Turned to gold as it hits the floor.
Letting go of such insecurity.
Hang me like a millionaire.
Cut me and stare, and watch the scene unfold.
For the tongues to click and clatter.
All words with no meaning.
All heart with no feeling.
These social diseases force me to disconnect.
A daily monster to crucify, while we hide our own guilt.
And the sin that hovers like a monster at the door.
Purify the space.
Sanitise the soul.
Block the ears of those too involved to care.
Hand out the matchsticks from the tree you hung me from.
Use them to keep your eyes open.
To let the darkness in.
In our strange world of opposites.
And let it go.
Just, let it go.
Under the floorboards it dwelt.
Dipped in diamonds.
Hard as nails.
A love that painted the corner of my planet.
Washed over me like black rain.
You creep into my bones like golden dust.
Strengthening and sturdying my soul.
This past is left in the darken room.
You turned off the light for memories that kept me awake.
No more grave digging in the sunlight.
Stopping instead, to smell the flowers.
Picking eternal daisies in the dirt of time.
Forcing me to be x-static, extreme like violence.
You are the colour in my skin.
Awash with happiness deep within.
With your tangerine smile, which flavours the city.
Casting a sunburst across my eyes.
I’ll find you, where I know you’ll be.
Down by the water’s edge.
Inside my soul.
Scooping up petals and bits of memories that others left behind.
You tape them to your chest.
Quilt them to the inside of your skin.
That citrus deposition.
Sharpe and bright, welcoming me in.
You peel away the days, opening up to happiness.
Finding me at home, with your tangerine touch.
And smelling like summer.
Bullets peel away my flesh, as the city sleeps.
It crumbles into the night.
Slinking into tomorrow like a panther into the jungle.
You don’t run my town.
You won’t own my crown.
The drums of war sound and the concrete cracks.
Awakening once more to a new day of havoc.
Racing rats and such noise in my skull.
The fingers tap itching by the triggers.
Awash with opinions, thrown like rocks.
Flowers grow where old giants fell.
Mighty names and egos that towered into the sky.
You throw such money around.
Yet you walk sideways.
Poised with perfection, like a clown who has mastered tears.
Retreat. I retreat into the place where I was born.
To a land where the trees breathe my name.
I hear the bullets fly in the distance, yet they cannot reach me here.
They do not know this place.
Or that it’s my finger on the button.