Darkened skies

The evidence in your hand.
Throws black on your day.
It hangs like ghost,
that threatens to stay.
These pebbles of hurt.
This darken shroud.
Fear the diamonds hope.
So poke holes in the clouds.

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In sleep

Waiting, till we’re lost and quiet.
Caught out in a silhouette.
These shadows cover the eyes of the brave.
A needle of swords that keep the monsters at bay.
This flesh is tired and tied to a thought that cannot be released.
So I fight them in my sleep, these monsters that creep into my world.
The séance that claws and fumbles like talons at our skull.
Realised, this is damaging and bruising to the honest.
The silence in us, is forcing a defeat.
Demons, who walk with unabandon across my sunlit life.
Mocking us like a bag caught in the branches of a tree.
So I fight them in my sleep, these monsters that creep into my world.
Harkened the darkened voices that breathe and heave.
Calling and coming closer to me.
Whispering of a madness that covers us like ghostly intrigue.
But the morning never banishes the voices of disorder.
For which such havoc is birthed from the words that now live and breathe.
But we can fight them in our sleep, these monsters that creep into our world.
It’s the only place they can be defeated.
In dreams. In sleep.

Epiphany in bloom

Dark. Night.
Always black when our eyes are open.
The glittering of stars on our eyelids, just moments already gone.
We forget the gates are never shut.
Just hard to see in the dark.
A charcoal covering that we forget is all but soil.
Covering us until we choke.
But we are far from death.
We have a need in the seed we clutch in our hands.
The soil, this space is here for us to grow.
To bury us deeper, like the root that draws up from beneath.
We choose the season, for heaven remains.
Never locked, but moving around the sun.
We look inside ourselves and see the seed we wish to grow.
The worms and the decay, you have the chance to sweep away;
and breathe new air above.
Begin at the beginning, and sow the seeds of hope.
Water them with happy tears, and sweat from being tested.
From a warmth, not from the sun, but from a love invested.
In changing. In growing.
For all the world a knowing; that we create the garden.
We grow what we wish to see.
And they can smell like death or destiny.

Love

Nobody knows what love means to you.
The bud of a rose in your life.
Or the darkness that creeps under the door.
You cannot convey, explain or say how it makes you feel.
As it fills your soul.
Or leaves you suddenly, like a bird taking flight.
Love sinks down into your DNA.
It washes over your desert like a great flood.
Trapping those grains of sand of you beneath its waves.
You will never put into words, how your love makes you feel.
Or when there are only ghostly embers of it, dying in your eyes.
Love, so relative.
And relatively unclear.

Exuberant voices

The crystal bell in this head rings out.
Shattering the dark, sending the bats into flight.
Cavernous places these thoughts do dwell.
But the night light beckons and calls.
Whispers catch on the summer breeze.
Emerging back into a world unfamiliar.
They trickle down the spine, in thoughts so sublime that they leave me restless.
Waiting for the tide to turn.
How they put up streamers and plait the hair of my age into golden weaves.
Singing me to sleep with their lullabies.
These exuberant voices compete to lift this heavy spirit.
Bringing the heavens and the sky down to me.
But back in that cave, behind the rocks and darkness.
Lies a thought, a niggling worm at the core of me.
Now asking, these voices I hear; why are there more than one?

Falling inside nothing

He let the ghost in, and paid for the pleasure.
Allowed it to walk around his soul.
Dispensed with the hauntings of old.
And reclaimed such fresh bones to tingle.
An empty shell, nothing more.
The vast lake of indifference that stretches into tomorrow.
Freezing such sorrow.
And leaving sad footprints in the snow.
What deeds did the phantom choose?
With a body now willing, and an absent soul.
It waited.
It waited, and not in vain.
To find the will to love again.
For the empty souls are not always alone.
In the face of another, featureless and insane, haunted even the spirit.
Chained it down to cognitive reframe.
And banished the shadows from the eyes.
Tearing the absent heart, while the spectre burnt.
And melted into eternity.
Together. Alone. Deceased.

Retreat

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.
Retreat. Re-tweet.
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.

Claim

I did not choose this future, she said to the dark.
She said to no-one in particular.
They had departed, melted away like last year’s snow.
She waded through the slush of emotions and found her heart warmed.
Not by the sun rising off in the distance.
Or the hand-me-down blanket she wrapped her soul in.
The one she stole from a lover, course and mismatched.
But by the sense of knowing that the day was hers.
Ready to right the ruin.
As she climbed out of her tawdry despair.
Marking her name in red across the calendar date.
Setting fire to the watchtowers in her mind.

Lost in Tibetan snow

Winter tickled at his heart.
He found the snow of a thousand years cover his feet while he slept;
in the glowing dreams of a Himalayan moon.
Rambling across a dreamscape that promised much change.
The little links in a chain of the forgotten.
He shed his skin like the leaves.
Floated away to liquid and a utopia on the back of a comet.
His mind hardened by the rocks he pulled from his stomach.
The teeth of the terrible that fell away like empty bottles.
Pooling in his soul.
If you care to look, you may find him.
Casting shadows on the moon while the wind breaks.
Peering into your head while the dreams suspended you.
Eating on the decay of your heart, as the world turns.
He was never one for this earth.
Which is why he does not cry when it crumbles.

Little Black Horn

 

Little black horn, weathered and worn; wondering about what to do.
He split the world and climbed inside, and out of hell he peaked on through.  

Little Black Horn: A Collection of Short Horror Stories:-

‘A woman struggles to hide the truth from a creature she believes to be her lover; a man journeys to Southern Italy in search of a witch; a child makes a pact with a voice he hears at the bottom of his garden.

From adult fairy-tales to suburban horror; dark intentions seep through this collection of tales from the imagination of Harley Holland.’

Buy the work in paperback or on kindle here: Little Black Horn

Check out Harley Holland also

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There’s nothing wrong here

I wore the role you wanted.
Dressed in those emotions.
Let it drip like turpentine.
You showed me your Jesus scar.
As I cut through the confusion.
You leave me buzzing like a motel sign.
Only you could scratch me that deep.
Rush through me like amphetamines.
What did they say when you returned?
Did you make it feel so numb?
Feasting on cartilage and present tense.
Yet the dark offered such shelter and shadows.
To call you back to another brilliant night.
Where you looked ahead, seeing us there.
Stepping over the bodies of others.
Look me in the eye, celebrate me deep.
They all wanted to be wrong.
Singing their symphony of sorrow for a loss that had not yet begun.
Bone and cheek.
Questioning our mortality as you trim the fat.
All conquering weirdos.
Destroying the things they never understood.

An interior rhythm

How to rise, when you’re broken.
Like lofty branches that scratch the sky.
Down here on the forest floor, tangled with the roots.
I feel collapsed. I feel free.
I want to tear it apart.
I had to burn it down.
Pick the thorns out of my bark, the chattel from my teeth.
Swaying with the world now. Rising on its axis.
I swing to a new realm, on the pendulous heartbeat of tomorrow.
I allowed myself to fall apart.
Welcoming the termites of time. Destroying all I had.
Whilst watching the watchers in the wings.
Birds who fly with nightshade plumage.
Cluck their tongues and talk of responsibilities.
Laying eggs for a farmer who will devour their friends.
You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what I grew through.
Such hard terrain and unholy winters. Sprouting to my own spring chorus.
You don’t know me, how could you?
I don’t even know myself.

Colour my direction

Dreams, again complicating my life.
They swing their megaphone and make me no longer breathe.
Diving deep, fill my lungs in my chest as they weigh heavy.
Underwater, and the unsettling sound of silence.
Swimming in the dark, where no-one will see if I drown.
They force me to murmur out a sound. An action.
A sleep twitch.
Taking off with little beats. Like coloured balls escaping.
A Personal pilgrimage to land in your lap.
Hold me in your crossed arms, talk to me of the Passion.
Your passion.
Fade into my hue and join me. Linked in gravity.
Seeking rainbows, as I carry the weight of my world.
Imitating life. We have it all.

Hold on to me

You’re the one who comes between us.
Coughing out your IQ, slipping your hand behind the couch of the night.
Leaving me always chocking on your haemoglobin.
Shooting to the sky, and yet careful not to fall.
My eyes are wide, yet they scarcely see you.
The black of loneliness that you leave me with. Weightless and bare.
In the dark, it all looks the same; until you set me on fire.
Warming your hands until I burn to a spark.
Killing me before I get too old.
These words from you are too vulgar, yet I say thank you.
Breathing them in and setting up homes for them inside of me.
Precious fragile fragments of attention.
Your racing heart surprises me, and brings me back; brings me down.
Simmering into something else.
I come back to you in pieces.
Littering your soul.
I know you want to stop.