are you?

rhetorical 

something more

yet incomplete

the words worlds whirl all around

their letters trip and meaning rip new wholes 

in places I forgot to read

sentences that are not battle fields

The sense I can not afford to make nor lose

there is no space for full stops here

It's all me myself and you.

I was already dead when I lay down on it
although maybe that started from the moment I drew my first breath and let it go.

You have to be cruel to be kind they said
I thought I should cry forever
but it made them angry and it only made the sadness more.

I took it deeper inside me than they could see
and here it sings sweet and beautiful and strong
yet trapped
so when I turn away
it's my own heart that I want to break not yours
I want to know how to set love free.

un-here

small moments 

watching

waiting

time inching

slowly across my face

weighing on my mind

dragging my own thoughts

deeper than my tongue can reach.

Raw and hungry

needing to want more

no place like home

a broken home

you can never go back too

a gaping hole

un-holy truths trapped unheard 

tied up with words I could never really mean

Here is where you touch me

and turn my head with whispers 

torn of my own heart

I listen spellbound

as you speak

pieces of my mind, like I give you

like this

I turn away because I can not face myself. 

So this is how it is
we talk like this
haltingly, hauntingly
echoing ideas
halfheartedly
trying
not to complete
the thought i didn't have
and wont
because it is too beautiful
it will blow your mind
into littler pieces
than this.

in other news, there was nothing of substance to hold on to
and here, in this body
I am lost
each breathe escaping my grasping hands
bubbles of a life I once thought was mine.

a sweet and lonely sensation
as the mermaids song sinks right through me
convincing me that science is probably wrong
and I can breathe water if I want to.

I thought I could make them love me
that you could keep my heart safe from myself.

Maybe you mistake me for someone else

In the end there's nothing left to say
that I haven't already said
and the truth is that no body cares
least of all me
about the colour of my eyes
or why I am sad.

Nobody cares, least of all me,
How I don't believe I can have what I want;
and maybe I don't even deserve it.

Why does it matter why?
I grow impatient with my own questions
and tears of self indulgent pity
Because I am tired,
and I would rather speak with the beat of my heart
than whisper with my fingers
tracing my minds circles through space.

Photo

fettering fleeting thoughts

I'm sorry that I take all this time,

I hide it under my bed

while I dream up

what I can tell you;

how words might fit
(like a captured photo)

to these things that rush right through me.

and so I lay careful traps in my own mind

where I wait,

hoping to catch my own drift.

to make it worth our while

to think at all.