the saddest eyes in the world.

the world dropped like hail,
the miscalculated momentum sending
horizons askew, breaking
car windows and skin,
she watched every head turn to watch the sunrises 
that never settled in the sky,
she watched everyone forget the moon
and burn like plastic,
falling from the corner of her eyes,
every tear was a corpse that never saw the sunset.

their graves are drawn in red
along the days that hang like washing,
the places that hold her together 
are constantly choked and full of voices
she doesn’t want to talk to.

thunder eyes,
blacker than night,
loud and angry,
sharp like daggers
when they touch their reflections.

there are sighs that linger
under her earlobes 
and inside her cigarettes,
forming within the storm clouds 
that will eventually
break into torrential thoughts,
churning within her entire being.

this mental hurricane,
causing a screaming stir;
she will awaken then,
with sheets that sweat and fists 
whiter than death.
she will awaken then,

but she will still weep.

used canvases.

there is room for more,
here, in these idle hands
that have left home;
these hands have sculpted mountains
but they are tireless, still.

the sound of breathing 
in a dying night
rustles through cracks in the wall;
the bed time stories for the sleepless
drifting into the veins that pushes
the flood of
one thousand two hundred and thirty seven days

surrogate eyes,
they lift my burden,
when i choose to look the other way
from overflowing ashtrays
and rain.

confiscate this mind,
that holds no more reservation
for this all-encompassing sorrow.

time trickles from the edge of my thoughts
like honey from a spoon.
every second takes with it, a bit more
until soon, all will be aired
on the clothing line of memories,
and this pain
will dry
like leaves that have reached their summer’s end. 

... but memories.

the skin sheds;
i wanted to keep it
over the chill in my bones
like a paper mache shield
and keep new skin from shaping me

but when you realise you are part of a world that carries on
you suddenly feel the pull of the wind
fiercer than ever
until you cannot stop the skin
peel like old wallpaper
lifting away like fall petals

as i feel the chill rise
i am suddenly open and bare
i feel all, raptured by midnight melodies
lingering through the twilight mists
serenading a heart
full of dull ache with healing powers
and I remember the burn of
effervescent passion
when it stings your eyes
i feel the burn clogged within the deep tangles of
my self.

this is an ode to the skinless bones
the leftovers of unnatural disasters
with burning guts and a handful of despair;
carry on
without this stagnancy 
for it is much easier
to move as a part of
than to be left behind
with nothing…

fragile skies

The universe has fallen
Crystallized into fragments 
That slumber within a soul
Chilling the body that bears it.

She shivers in salute of the forlorn night
Bathed in the melancholy of her blue moon
Finding solace in the center of all the darkness that she will have to embrace.

This path will be cloaked with familiarity
 But her heart will be heavier than her last plunge down.

When all is still, she can still smell
The soft of their being 
faded like the musky memories she decorates with dust and cobwebs 
Like they are not of a recent heartache.

Her promises lie unkept in the back of her throat,
The seasons drop like icicles from the sky of her mind
And she listens to the Devil cry 

Because this is more hell than even he can take.


these eyes are angry today
shrouded with a clump of late night thoughts
and consequences that grab at her gut
and forces her to scoff in disbelief.

she sits awkwardly,
a foot half in a shoe, the other crossed;
trying to balance her tested spine
so it doesn’t bend like 
habits and promises and words that mean nothing.

this is a dying era for some,
the sun is out of phase,
everything in sight is refracted,
like friendship and honesty,
the loose bead in the machine,
spinning out of control in a place out of its own.

what is choice? 
there are no coincidences,
and my judge of character has always been true
in the long run.

these eyes are angry today,
and they see everything.
this skin is angry today,

and it feels everything.

alone with the sunrise

the sun swelled over the naked branches this morning,
washing over the blue with a striking orange,
and i thought of you.

i thought of you 
and felt like the callous nature of the wind
carelessly sweeping leaves off the ground and
hurling them back to gravity’s hold,
i thought of you 
and pictured the dance of a bird whose wings may forget to
learn my lifts and drops as it tries to fly endlessly.

i felt the universe graze my cheek
and the branches waved forlornly at me,
so i used my strongest will to 
routinely transfer all i feel 
but most importantly all my will out to the atmosphere
i thought of you,
hoping those energies seep in through the window
to land on the curve of your sleep and settle on your soul
letting it grow like a tree that will age magnificently.

i remember the park,
with sun like this
burning its mark on your skin
as you couldn’t take your eyes off me,
i wonder if the note we left buried under the tree 
is now part of the earth and air
and i wonder if one day,
this will make sense,
and we will find our way to being

balanced like everything between earth and air.

in short, the end.

(alternate title: like cracked shells) 

my insides feel gutted even though
binge smoking and binge eating 
usually offers the contrary.

i have been staring at a wall
that stares back at me.
these walls shut me in, unable to escape
even the most sinister of my thoughts
as i lie awake at night listening to others fall in love,
ignoring the window that overlooks where all this began.

the flashing oven clock is blinding in the darkness
the time is all wrong, but then again,
everything is wrong
like how my boots rubbed my skin raw all night
and every cigarette i rolled was unsatisfying,
and there aren’t enough distractions to dry these eyes.

this heart will never break
but it definitely pushes the boundaries
as i sit and begin to piece together the answers
to questions i have no response for.

how does it feel to let go of
everything you have created with the entirety of

how does it feel to loosen the grip when
your knuckles are white and hardened 
from clenching protectively this long?

how does it feel to know you are no longer a shelter?

i knew it was going to rain before i saw the clouds
and felt the frail shiver of a first drop. my greatest
and worst intuition; to predict when the universe is 
about to wane and shed its
merciless tears.
my shoulders buckle under the weight,
i am the tiny insects that drown in the downpour.

but my pain grows like a firm tree,
withered, bent but undying. it grew from 
immense beauty but it disgusts me nonetheless
because this tree will not ever bring me life.

i despise all that i feel.
i despise the person i was, is & will be,
because letting go of all of this
leaves nothing but a cracked and homeless shell,
tampered by an angry world.

i leave this to definition,
not karma, because karma can be forgiving,
and this will never budge,
unmoving like the night’s overpowering glare.

ruins are beautiful,
but beautiful things ruined are 
hard to comprehend,
and that is why i am lost.
ruin defines all i touch,
all i love, all
i become.
the lover, the daughter, the friend, the sister,
the fucking mental case.

the best way to let go is
to realise i created a disaster.

one day i will find it in myself to disappear,
the leaves will stop at golden brown,
the cold air will hold still,
and i will retreat, steadily and silently,

these clocks are ticking
time breathing down my neck;
the world takes pleasure in feeding this monster 
inside me, listening to it screech and tug as it grows.

it is hungry for agony, digging deeper within;
unleashing this psychological beast
will make my physical lack of
disillusioned psychosis and broken mugs
completely redundant.

but perhaps i don’t understand;
done being depressed all wrong
since it took close to a decade for someone closest to me
to ask if i thought i was depressed.

this is when i realise
i have lived in the world’s peripherals for the past twenty-two years.

i have shunned and been shunned by all I believe in,
i’ve kidded myself in thinking i have to be strong for them
and i spent a long time
giving a shit enough to live by that.

but how can i learn the art
of selfishness when i have so much to lose for it after?

unless “after” never comes.
and i will become the sorry case 
everyone else will try to understand.

people choose to stay close to tragedy, 
grasping to be understood for it
with nothing to show;
it is the strong ones who gulp down pain like bleach
and broken shards
who are forgotten.

i never thought i would see the end
of this story mid-chapter,
but there is no story without ink,
and without ink,
nothing is written.

my book closes,
curtains fall.

this is my last.

weightless currents

it was raining the day we met,
i remember the whispers of gold drizzle  
tapering along the sidelight
as it washed over the derelict walls that held the dreams
of unkept souls.

i remember the rain on the soft of your hair
outlining everything that took my breath away;
the air tasted like booze and earth.

the rain has never stopped,
pouring out its centre through the scape of 
heavy emotions,
giving weight to all.

it is a weight of my head on your shoulder
as we breathe to one another stories that
form rings and coil themselves into the air
until all we breathe is of each other.

i have seen the way
the delicate sleeves of morning skies 
unfurl at the end of your slumber
kissing your eyelashes as they 
flutter into another day.

i have seen these eyelashes
flutter in protection over
angry eyes, dry and tormented
when hurt tasted like stomach acid and tobacco.

i have felt the inability to look at you.
our eyes divert behind furious quakes 
that shake the bridge of our consciousness.
i have climbed your walls
as many times as i have built mine,
but somehow there is always a boat 
by the river under our bridge
where we float in silence until our eyes
and the walls wane to the furious quake’s final shudder.

i have grown to understand the ability
of falling asleep with you
and staying awake without.

i recite the mental notes in my head,
and sometimes i do it aloud
overturning my reality of everything i know,
including you
and all the ways i have grown to love you.

when the relentless storms pass,
i remember you.

the rise of your nose,
the fall between your lips 
shying into a smile,
the way your whole body floats on every cloud of a breath.

i remember your stunning gaze
as you searched for my truths,
my hopes, my agony
and my all
between cigarette papers and
warm mugs gone cold.

the way your arms tingle when they meet
delicate friction, and the rough ends of your guitar fingers 
do not represent your gentlest touch.

i have mapped out the geometrical landscape of your back
and dreamt on the plains of your chest as you 
slept in metronomic sighs.

i remember you in utter completion,
and i waver in relief.

i imagine for our love to
age like a favourite book, 
the pages of our story
will curl at the edges, creased at the spine
from experience and good use.

i want to collect every fragment of your
buried hopes
and present them to you in different disguises,
until they become the new hope
that will always remind you of who you are.

there is much more to life
than poems and shadow puppets,
than routine chocolate and jokes that
always bring out a laugh,
than the usual mistakes, the unforgivable buzz in the room
when there are no words left to say,
there is much more to our regularities,
but there is nothing more wholesome
than the way our eyes 
and love is everything.

the rain will fall again,
cold upon my fingertips,
just like the night we met
when our eyes were tired and 
our breath formed clumps of December air
and we grew to listen to our
minds yearning for the warmth and solace of another.

we are tidal waves,
forever on the rise and fall of life’s equator,
but no matter how heavy we crash
on foreign shores,
we will always find ourselves
as one whole form

at the centre of the sea.