philosophy has lost its appealYour absence isn't the elephant in the room;
It’s the invisible parasites lounging in the floorboards
Just writhing for a taste of lonely flesh.
My repaired left half is gone;
Without you, I’m faulty once more:
The half-blind broken wind-up doll is here again.
There aren't words to describe the emptiness:
just return soon.
tencourage must be a dominant trait,ten2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for how else could you handle
a pin-pulled grenade
with such delicacy
i don't need to sell my soul laughing against frost,i don't need to sell my soul2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
stylish arsonists + I still
escaping from your lips
1,001 NightsIn a land of1,001 Nights2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dreams and dust:
the curve of
a half-hazed sun,
Loving a WriterWhen you read their work –Loving a Writer2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and it is work,
and you will often come second to the job –
it’s best to know which pieces are fictions,
which ones are wishes,
and which parts are for you.
addicted to bad ideas.i've learned that we getaddicted to bad ideas.1 year ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
addicted to the idea
more so than the drugs.
AsphodelA beckoning:Asphodel2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
watercolour sky shrinking,
too late, teeth fall; pearls
from a broken string.
Blink and the moon ignites—
but the sheets are still
.i would shed my skin.2 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
with autumn, but my veins would
crack like the dry leaves
I was never a writer. I: HalfsleeperI was never a writer.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I fell in love, once.
A snowstorm melting from my hair - dripping cataract:
diluted coffee. A dark room filled with language
so beautiful, I almost understood what was said.
Children are getting younger, and this land has no end,
where do you rest your head?
All things are in a constant state of vibration,
a harmony in the space between
our fingers. our hands.
I’ve only ever stopped to listen
pollenwasp-waisted beautypollen2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
pray into my collarbone
let your snake tongue slither
with the syllables.
i wish for soft-chested nights,
and the trickle of champagne down crystal glass.
poppy-lips, lull me to sleep,
nurse my coiling tongue with yours;
tap my scalp like a silent drum,
and wind my hair in between your fingers
like broken guitar strings.
(serenade me with the buzz of pollen in your kiss.)
forest firesmy signature scrawled across allforest fires2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of your sentences like a stain of apologies:
i'm sorry for anchoring you to my hip
like a one-sided promise, like a flood of insincerity.
i'm sorry for collecting you like a well of wishes,
for whispering you into every crack in these walls.
i do not have the depth to tether our limbs
with the tautness of our smiles, but i will
balance you on the edges of my knees until
you slip away.
i have been kneeling with my arms outstretched
but the divinity of your touch
never graced my expectant stance.
our bones built forest fires together,
but it was always my tears putting them out.
an open letter to depressionsuicide princess,an open letter to depression3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I think you're half in love with me:
the way that you
follow me about, grab at my ankles,
tighten my veins
would almost endear me to you.
and in a certain masochistic way,
I nearly welcome your knock on my door,
the steady clink of your
instruments of torturebecause
who would I be without this
to carry around?
but sometimes, dear,
you impose too much.
it's all well and good
to write the occasional
poem, to hold you by the hand
of a Saturday afternoon
when I have nothing better to do
than indulge your caprices
but you're not an amusing
pet, a fashionable idiosyncrasy.
not to me.
you are dust in my lungs,
haze in my eyes,
the frantic screaming of a
behind my voice at all times.
when you get too heavy to drag around
you simply pull me down.
would you care to count the days
that you've shackled me to my bed,
without the will even to open my eyes
and see you?
I am not your plaything.
please, leave m
.i dream of drowning in.1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
lakes, belly up, a petal
shaped bruise of your thumb
on either wrist
i dream that what lays
in my bed is so much
more terrifying than what
lurks underneath it
indulgencei will peel away every individual shade of colourindulgence2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in this seven-thirty pm sky
like stickers on empty beer bottles in the space
between your ankles
i will drink down this crescent moon cocktail
and get tipsy on night air,
clinging to my skin and summer
will run through my veins
but i don't want winter to come)
and sometimes i'll look down and realise
that my fingers are still sticky with sunsets
but i never want to be clean,
not ever again.
nothing lies forever & ifnothing lies forever2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it's because I can't
among the grassy ribbons
of your old zeta ego
& if I miss tongue,
teeth and cheeks
let the pavement carve
new mouths into my tights
she writes an another
poem about cigarettes
her east coast
astronomerswhen we're togetherastronomers3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dusk is containable; the moon in my palms
and the stars on your ceiling.
we lull the city to sleep
with our theories of life; my tongue curling
do you remember,
when Jupiter was a silver wick, lighting its countless moons?
you balanced a cigarette off your lips,
and I watched the vermillion flame burn life
as a newborn sun;
planets moulding and constellations snaked
above our eyes.
what it would be like to be curled
inside the embers creator and destroyer
so close to your lips.
desiccatei.desiccate2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you were 22 years in the making,
a sponge without water
since the day they plucked you from the ocean
and left the sea salt to sink into your pores.
I was something too heavy to wade in,
barely able to breathe,
21 years in the making
with floodgates barring my emotions
since the age of four.
At the first sign of droplets,
the salt of you drew me in
and eased the heaviness of my heart.
In your confessions of self-love,
in your tales of embrocation,
I was only ever your liniment;
was a thing to be forgotten from the start.
.i'm masochistic without realizing it..2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my mad girl's love song isn't enough
to hold your precious two-second attention.
Something Borrowedgirls in white dressesSomething Borrowed2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
don't always want weddings.
the priests would speak of leaps of faith
and my hands would clasp the wood in horror,
knuckles bleached like bone- and i found
something old: the knot tied in my throat.
my vocal cords did not let empty words escape.
and there was something blue: the heart
that hesitated. how can a seedling prophesy
its harvest? how can a caterpillar promise
the power of its wings?
so let others gather flowers.
we will skip the mass
but not the bed: and through
this something borrowed,
earn a little time-
and a place to rest our heads.
KitchenMilk on your lips – shuffling soul,Kitchen2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
shuffling feet on the lino.
Unwind your bones, unstitch your
muscles, unpick your thoughts.
Lean against the counter, bleached like
bird skeletons in the sand.
The fluorescent bulb does not forgive you
for your sins. It judges.
It tuts. It hums.
Rub your eyes.
flakes away like dead
Your white singlet rides up. The ridge of
your hip is like the lip of an ancient vessel,
an amphora dry of wine.
and he'll never come againDays pass;and he'll never come again2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
october poems and cigarette endsi. where are the metaphorical cigarettes when you need them, augustus?october poems and cigarette ends2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
ii. the poetry fell through the cracked riverbanks of my mind and slid off to elsewhere
iii. so still, i continued to breathe the lovely mindfulness, the unconventional endlessness of consciousness nothing’s.
let’s call them dreamers.
iv. the poetry written on my bones fading with all the sleep i drank (till the drunk of November mornings), the dreams melting off like the stars which ate away at my skin and left me bleeding—dying.
v. so, this is what writer’s block feels like
the eradication of sweeter thoughts and dreams
vi. (i think i finally understood why van houten drank so much.)
vii. “but i think the words you write are beautiful,” he says. “you’re beautiful.”
“i’m not beau—”
viii. still i write with an unsettled heart and
as blue as the eyes which fell upon them
the thoughts spilling out onto the pages it met
sleeps in all our bones*sleeps in all our bones1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
i had that dream again, virginia
i thought i was dying but they said no,
you are not dying. it's your child that is dying.
and i think about my husband,
i think about the father of my child and how
neither of them must ever know.
i am not an accomplice, i comfort myself
as i make plans to dispose of the body.
so i tell my husband that i did a bit of gardening,
and i tell my lover i was digging for buried treasure -
and they believe me.
i tell them i gave my rock collection away, virginia
and they believe me.
guilt is a useless emotion unless it weighs you down enough
to kill you, and
no one ever thinks to check your pockets
once you've passed the metal detector.
i am not an accomplice, i comfort myself,
as i lace up my shoes for a walk to the river.