against gluttony.


Volatile Blue

I remember, shades of navy and bite marks on your skin
you stopped wearing black, stopped checking for looks of despair
skies and clouds give me space to think and breathe
contorting photographs that hung in the cemetery where I had buried myself
spirals and lacks of exposure hide what was never there
don’t worry too much; I didn’t have much hope for us
It fell, and shattered at my feet, my unattached hell of a place
kick and scream, once more, for the solace of volatility.