Stay with me

Collide into this dream, let the future bruise your skin.
Watch as the sky throbs, threatening vast cascades of wonder.
What protection do we need from happiness?
Let it infect and spread through these hollow veins.
You turn the tide on systems put there to reject us.
Disconnecting in a shower of sparks which burn out.
Feel the ocean, swallow the sky.
Dive into these eyes so removed from where they came.
That shaded palm. That box under your lungs.
Cut me deep with diamonds and watch me bleed gold.
For my future is now sold, and I give it over to you.
The ribs of my house that promises home.

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Surface tension

Casting eyes to a blackening sky.
Shivering under circumstance.
Move this body to a state of change.
Sinking these broken teeth into something new.
It ripples in the heart and hangs heavy in the air.
A surface tension which paralyses.
It came up from the lava beds beneath.
Strummed, from the line to God.
This world swims in static like rain in the heat.
Fuzzing the wavelength and heralding pain.
It travels through these nerves.
That crimson city circuit beneath this skin,
which is fraying at the edges.
A thread of truth pulls like a vein to my heart.
Collapsing these teeth to the dust of a civilisation past.
It’s now the song in your chest.
Beneath the static pool of pressure lies the stone.
Dropped in by the devil years before to break the strain.
We swam in the sins of the moment.
Now this headache hangover heaves like yesterday’s terrible news.
And the stone sits under us, digging into our bones.
What breaks such tension?
What spirits such relief?
I look into chalky eyes and tired faces to find an answer.
It will lie, either in sleep or the deep.
For that’s where most fears shelter.
That’s where monsters are always slain.
Isotopic reactions, thundering like the rain.

 

White bruise

Surface fed by the apple moon.
Glossy angle skin reflects the winter’s night.
A smile spread so thinly that truth threatens to break free.
Underneath and inside the storm settles.
Displaced pools of blood and memory wash into new courses.
Beneath never forgets.
Pale brown eyes reflect nothing but an illusion.
The fingerprints remained on my heart, long after you left.
It never shows as bitter.
But it burns in a cold fire that time will never quell.
Embedded words that stain this soul.
Never unseen by me.
Life tries to climb so high upon us now.
Never knowing how incomplete. How far I fell.
I stopped answering.
When you stopped believing.
And now this history spreads inside like a never fading white bruise.
Invisible to the future eyes that are now forbidden to go underneath.
I can see that in your lies.
That you would now only pretend to want to know.
Kissing this iceberg skin.
Numbed by the memories locked within.

Apathetic by design

These boys and girls, with hidden smiles and transparent trauma.
Promise nothing of tomorrow.
Selling chalky kisses in crises centres, splattered across the map.
Which you now trace your fingers across.
Finding washed out welcomes in every state.
At least those that you remember.
You phone calls go unanswered, avoided like Monday mornings.
They move away and sigh long lamentful breaths.
Dropping almond eyes to the ground.
Feet shuffling to a sound of a country mourning.
A country held prisoner to the promises of thief.
Now tomorrow feels scary, fluorescent feelings that fold like paper moons.
The tide turns too soon.
And you return once more to the ocean, picking the salt from your eyes.
Counting the tears that drip like a million wishes into a well.
Like the one your cast into as a child.
When everything seemed touched by magic.

The Wind

The wind that howls, is the one that kills.
Blowing through these bones, coming down the hills.
Picking up like the devil’s breath.
It runs amok and hurries my death.
For though I’m not fragile as a slanted tree.
Or small, or weak and feathery.
The wind that howls is beyond my control.
It fans your flames that are burning my soul.

Bestowed

Your voice, it calls me higher.
Cracking this concrete world which tethers me at times.
The challenge in arriving, with a heart still heaving.
Shaken to the core, for the love you try to give.
You turned away, and I was lost again.
A return settles in my soul.
With eyes that learned to love again.
And hands that try to heal.
Don’t speak to me yet, for I may shatter.
Listening to such sweet benediction.
From lips I wish to meet, and taste again love’s magic.
These expecting steps, lead me further.
As I clumsily tumble into now.
You say you want me, and the moon begins to weep.
As you being to wash away my sadness.
Kissing the scars, some made by you, in low starlight.
Skin to skin.
Drenched now in honey within.
Sweet sparkles.
With strung up stars waiting to explode.
Disintegrating now into brilliant lights of diamonds.

Twist towards memories

We are changed forever.
Never the same.
Crawling out of this chrysalis.
Rubbing tired eyes with filthy fingers of the future.
Everything given, is repeated.
Everything stolen, is forever lost.
The future begins to fade like a dying star.
Caught and taken on the threshold of a coming storm.
Love came and went.
Permeated, then evaporated like the morning fog.
How we longed to be held safe in those arms.
Rocked into safety as the wind above howled.
But everything they gave, was taken away.
Everything promised, now sold.
Leaving broken bones and the residue of knowing.
A maddening knowledge of what the other sees.
A heavy heart feeling their need to go.
Now each evening I wave goodbye to the sun.
And welcome the loneliness of the moon.
But all too soon, it too departs.
And the rays that hit me in the dawn feel different and colder.
Re-birthed, repackage for tomorrow.
Threatening another day without you.

Crowning

A fire still burns in that heart.
Rippling like the autumn wind across reddening leaves.
Fuelled by the dead days of summer.
Heavy is the crown that rests over the year.
Digging into the skull like the frosty weight of winter.
Turning bones to the crystal touch of unfeeling.
Yet it has been years since such a crowning.
Making way for the reign of ignorance.
Such wild notions of reliance.
Forcing the days to feel like years.
And now the crown weighs heavy.
Digging in like the winter roots.
Stirring the rabbits and monsters that dwell beneath.
By those rooted fingers that feel for further gold.
And though the spring will eventually come.
Turning the tide on year’s stretching smile.
The metal will rust in vernal dew dabbled days.
But will remain fitted, and welded to the bones.
Which refuse to ever be buried.

Hemorrhage

Only fire can cure this itching.
Rushing down this soul.
Sinking ships now ablaze.
Smoke hiding the land that’s conquered.
The corn and calm destroyed.
That beauty is now broken.
Manifested in this defected dream.
Threads tugged, spun undone.
The flag now flutters, white like your lies.
Not a kiss or a smile full of emotion.
Could make everything okay.
Yet I admire you for the words you said.
You hate me now for the love I bled.
Pooling on your astral floor.

Before we drown

Smell the blood on the fingertips.
Flaring nostril over sips of coffee.
Institutional hatred awakens; so easy now.
Swim, and sing for that dying summer.
Hanging up days like the hopes of refugees.
To dry in the sun. To crisp and crack.
Then fall apart.
Move on, with your shark eyes and deadened heart.
Circling and spiralling.
These lies you tell, on repeat as if tapped.
The louder you are, does not make them true.
Collapse is blue.
And freedom coverts all colours.
Drifting out of these infested waters.
To the Promised Land.

Seems forever lost?

We do not fade when you close your eyes.
Etched in stone, carved in lies.
Beneath those words please sympathise.
Something starts, when something dies.

And though it seems we’re miles apart
I commit to god for the pain to depart.
When megaliths fall, freedom starts.
And so will heal, your blackened heart.

Be me

Hold on to me, let me share your soul.
Touch this skin as warm as a nightmare.
Cold as dawn.
Why can’t you just be me?
And feel these memories that rip inside.
Feel the daggers in the veins in such absence.
You could sense it all, if you were me.
The resentment in your heart that plunges into my lungs.
Squeezing the love out of my eyes.
Gasping for breath as you force us under icy water.
Why can’t you just be me?
Linger a moment on that thought.
Don’t travel through this pain like a ghost.
You could understand this knife in hand.
That slides across such beaten tracks.
And I, why I could lock out all feeling.
Lost in swirling ignorance of self-content.
If our bodies melted into each other’s crust.
Shifting the bones like tectonic plates.
I could walk away with lies in my eyes and a beautiful smile.
And you could loiter once more, on a ledge that threatens a fall.
Down to the empty cavern of a well mined heart.
Plundered of its shiny jewels of love.
If you could only be me, witness to such needless cruelty.
I’m sure the heavens would open once more.
And the future could feel soft like clouds.
Can’t you for once, be me?

Prepare a path

This heart in distant forms.
Washed with the dawn break and sudden mark of existence.
You were my candle in the night.
Silencing the lies they told me about god.
Names for you count like the stars in the heavens.
‘Eternity’ is one; ‘salvation’ another.
Sweet, like pouring honey into my ear.
Covered in gold and heavy in my soul like sand.
The wardens of this sky still call to me.
Shadows and light flitting across the clouds.
But I am not ready to fold.
This blood is still warm and runs through us both.
A matter a million times true.
For the end comes when there is nothing left.
And for now, I’m still covered in pieces.
Finding ways to fix what was broke.
Making ways to your heart.

Cling like fire

Thunder echoes upon thunder.
Such sound and pulse over you.
Divine intent, yet we are human in the end.
This I Ching dependence and temporal space.
Leaves my bones aching.
My soul itching.
My wrists are heavy when the storm passes.
Bruised and smashed like the clouds hitting the heavens.
You are a warning, unfathomed and unheeded.
Striking the town and burning our souls.
This empress in the flames. The emperor on the throne.
Centering me and aligning such vivid thoughts.
Startled screams as you nervously laugh.
A future written in the fire.
There, so far away from now. *If you need to know the end.

Freedom won’t save me

The shackles bend and break.
Snapping like the devil’s back.
Sweet freedom, the taste of honey.
The air alive with thunder.
It’s so lonely out there you hear in a whisper.
Dark trees breathe out a darkness.
The black sky swallowing you whole.
What a volcanic shift there is in your soul.

Rain

Tears from god. He always thought of that in the heavy downpours. The type where you can feel the stinging weight of the raindrops on your body, the cold water pelting your face. His mother used to call it that, heavenly tears. What was god crying about all the time?

He’d set off into the night just as the first drops had begun to fall. He’d smelt the rain coming, rushing to put on his boots and set out into the village to catch it. He’d grabbed his jacket but didn’t bother with an umbrella. He wanted to feel the water tonight. He wanted to feel something.

The sun had set hours ago and the hazy glow of the streetlights above him blossomed down the road he was taking. Each a branch up out of the dead black road beneath his feet, offering beautiful orbs of light to the angels above him, and who were threatening to leave. He saw how the sheets of the rain splintered across the face of the lights, little streaks through the glow like tiny missiles before disappearing into the void of the nothing.

That nothing welcomed him tonight as he walked. It spoke to him of a new solitude which he was happy to lay his bones within. The night and the rain were pure and wild, base elements that ravaged the world. He’d stepped into them before, drowning once and becoming lost in the darkened forest of his mind.

Tonight he just needed to walk. To smell the fresh air and feel the waters smother his face. The coldness came with the rain tonight also, and he watched his breath escape out into the air like his soul leaking away. He licked his lips, tasting the rain water; feeling the flecks of the divine in those tears shed from above.

The village began to open up into fields at this end, sweeping pastures plunging down the valley where the water would rush and flow like a tide on land, going out in a grassy sea. He heard nothing but the falling rain, but he watched as lonely cars moved slowly off in the distance. Little specs of light, haunting eyes that hovered across the fields where the main road was. What lives did those little tin cars carry? What stories and sadness did the souls within survive. Somewhere tonight he thought, one of those cars will fall victim to strong salty tears. Skidding and colliding somewhere and snuffing out the contents within. Plunging an unfolding tragedy into the lives of those who knew, loved and would now miss those dying embers. Collecting rain water in the crumpled remains of the squashed tin can.

His mind had become saddened as late. His body had struggled to move in the mornings when the alarm would ring in a new day like a gospel chorus. He muscles and bones a defying demon to the angelic blessing of the new dawn. He would lurk in the shadows of life, disconnect from the buzzing beast of the people he knew.

He only stepped out when it rained.

It would wash something away, something out of him. He felt it down on his clothes, the gravity of the water that was pulling down into the DNA as he walked. And he walked through the village, out towards the fields. Watching the clouds and the little lights that blinked in and out like struggling stars.

Then there was his own tired tears, that he could no longer censor. He would cry his own monsoon when he was truly alone. Weeping out to add to the rain until his forehead ached and his throat was sore. He let the ghosts in, and they would pillage his mind. Playing films in his head that he felt were on repeat. Never able to rewind or go back. Never flooded out by the rising waters that surged over everything, all but the things he most wanted most to drown.

He came to the end of the track he’d be walking. The huge brambles and blackberry bushes converged to block the way. Forcing a path would tear at the skin, ripping open the sore and cold meat that had begun to sting in the frigid air and water. So he turned on the spot, pirouetting like a shadowy ballerina in this hidden dark ballet. Watched only by the audience of nature which cowered in the bushes and the trees, watching for him to retreat.

He walked back the way he came, the roads now washing the rain water down the streets and into the gullies and drains. Leaves and litter sped on those miniature streams, washing away the dirt and despair. He wanted to open a vein and let the vermillion river meet these streams. Wash out the leaves and the junk of his heart and wring his organs dry.

Crossing the street he saw into the windows of the Fountain, the village pub which cast cosy a warmth in the sea of blackness. The huge fire was roaring and people stood and chatted around it with drinks in their hands. The windowpanes ran with the raindrops, tiny tears streaking down giving the people within a false sadness. He could not enter there, he could not be like that. The fire and warmth called to him, but he’d been burnt before. Touched by a heat and love that all too soon had smothered and gone out. He could still smell the dying of that hearth, still remembered the splutter and the death until there was nothing but ash.

He hurried on by, the rain not relenting. It still felt good, it still felt like something. Returning to his house, he stood in the driveway, looking up to the bedroom light which had been left on in his haste to depart. The little light behind the glass cast a shaft out into the night, like a lighthouse warning of danger. He took a step forward, and hesitated. Had he turned the light on at all?

He stayed on the spot and let the rain fall around him, off in the distance he heard the slow rumblings thunder. A struggling beast waiting to get up from underneath a mountain. The light in his bedroom switched off as he blinked the water out of his eyes. He dropped the keys he’d been clutching and turned around, heading off back into the night.

Heading off again into the tears from god.

Into white, my heart remains

We can’t remember the beginning.
And were ill prepared for the end.
You wipe these tears away with shaking hands.
Kissing where you know life begins.
Yet all we are now are bodies full of leaves.
Turned by the autumn of memories.
Dying inside, as your winter descends.
Freezing the love and covering all,
in white tragic space.

Tsunami

We stand on the shore, called down by the ocean.
The sweet swell motions the blood.
Reminds me I am human.
I feel safe in this storm.
As the wind rushes these bones.
Threatening the inevitable damage, I wait for the change.
Holding out for such wild destruction.
This land knows me not, we are but visitors here.
Collecting coconuts of contempt that we store for every season.
Each man an island. Each one built on sand.
Atlantis parading in peril.
Off on the horizon the ship struggles.
Souls shuffle, towards that great divide.
For that I cry.
But the tempest suffocates.
Throws away my tears, out into the eye that hovers.
And weeps only painful laments.
God watching on, lifting no finger.
Remembering the flood.
Soon we are drowning, smashed by the waves.
Broken on the shore of our lives that already began to recede.
I crawled once from the sea.
And too it now, we have returned.
Scattered and in pieces.
Littering the ocean floor.

Afterthought (side B)

He lay on the bed and watched the clouds out the window.
With closed eyes he felt the storm.
Vibrating the hairs on his skin like ghosts passing through.
He buried himself of course, there on his bed.
Sinking into the sheets like a body into a grave.
He was dead from the waist down.
Waiting for the little chalky helpers to plunge the skull.
But the water he felt was from the rain, which tapped at his brain.
Droplets of doubt and remorse.
Tidal fantasies of being swept away.
Yet forever he would lay, in that state of not doing.
Making love to paralysis with the sweet relief of excuse.
He died three days ago, yet still he talked.
Arguing with god, cursing the devil.
Gnawing at the skin of self in a heated display of shame.
He’d known death before of course.
It rattled and moaned around his house since that day.
That awful Tuesday when they left.
He had grown new skin. He had tried to begin again.
But death remained a friend, like a wad of gum stuck in his soul.
He blamed it, he shamed it. He cursed and versed in vain to it.
It was there now, the sad spectator to an actual demise.
Apathetically sweeping up the dust, like one would make a bed.
That bed which heaved with the weight of his guilt.
Throwing out the dreams that played on the ceiling.
While the nightmares wormed underneath.
That bed which was his last embrace now.
Peppered in petals that masked the thorns.
Intimately feeling its way underneath his skin.
And swallowing him forever, in the dandelions of demise.

Feathers & down

This little prayer, whispered through tears.
Finds the wings of doves to reach the sky.
But the crows get there first.
Tearing it to pieces.
Ripping it to grief.
So the tears remain.
Staining a soul which flutters.
Like a fragile cry caught in a circumstance.
Splattering over a bleeding heart.
Soaking the feathers and down.