Since when was every song
on the radio about broken hearts.
Have I been singing to the beat
of our hearts entwined for too long
to notice the world burning at our feet.

I keep finding scraps of you
in those melancholic melodies,
and as love songs turn to haunting screams,
I sink deeper into despair,
clutching the once comforting words
of a wedding song
I guess I’ll never be able to p...

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They pass by me in complete perfected execution,
whilst my breath is tightly held,
at their undisturbed, emotionless in-humanity.
For these Kings Cross Robots douse me in fear
that they may see I am not one of them.

& how likely it does feel
that in this systematic powerhouse 
of cogs and machines,
that they will soon turn to me, and laugh
in unwarranted amusement,
at I, the broken mac...

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You brought me to this shelter
in the winter of my discontent,
and kept me warm from the cold storms, 
that chilled my aching bones.
Safe within my home away from home away from;
home 
that shone with bright lights through lacy curtains,
as I, with childish glee,  watched the buses pass by,
and listen to the passing strangers
who enthralled my curiosity.

We kissed, and danced on the ug...

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I fear the day,
when the hand that holds the pen
shall snap off at the wrist,
and the voice that speaks fluently in limericks,
will become stifled.

For the wordless flies do linger,
drawn to the shit I now exude,
and this would be the first sign to come,
of expiration;
as I fear the day, of creativity’s passing.

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This, that, this that,
a brain on overdrive, constantly trying to thrive, a head first mental dive,
into the endless list of justifying, the state of a brain, just trying to stay alive.
Validity in insanity, I drag myself kicking and screaming,
to the reality of uncertainty, to the state of a mind, in a state that minds nobody.
Twenty words, when half a dozen works too, the extra mile a disg...

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For though I long to sip milkshakes in loving unison,
and dance with you to Elvis on the swivelling stools of youth bars, now aged,
know that photographed era
was never as black and white as they memorialise.
Yes! Please long to cloak me in these cautious kisses
and lock your fingertips within mine,
but only, behind these curtains drawn
I beg only behind the backs of suburban scorn.
for th...

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I never used to understand
why Jesus wanted to be reborn,
into a world of sinners and saints,
of betrayers and victims
where even the strongest hearts of gold,
would one day taste the cruel pain
of a finite life.

And then one day, I met you,
and my heart that believes no faith,
believed in you,
and I knew,
I’d die a thousand Friday’s
to be reborn to you on Sunday.

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I guess I’ve always seen
the female body
in the same way as space.
Beautiful, unfathomable,
an amalgamation of the universe’s finest,
with features most beguiling
that draw the naked eye, upwards.

But most importantly,
for a connoisseur of the terrestrial
such as myself,
perhaps best appreciated, 
from a distance.

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Maybe if people had learnt
to let me come and play,
I wouldn’t be sat here,
playing with the chemicals in my brain,
in overgrown grudges
and hand me down trauma,

a murder on the playground,
a dozen years in the making.

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I pray you looked both ways
before crossing my mind,
for dark thoughts
race, around these winding
concrete veins.

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Is my suitcase big enough?
Once clothes come out, will grief fit?
or will memories fill every crevice?

Packing boxes of a life once lived,
packing a suitcase of a life still living.
What selfishness, what obsession.

But it's time now, the train always coming,
and the impending journey, always one yet to come.

But who’s it for?
What would you say?
If this journey's too hard to take,

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They say breakfast
is the most important meal of the day,
but I’d skip a thousand breakfasts
to feast on the secrets you whisper to me,
in these, 
our crisp morning sheets.

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Come visit me again old friend,
here on the shores of Black Water Bay,
where lifeless bodies are washed up,
and memories of our times in the sun
drown in salt water tears.
I long for the nights we spent,
here at Black Water,
for the stones tossed now
shackle onto our ankles
and drag us into the depths.

And soon shall we take our places
here at the Bay,
and commit our bodies to the br...

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Too often do I dread the cursed
reminders of Mr. Fat and Mr. Thin,
who would choke in reptilian disguise
on the poison they spewed into the world,
whose raised eyebrows and 
perpetual arrogance
ate away at my anxious heart.

For they, one step above me,
on that steep ladder of authority
stomped on my bleeding fingers
and prepared to watch me fall-

-until they slipped,

and too poet...

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How peaceful an ending
for Ophelia,
as the corpse of her insanity
floated amongst the lilly pads 
and flower petals
forever entangling her in
vines of poetic demise.

Why can’t all broken hearts die this beautifully.

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These bad thoughts come and go,
like butterflies on a sunny day,
but promise me, if one lands on you,
that you won’t let it free,
for if they start to flood these skies,
in colours of rainbow treats,
they may just begin to whisper,
the secrets they promised they’d keep.

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I fear once again,
my bitten tongue has cast me out
amongst the swarm, as wasps
land on my lips:
a mistaken stagnant flower,
that does not flutter
in objection, to what strikes
fear & discomfort,
into my heart.

& thus, I lay here lifeless,
on the pollen grass,
a murder most foul,
committed,
by the silence of my despair.

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Mother and Father used to sit
and spill the contents of their day
into that warm unwinding bath,
a splash of red wine & mutual love
that is often barren
in my memories,

as the baths became separate
& the red wine swapped for blood.
And the bathroom
that felt like the recipe 
for true loves survival
overflows at the feet of my innocence,

as I sink into this bath,
and spill away my ...

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Home before 8 he’d say,
dinner on the table,
but the clock struck 
quarter past my patience,
and the milk he’d sought out
had curdled,
sister and I
will have burnt toast tomorrow.
But no loss for he,
his thirst had been quenched,
feasting on white lies 
and mother’s restless sighs.

An appetite fit for a king he’d say,
but so far could he fall 
from those kingdom castle steps.

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I wish heaven was that first moment,
an afterlife eternity of first meetings,
a never-ending gaze upon your lips,
and butterflies that never die,
the passing of my heavy shoulders
onto your beating eyelids,
and the brief touching of skin,
that burnt as we pulled away,
a blinking image
of a long road ahead,
and a whisper of goodbye,
that begged to be left unheard,
for we were never trul...

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Why do i always befriend
the succubi,
who patter off justifications
like the proclamations of a saint,
all the while prepping the rifle,
to point against my head,
already planning
how many kisses to use
in their sorry letter,
six months from now.

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The peversions of my past
haunt me, cloaked in memories of
premature orgasms &
venereal nights in unmonitored rooms,
absorbed in fascination by 
the strangely handsome leaches,
suckling on the blood of my purity.

Full body convulsions screaming yes,
never realisng that my milometer
should have warned them
no.

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I didn’t take my pills last night,
that’s four days in a row now.

I hoped my body wouldn’t notice,
that poor little solo
for the sad boy orchestra,
but alas no, the stage is on fire now,
and tears must pour 
if we are to lessen the flames.

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The postman came this morning,
the rattle of his letters falling through the door,
passing as my only real engagement with the world,
as I hollow out the envelope,
and scan the contents in eager anticipation,
hopeless in my pursuit, in this endless waiting game
for 10am’s rattle and clank,
to clutch in my purpling hands,
an eviction notice for the trepidations in my head.

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We got on like a house on fire,
because you were broken
and warped, and because
burning buildings don’t ask for help
kindly; instead they offer
a gentle utterance of an inferno,
devouring their insides 
with plumes of smoke and greyed ash.
and so, as you burn in my presence,
I expect nothing from you,
but ignition, to set our unity: ablaze.

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Kiss me on the willows love,
and frollock with me through
fields of succulent reds,
sharing whispers between the lily-bed
and sneaking kisses afoot the
crimson hills,
always knowing, 
you’re my naughty dream 
in the night time dear,
for whom, I bathe in red.

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Call it what it was:
a paper house marriage,
with cracks painted over
by trips to the piggy bank
and tea parties.

an endless hurricane in a teapot,
a crackpot scheme of love,
leaving us china doll chipped.

you wouldn’t get half the price
for that heart on the market anymore.

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Writing these words
with a glass half empty of serotonin
is the most naked I’ll ever feel.

undressing these words and
warped limericks onto the floor,
hoping: perhaps even lusting,
to be fucked for the divulgence of my tongue.

And when the night ends,
and you’ve feasted on my self-piteous soliloquys,
I’ll pour myself another glass of melancholy,

and wait for tomorrow’s confession.

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It’s terrifying how easy it is to drown.
How you can balance for years on the precipice of the boat
a throat full of salt air, sailing with intuition,
only to one day crash upon the rocks,
a cast away to routine,
with a throat full of salt water
ever aware that the day will come,
when you will have to set sail once again.

It’s terrifying how easy it is to want to drown.

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She came to say goodbye last night,
with locks a haunting black
she’d danced with me till seasons end, 
and promised she’d be back.
She kissed my sweating forehead soft,
and danced into the night,
though with her, darkness, faded off,
and soon returned the light-
-though return I know she might.

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