Bloom

A soured state, a love now broken.
Hearts that shatter in words unspoken.
This picture fades, the joy demolished.
A hovering shadow of malice and gloom.
Bringing me the flowers once promised.
For underneath these bruises do bloom.

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Lacerate

The sound of war orchestrally sings.
A symphony that echoes.
You clench your fist, and raise you wings.
The madman in you bellows.
And to that door, my eyes now move.
All exits, in thought retreating.
To leave you be, consuming me.
Your sacrifice now fleeting.
For every time you raise your voice.
And swear and shake anew.
I cannot see, or understand that choice.
In biting the hand that feeds you.

Downfall in disappointment

As it comes on with no surprise.
Like the lead in the paint that hangs on these walls.
The disappointment blooms, like you knew it would.
The little teeth of trust you let drop.
Like the milk bones of youth.
I will only disappoint, because you allow me to let you down.
You trap yourself in walls of expectation.
Painting them black and red.
Matching your eyes.
Which follow and watch with such greedy intent.
Drilling the holes in me that allows the dam to burst.
And flood this space with regret.
For these disappointments clink like the ice in your glass.
Unneeded, for you are already chilled to the bone.
Moving through the crowd, placing us like chess pieces.
High up on the pedestal.
Setting us all up to fall.

Harder to fly

The coffee had spilt over his leg. He noticed that now, a dark brown patch like a cancer spreading on his trousers. The material clung to his skin as he moved, like a small wet hand pressing on him. His cup was broken of course. His favourite mug. The pieces of which lay off somewhere under his desk. Broken and useless now. Maybe good enough to put pens in if he was lucky. He would remember to get it next time. Next time he was at his desk working and typing. Listening to Grace at the desk opposite talking to her mother on the phone. She’d been ill a while, in and out of the hospital. Her kidneys giving up on her. He’d catch Grace tearing up sometimes, long frustrating conversations to the carers, to then hang up the phone and return to the emails, the have tos, the work that filled her day. Disappearing to get a coffee and to cry no doubt in the bathroom stalls.

He couldn’t see Grace now. Her desk was empty, but then the smoke was filling the office fast and it was hard to make anyone out. Bodies moved in the miasma like shadows and the yells and screams of the unknowing were constant. Daniel lay near the stairs, he’d stumbled across him as he moved towards the exit signs that illuminated like little green eyes in the haze. A dark wound had haloed on his head and he was pretty sure he was dead already. He’d never liked Daniel. The little shit was always passing other people’s ideas off as his own. He checked to see if he was breathing as people jostled passed him to the stairwell. He closed Daniel’s eyes and gently moved him to one side like a sleeping child being put to bed.

The impact had been deafening. It had shorted out the electronics on his floor and his computer had exploded with a glistening rain of sparks. Fires raged sporadically, little hot pockets all around him with the devil licking flames. He had his phone in his pocket, but he did not reach for it. He noticed the coffee stain once more as he looked down to the floor, making his way into the stairwell. The screams were hard and fast, and he could see the fires raging below. The thick smoke hung and moved like a malevolent ghost, consuming everyone it could. Casey passed him, coughing and spluttering like a seventy year old smoker. The smoke had stained her blonde hair to a dirty tarred colour, and she moved about feebly with her eyes barely open, groping for a way and a slither of hope.

He coughed a little himself as he watched the flames reflect in the computer screens all around him. He’d never heard anything like it before. The sounds that scratched and attacked his ears. The pity and the pain, the desperation. He loosed the top button on his shirt and made his way over towards Bobby’s desk. She’d always claimed she could see her house over the Hudson from her chair that faced west towards Newark. The glass had stained now, the black smoke bellowing up into the ceiling and blocking out the light from the outside. The widows looked like black teeth in a row against the walls, a rotting site of decay. Bobby was nowhere to be seen and a lot of people were scrambling around the centre of the building looking for a way through. He heard phones ringing out, and momentarily reached for his own in his pocket. His fingers touched the tip before retracting hastily. He couldn’t do that to them.

He sat in Bobby’s chair, the huge thing had been altered progressively, expanding along with her growing little girl she had inside of her. They had all joked it was to be twins. He had seen her making her way in each morning, she would heave across the room like a small elephant. Wheezing in and out of breath. The smoking years catching up on her. The chair felt nice underneath him, plush and cushy; but he was struggling to see now as the smoke was making his eyes sting. Then he was there, stood at the beach with his family only ten years old. The huge bonfire blazing away as the Fourth of July fireworks exploded above him in a rain of colour and patriotism. He’d tripped, or stumbled, never thinking he could’ve been pushed. His ass of an older brother always messing around. Too close to the heat, too close to the flames which screamed and burned into his eyes. He’d always hated smoke, those damn smokers who lurked outside buildings, puffing out their smoky venom which greeted you in a wall as you left. That awful feeling of something grappling inside you.

His eyes were searing now and he coughed profusely as the flames and the smoke rose and fell around him. The building beneath creaked and rumbled. The shouts of help had eerily tailed off, now solemn and sporadic like lonely calls into a distant forest. The horrific realisation perhaps descended that there was no support or rescue from this. The trauma that had fallen from the skies had landed on them completely, suffocating out the fragile hope that only grew like snowflakes. Useless in the face of such fiery hatred.

That great red dragon now breathed and raged around them, spluttering out the smoke that covered them like oil. In its grip, they sweated and froze inside with fear and pain.

The breath now was harsh and coarse. Coming in waves of sickness and coughs. The eyes were burning, transporting him back and forth to that bonfire on the beach and hell of the world around him, where the terrors and the pain of the people he knew where rising and falling like that of the tide. The blistering paint was making it all toxic, and the windows had begun to buckle and bubble in the heat.

He smashed Bobby’s window. He rammed everything he could through the fragile glass, gasping for the fresh air that promised to rush in. At first, only more smoke. The floors below, trapped in their own nightmares bellowed up acrid plumes which flooded in to their admin vacuum. But then light. Sky. The world above and below beckoned like an angelic hand. People flocked towards him, stumbling still like shadowed zombies in the volcanic office. Relief mixed with horror as they once again rationalised in repulsion. He tried not to catch the eyes of those who came. He didn’t want to see the hopelessness in those who he had known for years. The rivalry and solidarity had swung back and forth on that New York pendulum. Trying to get ahead, trying to be good. Now everyone in the room reduced to just being here. How many were loved? How many had dreams simmering inside only for the lights to be turned down. The fires now creeping towards them in their lifeboat in the sky.

He never did reach for that phone. It sailed with him as he launched himself out of the windows. His lungs expanding as the fresh air drenched his body. Life in his lungs once again. He thought of them of course. The people he loved and hoped loved him back. But these were just flashes of images and thoughts that he tried to cling to as he soared into the sky above Manhattan. It was the coffee stain on his trousers and trying to see Bobby’s house that took him away. The anaesthetising process to deal with the horror that it was such a long way down from here.

The rushing wind, the failing debris around him hung like a moment in his descent. Those who followed would have their own moments in time. Their own desperate fight for flight from that blazing inferno. Trapped as they were, the choice of escape was their own. He’d hoped to fold, to slip inside the envelope of heaven while the machine of god rolled on. Hearing his heart beat and skip he closed his eyes, knowing that the take-off was easier than the flight. Feathered and falling. That the birds who sung and soared were marked by a promise to one day return.

Enamoured

Are you ready, to drop from the sky.
For your bones to feel alive.
Forget that we’re miles apart.
Drift into the light, then dream and breathe me.
Be with me, as the night comes.
And time laps at our feet.
This is our moments colliding.
Walking away from hurt and the decay of yesterday.
Those healing words that rip across my heart.
That speak of times where a smile is etched across our lives.
An odyssey to tell by those we leave behind.
For these moments are precious and solitary to only us.
A grappling hand, in the chaos that today threatens.
Steadied and secure, cupped in my own.
In my eye line.
Which blazes with the light you offer.
Bottled, stowed and suffice.
Living. Here. Now.
Enamoured.

Shroud

Awaiting for the darkness to pass.
For a sting’s throb to relent.
Deep in this cave of uncertainty.
Where the buzz of doubt floods and overwhelms.
Yet there is a peek, a gentle stab at the white veiled sleep.
The sunshine finger of light that inquires into the bowels.
What beneath the shroud is alive or dead?
The smell of decay sits too absently now in the air.
You know what was buried there.
For you killed it with your departure.
Yet as the birds sing their larkening song.
That threatens a spring in winter.
So too the shroud is awakening.
Dropping its ghosts and mangled possessions.
To breathe and live once more.
And taste the April showers and life’s new blooms.

Broken blossoms

Heady vacant leaves blow in from the past.
Caught in the teeth of wisdom.
The coldness of a touch, when war has begun.
Leaves all but the strong shaking.
A flattening of houses and trust that was built.
Crumbling and grumbling in the ruins of despair.
Who takes you there?
To the banks of a river now black like tar.
Awash with the rubbish and junk of petty squabbles.
This fighting is good for only the undertaker.
Who buries our souls and dignity at night.
When no-one is watching to see the sad failure of hope.
A scab of regret will build and tower over this land;
this heart, and this space we’ve placed ourselves in.
The devil lines the walls with sickly cement of apathy.
Only god can peel it back and flick away the decay.
Letting the scars heal in the light and air of tomorrow.
As we bathe in holy water and the tears of trying.

Blood is thicker

The red lights blur inside my skin.
Casting reflection on the mood I’m in.
A soured feeling of discontent.
The angry ebb of self-descent.
Yet neon blood flows inside my veins.
A pumping pressure which starts to gain.
That travels north from my deep south.
And splatters the truth from out my mouth.
Though shock is not my best intention.
Or to hurt, out this invention.
But to state boldly and from love.
That the only thing we share is blood.

Turning blue

Why is my world painted red?
No home, no hope, no heart.
Cast on a raft headed to the end.
Your vermilion tongue spits these thoughts.
A fever and the fakery that expands.
Yet these lies break in my hands.
And the hope swims beneath.
Blue and enticing. Like the ocean in god’s eyes.
A Sweet expanse of blue.
And nothing like you.

Stalling

A rusted heart, worn by tears.
Breaking down, in a broken town.
This heartbreak city of shattered dreams.
The water got into the fuel.
The hate got into the love.
Churned and exhausted all.
How long were we running on empty?
As the metal flayed and tore into our flesh.
Juttering to a stop, a stalling of hearts.
Roll down the windows of our eyes, and see where we have ended up.
A place I hate to be, detoured and gotten lost.
The wheels are coming to a stop.
Stalling, and likely to forever remain.
Or to corrode in your acid rain.

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.

Hate

The weight of hate, is too heavy to hold.
Lost in an illusion of lead turned to gold.
It deadens my heart with its poisonous grip.
Forcing my soul to abandoned ship.
So my ghost sails on, unfurling the rope.
That drags out behind, never snagging on hope.
Yet your lighthouse before me, beckons my fate.
You full of light, will surely banish my hate.

London burning

Heavy scented air, the smell of ash and autumn.
Of change brimming like a supernova.
To watch only, yet still participate; leaves me shaking.
That blood on the sky, smeared into a ruby rose.
It stains my eyes and heart.
I watch as London burns with a fire of sadness.
Of a past ignited into nothingness.
But I’m not looking for someone to blame.
Those flames lick like a consequence that is buried deep in my hands.
Red and scorched like god’s eyelashes.
Choking out the hope and happiness.
It rages on, bringing ruins to our appetites.
Finally snuffed out by huge holy tears.

Drive

You wanted to make me believe in love.
Taking my hand and leading me down the highway.
Past the car crashes of former entanglements.
The scars ever present on my mind.
The road stretches ahead, but I’m caught in the pull.
Of trying to glimpse at the dead.
You’re trying to make me believe again.
Showing me peace on the horizon.
But my palm is sweaty, and the fuel is empty.
I wonder if we’ll make it.
But I push my foot onto yours.
And I climb inside your soul.
The pedal pushes and we fly, deep into the night.
Down the road of good intentions.

Coming up for air

All hypothetical disenchantment
How many slaps on the wrist till I get it?
Shaking with my allergic reaction to loneliness.
Call the birds down that circle above.
Peck out the disappointment and the idealistic out of this eye.
Leave to die, locked in a room where the skeletons chatter.
Locked out of heaven with the world before us.
Suddenly I’m turned down to darkness.
The dull flame that burns, struggles in the void.
Come home.
Race back and pull the car from the lake.
Only the headlights glow now under water.
The only sounds you hear are lakey tears.
Silent, in the watery body that covers me.

Opium for the soul

I feel no pain. I feel nothing.
An uncomfortable numbness itching in my bones.
How your lips bring about such devastation.
Apathaites my heart and bubbles my blood.
Oh the sweet bends that rush, twisting my insides out.
You are the opium for my soul.
The novocaine for my conscience.
Which constantly waivers into unstable territory.
You keep my ghost steady as I walk this earth.
Getting high from the lows you put me under.
Feeling flight as you watch me crawl.
Love, such a compromise anyway.

Particular illusions

To sleep under the stars, and to count the heavens.
A result of you burning my bed.
I lie on the cool grass and watch out for comets.
Racing from Olympus to Paradise.
I pulled off the ropes and entanglements.
Escaping with my life, but not my soul.
And now the clouds that cover the milky way.
Blotting out the moon.
Is just the smoke, from the ashes of our home.
Yet suddenly you appear, covered in moon dust.
With starlight diamonds in your eyes.
And you take my hand, and tip the sky over.
Shaking out the stars.
Promising me treasure to be found in our ruins.