The Girl with the torn garden

It hurt to breathe in.
The cuts in her lungs, little origami slices.
Stung and hung like bloody stars against the grey sky.
To weep, was to be weak.
The voice echoed from a childhood memory.
Tangled in the box of her mind like Christmas decorations.
The machine whirled into robotic life.
Its own circadian rhythm forcing all to breathe in and out in unison.
Rings banished, symbols of love and connection threatened.
No god here.
Empty souls shuffled into pale suits.
And children forbidden to smile.
The anaesthetic now killing everything inside.
Feelings of escape being buried alive.
She came across a memory, shiny like the Christmas star.
Dusty too after much forgetting.
Falling from the oak tree, while the summer sun glistened it’s caramel.
A thump, and pain. That reaching for breath that struggled to come.
The world dancing, blurred into psychotropic haze.
Until she burst through the surface of pain, and gulped fresh air.
The gold was in the overcoming, and the gentle rub on her back.
Spreading like ivy.
From someone who had already gone.
Swallowing fresh razors she breathed in once more.
Hugging that memory.
Strength coursing through her bloodstream to her lion heart.
Meeting them again, or making them proud.
The fork before her was beautiful and beckoning.

Soft like a sigh

Sleep speckles these eyes.
Leaving dreams like fingerprints on my eyelids.
I break that vision of you down, prismed and scattered.
Tasting like crystal.
When the fragrant sound of your voice touched me.
I unfurled like a bud awakening to the morning song.
The sheet of love hangs across my heart, pounding like the rain.
You step inside, feeling the walls to my lungs while you breathe new life in.
Breath like ocean spray and the hint of gladioli.
I mark this dream, for it’s the only place I can find you.
The only place I trust you to be there.
Collected and kept like a shell on a mantlepiece.
Placed for my own enjoyment, and a sign of well-travelled bones.
Yet the possession bothers you not, for you rise like the moon in daytime.
Defiant against the sun.
Casting long reaching shadows that follow me throughout my day.
Cooling my skin where I touch upon them.
Touching part of your soul, those bits you let escape.
It must be a waking dream that haunts and carries me.
Keeping me contacted and close.
Cuddled against the consternation of being alive.
Being of being, with you so far away.

Salvation forest

This is what keeps me alive.
You drying on my skin.
Lobsters of the deep, snap memories for us to share.
For me to fish for.
Your tongue, a mind of its own.
I hope you don’t mind, that I describe you in such words.
But this is what I need.
A photosynthesis of love from sadness.
Breathing deep in me, swelling my soul.
Your Picasso honey, sweet blues of strung moments to fix.
A thorn in my side and iron lung around my heart.
Feeling you on my fingertips, presenting such possibilities.
A kiss will only do, to stain this skin.
Crawl into the space of your mind.
Where heart and head battle like warring gods.
Climbing mount Olympus.
Wax sticking, fear splitting into sweet tangible delight.
Strong roots that burst up toward the sky.
Like ghosts escaping a tomb.
Strange fruit that I hunger for, my teeth to bite upon.
Finding your heart at the centre,
I will kiss into recovery.
Restoring your pulse and transfusing our strength.
Into something eternal.
Breathe in this forest of salvation.
Return home.