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.