ii. 2/5/13

quiet now love, he whispers against
my hair. so tragically breathing
like we belong to one another. take my
heart and my hand; who needs chivalry
when you have fucking against cold
walls and solid unsteady promises.

you need to drink it all, you need to
take this in, before i take it all away.
who decides when the stars shine and
when the moon suggests that it’s night
now; who decides that god was a three
letter word for all mighty, and a synonym
for humanity living underneath a pedestal.

the wind is waging war on the leaves, 
singing the lyrics to destruction and the
man who pulls down the trees. you have to
be quiet whilst they take your words and
leave your lips quivering. i thought i saw
a man that had a heart of stone, feet of
grass and a face of a cliff edge. but he is
gone, whispering and waiting.


whisper into closed
ears the darkness
that you cannot enter,

the bliss that you
cannot find. open
your eyes and count

the stars to the moon
and the blades of
grass until i get to you.

concave, we are breathing
in the ocean and it’s only
reflection of the empty

just not so empty, just not
so full.


she smelt of disinfectant

burnt and bruised from
collapsing and crashing.
brushing her hands against
jails and cemeteries.

she laid down with the
dead and woke up with
the absent.

her hands were whittling
away, ribs so concave
with a heart so obscure.

once, she painted herself
in acrylic because she wanted
to start again. they wiped away
her skin to bring her back.

4-12-2012; iii

i wanted to be a disaster,

i thought he loved the
nights bruised, stars
unaligned whilst the tears

(whilst the blood fell
against porcelain frames
and hands shook)

i thought that was what
would make him stay until
the sun rose and lights
shone clinically against the
frozen background.

i thought he loved the
tragic failings of a damaged
gift, falling from the skies
and breathing shallow.

the bowl was full of lemons
and apples, whilst we stared
into nowhere, reading poetry
from the back of our hands
with our feet against the sky.

(i wanted to be everything,
that he adored and that
he held closer than warmth)

i wanted to be a disaster.

4-12-2012; ii

london looks beautiful,

when you have your
eyes closed; when you
can see nothing at all.

wander the streets,
come down into the
south east and taste

the freedom, (don’t
mention the crime) breathe
the myth, that ‘we’ are

so much more than you.

feel the allure of shoreditch,
camden or the bight lights
of piccadilly,

just don’t stay too long
or you’ll lose the high

and it’ll become another
grotty city with fucking
and overcrowded cemeteries.

4-12-2012; i

où avez-vous, mon amour?

did you sit with broken ribs, punctuating the silence with the inane, with your life underscored by nirvana and the french classes you took in secondary school left to the wayside. reach into your pocket and feel the small change, feel the scraps of paper full of odd words and strangers phone numbers. are you watching at the window, feeling the clouds drift by because nothing is enough, for you, for him or for us. 

i walked past you once, red baseball hat and piano fingers. i watched you dance to the vision in your arms and i watched you walk down the street, until you were nothing more than a string of notes wandering through another crowded street. i watched you until i was unsure that i had ever seen you. i watched you and now i don’t know why. 

i never slept when i was with you, i never slept when i could be examining you like mess below a cuticle or freckles upon an apples core. bleeding into months and years of sleeping at six awaking two hours later at eight am. i never slept when i was with you and now i am exhausted, sucking from the wind all the oxygen i can muster. is this what it is like to die? is this how it feels when your body puts up no more resistance than the unavoidable pants of exertion. we bleed and bruise, but when will it end?

where are you, my love? 


if you could be anywhere else
would you still stay;

avec moi, mon amour.

wander through the strings
of this mind, the corners
of these elbows and the
fragile courting of fear.

mon amour, mon amour.
chérie, où vas-tu?

eyes like night and the smile
rare as a shooting star,
where have you gone, love?

où avez-vous passé et
comment puis-je vous
faire rester?

(where have you gone and
how do i make you stay?)