when hope starts to sing along to your pain

oh how i tremble

oh how i tremble when i see my own familiar face
in the distance and i still find it hard to just grab hold

to just grab hold and reach for it.

i am standing at the cliff edge,
one that is big enough for
all the rest
this same cliff i once congratulated as a child for eating whole
snow white's queen
this is the cliff edge
the one with the strongest earth
because it can hold the masses at the tip of its finger

i never wanted to be here
but i'm here.
i'm here paying dull ache for falling
i fell for it, for fuck's sake
i fell for it, the convenience to not stick out
and stand there in numbers
growing numb
without any purpose;
to stand there and not have
the guts to even jump down
and somehow i am upset by this, but not because of the lack of movement

but actually because i cannot say anymore
yes i would do it again

just like that.

nothing can
further shame me from myself
i still blush at the way they look at me
eyes when they don't see i know they all are watching. i will not give up life
for isolation, it is as simple as that.

i can say my poems will
never be as cutthroat as they were before
but those words took a big part of my not many lives
and the words bled me out to
get out
now i can heal?

and on top of everything else, the way the world becomes so claustrophobic
because it is just you
getting sick of yourself
watching everyone
too busy getting sick of your 'condition' to realise you dont want any part of it
a second into the conscious next moment because
the eternal time to spend in that abyssmal black freefall
is actually piss boring to fuck, OH GOD PLEASE DON'T PUT ANYONE ELSE THERE FOR A WHILE!

Can everyone please listen to my plea.

she is behind me
she walks a lot alone now
that is how i lost her,
when the winds ripped her out of me because she had had enough
of the cold slaps
over and over
and my ribs could't take it so she
just stepped out

because of the wind,
that was how i am.

she is behind me
now
she is behind me, she is calling
my  name and she is crying.

she is crying for my return.

come on home
it's not the best of places,
remember how the curtains never shut
but remember all the colours?
it's not the best of places, i know,
but here is where you can salvage your hope;
that one that remains forsaken.

here is where you harnessed your weaknesses
to turn them into the strength you wanted it to be
when it best suited.
here is where you created your purpose,
remember.
remember hard, don't go on,
don't jump over the edge; we already know how it feels
we don't need this again
don't jump over the edge but stop
standing still; turn around

it is not going backwards if you are facing
your right way round

the vessels for your soul
are holding on for the dear life you have chosen
so why don't you
hold on for dear life too, because
it cannot survive a second time.

because the people may tell me
to save a life and a soul on the streets, like
it really would mean anything
because they could be doing what they ask you for, too.

to keep time

never forget.
the gasp you have gasped
every day since the first,
is because you choose every second
to have lived the myriad of colours that
greeted like the wink of a handsome dawn
all-encompassing and ever-growing;
these colours, which you could only see
in the dreams you kept
and in death, chose you to
choose this exact reason
to invert fate and live
- entirely.

never forget.
that in your lifetime
the skies carry on into your windows to
bring you the limitless flight
within the cracks on the wall that 
divides time and
space so stoically.

never forget.
this gasp that leaves you
one breath less to waste
on the spillage of stolen air
that get caught up in the
grenades that spew from your lips
at your blackest shade
and your spine holds a no man’s land
for the weak.

never forget.
we are not here to encourage
the same pain we chose
in our million lifespans
to leave behind.

never forget.
every drop stained
every note flattened
fills the score
of the symphony
we listen to at the heart of this kaleidoscope
that churns within the palette of life itself.

never forget.
these faces you will learn to 
draw with your eyes closed
over water
under earth
are the faces who will close their eyes
to draw you.

never forget.
that all this rage you feel is the 
kill that finishes that tip of our spears
we send into the unknown to
end the hate before it takes over
this utterly immense universe
creating a planet of solidifying ground
under our feet as we drift through the
impossible timeline of
now.

never, never,
bring the rage home.

never forget all this
that you hold now on the tip of your mind
and the rush of your breath
or else you will only hold the ghost of a memory
and remember the person who borrowed 
your skin and bones
the person you
only just began to forget.

listen.

listen.

listen to your pulse thunder through the shield 
listen to your life dislodge into fast forward 
then see it past you, this pulse that distracts
from the calm that you stoically wrap around your naked being
the paper thin sheen like muscle tissue pulls
at its most tested stretch, the risk of tearing
the risk of 
snapping
uncoiling
unraveling
unraveling
unraveling
unraveling.

listen.

listen to the silence, wait for it to deafen you
wait for it to vacuum you inwards 
spinning like a hurricane that settles for less than a hum
listen to it as it pulls at your pace
as it lingers around the corner
as it shouts
angry and loud
angry and loud
this silence is angry and loud
when you hear it from the outside
because you are always waiting
waiting for it to pass.

listen.

listen to the waves of reality
crash over you
a tidal free fall where you slip into the undertow.

listen.

but don’t stop moving.

the channels they switch off

the phone doesn't ring because i matter today.

the colours don't match from my skin to my shoes;
i am an unwashed palette
murky and lacking form.

my words taste sharp and sound rusty today.

i forget to place my pain into the melodies
that stretch over guitar strings
it begins to seep out in my godforsaken
muttering echoing the demise of an eighty year old woman
who has forgotten her place in the world.
it begins to seep out in the dull of rushed smiles
in the strain of my left shoulder
under the words that remind me day in day out
that there will always be room to become unfamiliar to myself.

words that make the silent screech
words that bring the dead back to life
words that send the monsters scurrying under beds
because they too need shelter from wrath.

the lies that wake with me are not mine to bear today.

they are the lies that belong to the ones who
left us behind, and i am angry
for this ugliness i feel does not sit well with the beauty
we summon so naturally on better days.

it is a sad revelation
of trying to convince an unbelieving world
that in finding you, i felt less defeated
yet the world tries to even defeat
this prize of years and years of self repair.
why
is love so abused?

today has been almost half a year of
an unhinged grief
that swells from the fires
of contorted paranoia
of tampered memories.
i have witnessed enough
to want to not witness it all
but to live it all.

i am not a victim of anything else
but this shameless blame
you fucking cunts.

we do not want this throwaway life
so many live
choked with ungrateful resonance
we do not want this life that hangs heavy
on the slump of my pillows
and the strands of my hair.

the lies had long begun before i was born.

there was never a time or place
before you
when i got the right answers
from the words of another human being
because there will never be an answer
honest to a question that surfaced from within myself
from people who never latched on to collective
consciousness, letting themselves become shells of
collected information.

sometimes
i am the eighty year old woman
and it is always a lesson to be learnt
to never listen to these thoughts
because thoughts never listen to me
they only rant and rant and rant
and rant
and most of the time
they don't even make any fucking sense.

sometimes
i am already dead
sleeping in a paralysis that even stuns you
as you sit by my side
fearing the state of cold blankness
when i open my eyes and do not
see you, for i do not see me

all i see in times like these
is the sheen of hate
that is not ours.

reality does not shift over my fears anymore today
and i do not shift over reality.

it is an ugly lie, fear
and people like us do not give fear that much credit.
when you are neck deep in its pool
and you are kept there with the mere idea of
watching the one you love also struggling for air
because then
no one will even attempt to float over with a lifeboat
this pool full of people too unfazed
to go off the grid that keeps them in line.

i do not want to be kept in line
but why is the alternative to become
deadweight thrust upon cliff shores?
why is it the norm
that though freedom is as priceless as its definition
but always highly contracted
when demand for redemption and imprisonment
is the only other option?
i do not want to be kept in line
but i do not want to be the ones they pick up
from the shores; we are not built for the news
and channels they switch off.

if i want to be unseen,
all i have to do is hide
under the waves
where the waters are calm
where all is dark
deaf and breathless to life beyond the surface.
if we want to be unseen
all we have to do is hide
but
why would we?

the bowing rain

these days are withered and damp
like the dying grass of Northern winters
drowned under the swollen earth
these groundbreaking waters don’t belong here
but they keep falling, falling, falling out of place
piercing into our skin through our pores nerves bones
freezing acid
reminding us that pain will force us
to seek shelter within ourselves.

this dawning year
dormant and unlived
is only just awakening, now
at the grovel of our patience
where the days have held 
the depths of paralysing sleep.

but we shed light 
in the shuddering darkness
for it is the light
that teases shadow play
and we are the good that feeds evil’s
never ending hunger.
fear only thrives in its job
alongside those that are brave enough
to keep its position credited of its worth.

these winds they shake even the strongest pillars
like they shook you 
like they shook me
we are the autumn leaves
dancing frantically until the whistling wind
pauses to catch its breath.

we have grown to memorise
mesmerised
our worldly beings as the map
to solace and away from every blow
this angry life aimlessly throws
because we have been shown
in sleep and in wake
the magic of our ethereal accord
can warm the deepest of chills.

the panic can only contain within the binds
of the pages for so long
before the smoke begins to rise
and the chapters have singed
the pages brown
catching fire for new ink to settle

these unforgiving times
they show us the hues we bathe in
teaches me to dive into the spectrum that grows
from the rainbow’s end where my eyes
open
and i laugh
i laugh at the unforgiving
and take your hand
knowing this time
hell will not remain inside us
because we are the ones
that travel across realms

and break from ties that bind.

fire in the sky

our grip is firm and unshaking
bearing familiar life,
like the roots that dig far beneath
the tundra of the earth,
searching through dark clumps of dirt
for permanent life matter
that will allow for the growth of the
strongest,
most upright tree.

your worn eyes, burning ever so bright
like fire in the sky,
they reach into me with such
strength,
and a purity so delicate even
Evil will not comprehend it enough
to pull it down from you.

i see my other self when i look in,
and i understand every unspoken word
that gets caught in the fray of
your breath when we are
wholly and all-encompassingly
mesmerised.

there is no pedestal, 
there is only balance, 
for finally, our hearts are
as free as they are full.
the holes roughly dug up and abandoned
are now wide open no longer despaired
nor vulnerable,
as they at last, learn to
let light in.

these words

these words are meant to hit dead centre
these words are meant to show how ugly you are
when the sun sets into the death of your eyes
and you no longer shine
no longer have that mask everyone has grown to love
including yourself.

these words are meant to be answers
but these words don’t fucking exist
these words do not wash the tip of tongues
these words are what asphyxiate and suffocate a soul that continuously 
tries to live.

these words rip your hair out.

these words pull at your ribs
causing you anxiety and nervous deterioration
these words hit you right where your honesty
brews, where your honesty
lies.

these words smell like soiled papers
these words smell like pain.

these words are mirrors
these words are mirrors
these words are mirrors

these words hit you dead centre
these words call you out
because you are a coward behind
these smiling eyes
this hearty laugh
this hand you reach out to so many who
ask for it.

these words are your own
they will keep coming
they will keep coming

they will keep coming.

to live, is the biggest breath of fresh air

the mountains move in the distance.
slanting over these trench lines, 
arched and sculpted through the 
wars raged over barren lands. these
front lines hold no army, but allow 
the breeze of my fingertips
to raise the earth from the silence of forgotten
and over trodden senses.

there were wars fought, lost and won
across this battlefield of a being
now making peace in the breaths of aftermaths;
blood that spills can only dry,
and so it does, giving way
for new soil, to dig through for sunlight.
this land will no longer be barren.

i feel these mountains move when i look in.
these windows with their frosted frames
and crumpled curtains, they open
to the frivolous bush fires that yearn to shed light
snaking through the landscapes of a newborn life.

the view is divine. the view is pure.

i will roam this kingdom
without maps
as these paths are best traveled through
muscle memory; deep down,
i trust that it is here
where i have always lived
it is here, in the heart of this kingdom 
where i will carry on living.

though my senses may sometimes be blunt 
and unfamiliar
i trust that it is here
where my soul will take me exactly where i need to be
among the folds of the valleys
where we will meet,
again and again
in eternal embrace.

the man without a shadow
and i,
together we will craft
rivers of words and fields of colours
forever.

this kingdom rises
under godly skies;
under our skin and 
under our eyes.

the view is divine. the view is ours.

where gravity fails

the smoke rises.
i am here again, staring at what time has left me.
the dusk is heavy, falling like ash in the wind
from a sky that hangs like broken fences
and wet clothing.
the monochrome folds have lifted
giving way to the colours of a mindscape
that echoes through the plains of what is
long barren and forgotten

all eyes are on me like
needles piercing my nerves
and the angels hide their faces
as their hymns burn to the ground
like the work of terrorists that live in mirrors

this is an unforgiving world
spitting delicate acid in the shy of the night
into the embers of our hearts
look now, look hard into the eyes of the dead
and find life that you will never understand.

lift my shade, see the colours
unfold like maps that lead you nowhere
watch me thaw
from the ice in my heart and fire in my soul
as i dance
as i dance
as i dance
with the demons

get caught from the outside
get caught from the center of
diseased beliefs and treacherous hope

count me in
count the steps it takes
to frown in the cold face of death
as it laughs at an immortality
you will never learn of.

this blessed curse

i reuse this weight of bleeding carpets
trays and trays of distractions parallel to one another
the truth lies under their breaths
kissed out and sucked into the core of me
i hide in corners forgetting my existence
focusing on my eternal lineage
to let it all out
to let it all out.

black shards of hate
staining my lungs until i
stagger my breath and fall out of line
i close my eyes
turning inside out to
shed some skin from within
draining my veins and rinsing them clean
because being reborn every day
is no easy task
when people take the shine in your eyes for granted
never seeing the way they will
glaze over and turn to stone.

they ask about miracles
they ask about magic.
with every one of those spectacular
breathtaking moments
comes a soul that is breaking
little by little everyday behind the curtains
bearing down by all the weight of
vacuumed pain and brushed up hate
piles and piles of negative debris left over
that don't reach enough light to evaporate out of tangibility
because we live under sunless skies
in the grey that blinds happiness.

shedding skin is never enough
to tamper with the unbalance of
all that still writhe and coil inside me;
this growing beast
feed it or flee it,
the choice is not there, the choice
was never mine to make.