Atrophy

 

The urge to run towards
The cliff most jagged
So every step hurts,
And leap—
Embrace the cold swells

Of the waves below;

Where does the urge end,

And where do I begin?

I talk about you 

With a heavy heart,

In a paroxysm of nostalgia 

Like you’re dead—

In some ways,

Perhaps you are

But some things 

I must keep to me,

Like the red glint

Of your favourite knife

When the moonbeam

Slinks stealthily

To kiss it in the night,

Or how beautiful 

You think the world looks 

When it’s burning,

Or how you trace 

The burnished dragon 

Curling up your lighter 

When the deed is done—

With love.

It lies in a drawer 

I can’t bring myself to open.

If I dive so deep

That the blood rushes 

To my frozen ears

And I can’t breathe,

The water surging through 

My airways in a fury,

Drowning me in its hatred

My tears mingle

With the cerulean waters

And I find you in them,

Waiting, wilting.

This world wasn’t meant for you,

Any more

Than it was meant for me.

Maybe that’s why I see you

Only in the lapis abyss,

Where no one can find us—

But every time 

I reach for you,

I perish in its shadows

Before we can touch;

You are their maker—

They will not have me

For you will not have me.

I wish I knew how to keep

The sight of the first snow

From a foreign window 

In my mind’s eye forever.

I wish you knew

How to live 

With a good thing

And not turn it

Into nothing.

Choke

 

push it down.
let your insides pull the bile
of everything you have ever felt
deep into your fragile core
lest it should leave
your prattling mouth
in a symphony of loving words
he doesn’t need to hear them.

let it fester like a fresh wound.
if it itches
swallow your arm
scratch out your insides
in a fervent frenzy
tears glimmering
on your sunken cheeks
no one to wipe them
just someone to taste
the blood under your nails
after you shred your heart
to cold little pieces
before he may see
how he lives within it.

if you ever feel it rise
to the back of your throat
remind yourself
you want to hear the words
more than he does
he will not say them back
or smile with the warmth
of a million suns
he will twist them
into a horrid blackness
make you regret
each syllable that left
your adoring lips
you will never utter
so much as a gasp
ever again.

there will come a time
when you cannot resist
he will look into your eyes
like they’re the only pair
he ever wants to see
or tell you it’s been too long
since you wrote poetry
or hum his favourite lines
from the love songs
you made him hear
for the sake of your heart
that’s been broken
more times than mended
choke on your words.
run.

The Artist

I knew a girl

who had a heavy heart

she’d pour into her poetry

Every lover who strayed

became a piece of poesy

for her to own forever

I begged her to let me

live evermore in her words

She shook her head

I felt a touch dismayed

when her hand

caressed my glassy cheek

and she said

She could only reminisce

those who broke her heart

I never made her cry—

I’d never be a poem

In that moment

I wished in a haze of red

that I could shatter her

into a million jagged pieces

Adorning the cold ground

round my feet

The cruel thought flitted away

quick as it came

But on the stillest nights

I’d dream

Of digging my fingers

into her weary heart

She’d bleed gold

My hands tainted

with the glitter of her soul

She’d write masterpieces

about the wicked man

who tore her being apart

But then I’d wake up

with my hands clean

her pages full of foreign names

and she’d still love me

I didn’t want it anymore

I wanted to swim deep

in the river of gold

that I let flow

Her devilishly red pen

sat on her lonely desk

Tempting me each night

to live out my morbid dreams

It was hardly a surprise

when I pierced her throat

with it as she slept soundly

My new ink is redder than her pen

I suppose I’m an artist now too

Soar

you love me, i said 

as confident as a mother bird

pushing the apple of her eye

out of the safest nest

and head first

into a thread of a cloud

i don’t, you said

but your divine smile—

it gave you away

i knew then if i fell

you’d fall with me

we did not need 

the grace of angels

your feet were cold 

and hell is toasty 

the wind chimes in my room

have clanged their joy

since the coldest november night 

you hung them

the day they fell silent

i had a fool’s thought—

they’re signalling my demise

but i couldn’t die 

as long as you loved me

so i brought you the coffee 

that would burn my tongue

on most dawns

as i watched the weeping sun

bleed into the clouds 

that let her baby die

you looked at the cup 

like it was brimming

with the purplest poison 

you love me, i said

was i begging?

i needed the silence not to scream

quite so loud

i don’t, you said

your lips were a thin line

i would never touch them again

you shut the door 

behind you when you left

but it made no sound

a trail of blood

from the knob to my heart—

i believed you this time.

Foreign

I am an empty cacophony

of every life I never touched

Every table I tapped away on

because talk is excruciating

Every nail I bit to wit’s end

for everyone around me feels foreign

Every time I let go

of a reason I woke up in the morning

Every hour I was drowning in a throng

without fingers threaded through mine

to keep me sane.

I often chip away

at what could have been forever

The echoes of a million ends

pounding inside my mind

Not quite so loud

that I can’t quiet them in the dark

And carefully let them fade

into the whispers of the night

Yet rarely so muffled

that I can’t be twisted into nothing

by the loneliness of my own making.

Saudade

I'm a girl, in love with the sky.

In love with its divine iridescence

That fills my soul with a curious luminosity,

Even on the most macabre of nights. 

 

In love with its scintillating sun;

The rays are indulgent as they caress me, 

Streaming in gently through the windows, 

Their warmth shielding me from the world.

 

In love with its ethereal rain;

Even when it's drowning me

Especially when it's drowning me—

For the sound inspires elysian sleep. 

 

How I loathe the ashen clouds

That eclipse my beloved on occasion-

For every ounce the sky's melancholy 

Weighs on my heart like twice of mine.

 

I want to feel the sky;

Lose myself in its azure embrace.

My sublime reveries make a fool of me—

The soft rays skim my tear stained pillows

Before they rouse me from repose,

Because I'm just a girl, in love with the sky

And I can never touch it.

The Gift

When you gave me the moon

I couldn’t help but look away—

The blinding white seared

My swiftly brimming eyes

The worn flesh of my yearning hands sizzled.

My being was eclipsed by its sheer expanse—

Nothing but a pained dot,

Bathed in its magnificence.

It was a gift too great to bear—

But you tethered it at my feet

With silver strings,

Uttering silver words

That held me aloft like silver wings,

Without which I would have surely sunk 

All too slowly beneath the moon soaked ground.

But when you left me with the moon

You took its warmth with you.

I long for the days 

It would lovingly melt my waning skin,

And set my dreams of love ablaze.

But I wish I hadn’t stood so close—

For it burnt mirroring craters 

Into my fragile heart.

The light it emanates now is cold and cruel;

Lurid beams plunge into the voids of my soul 

And become them,

To eternally freeze love’s old wounds in place.

I wish you had gently placed the moon 

On my meagre form before departing—

So I may be crushed to utter oblivion 

By what I loved most dearly.

Window

I am made of memories—

I have a chipped tinkerbell sticker
From when you were five,
A gleeful little sprite 
Breathing magic into my days.

A distinct crack on my crown

From the cruel cricket ball 

Of the zealous boy next door;

You chided him endlessly.

Blinking orange lights to hide the crack

And illuminate your ardent being;

You often smooth over the fraying tape 

That holds them up to conceal my flaws.

I have scars on my metallic edges

That would glint in the morning sun;

Your worried mother shoves me to the side 

So you may revel in the gentle breeze.

The hint of a dainty palm print

From when you lay yours against me,

Sighing wistfully at the violent rain

That kept you from your doting lover.

The remnants of your ceaseless tears—

He broke your fragile heart last week.

When you pressed your cheek to my pane,

Into me, your pain did seep.

I am made of your memories.

I will treasure them till I am dust.

I will carry your spirit back to the earth,

May your warmth clothe the universe.