Mother’s milk

Grow up big and grow up strong.
Be nice to others. Get along.
Don’t do drugs, and don’t’ drink coffee.
Savour each day like a delicious toffee.
Always colour inside the lines.
Say your prayers, once; two times.
Be still, be quiet, be seen not heard.
Be small and quiet like muted bird.
Play nice, play well and be enamoured.
For the nail that sticks, is that one that’s hammered.
Those thoughts of lofty aspirations.
Are just a sign of desperation.
So do not fall into the abyss.
Of needing help, to love or kiss.
For the witch is what they’ll call the other.
The fallen woman.
The post-natal mother.

Tears in the chrysalis

Who knew the fury in that silent smile?
Little iceberg teeth bitten by the frost of circumstance.
Does she look to the sky, hurrying the rain to fall?
To wash away the paint on her wedding dress;
the coal in her brain or the handcuffs around her heart?
What song does she hum along to, that drifts in her world.
Staining the air around her, cloaking her against ill intent.
Like a red string around the wrist.
Drawn free from the granite and the prehistoric amber.
The carbon colouring in her eyes that repeats.
All tears mass-produced.
At the sight of the grey shadow in the distance.
The lonely cry of a wolf sent, to scare away the butterflies.

Lightning in a bottle

And the voices they whisper.
The dominant ones scream.
Climbing the walls of my skull. That grand display.
A sea awash with chemical dependence.
Slipping into the sublime. Causing me to stutter.
Push you a little further they chime.
Pull back another step into the nothingness they call.
These voices whisper in my head, licking me with novocaine.
Their mouths a slather for the honey I swallow.
Hard jagged pills, set to simmer in the stomach of my soul.
Too many channels, trying to trip my station.
This lighting in my head, it’s like bottled bolts.
Smashing again and again against the glass in my mind.
A perfect storm of self suspicion.
And who here is paranoid? Who would ever admit?
For to raise your hand, well that makes them come after you.
And though I would slip once again into that nightmare of reality.
A smile would slip out, knowing I was right all along.

Tragic necessity

Unstitch the fabric and pull at the thread.
Dismantled then reassemble my love like a puzzle.
Cut the corners, and round the edges.
Make them fit.
I feel it licking at my chest from the insides.
Coursing through me like a river of lava.
Deep boulders of love shift within.
Where there was once just water and fire.
Now sings and eternal stream of desire.
We shake off these brown leaves of entanglements.
Lift those gravitied heads towards the swollen sky and puff out that chest.
The one that beats with a billion heartbeats.
We strip away the coupling and unity of two souls bound together.
Yet we then drift like ghosts, transparent and vacant like an empty space;
waiting to be filled.
Decorated with art and passion.
A wash with the colour of intimacy and rouge.
We are all boned striped rooms, inviting others to come in and rearranged.
To hang those crooked pictures.
Sift through our drawers.
Silently succumbed to the tragic necessity of you.
Of love.

I see red

My eyes itch and my heart heaves.
Reading over and over.
Line after line.
Pulling me out of traffic, pulling me into your frame.
Surround yourself with good intentions.
A swirling world of your black and white.
Yet all I see is red.
The swan song that you misunderstand.
Plucking my heartstrings for the correct rhythm.
The right sound.
Colour your lines. Careful now, make it pretty.
This is the page we’re on, this is the hymn we’ll sing.
My story snipped down to a footnote.
A sentence that mice can devour.
In your book of course.
What was I thinking?

On the edge of a supernova

I waited for you there.
Down at the bottom of the garden, where the universe opens up.
Tiptoeing between fallen leaves and black holes.
Coughing up lunar dust from the departing moon.
Arriving in your spectral way, a moth on the surface.
A white wash of misery and decay.
I never understood why you ran away;
to the mountains, to the forest.
To breathe and live again.
I never knew I was the reason you returned.
You traded pain for love.
Cast it out on the spider webs of the Milky Way.
Letting it hang in the morning light.
Hoping for it to fade.
I wore my naivety proudly like a badge.
Puffed chest and wide eyed.
I thought I could make you live again.
And when we kissed, I felt the rush of protons pulling me.
But it wasn’t enough.
I could not prevent the fall. The supernova there to engulf us.
So I watched you depart.
Lifting up through the trees like a ray of light.
As I mourned our deaths deep down in the soil.
Where you buried me.

Dangerous

Whisky breathe and Ritalin eyes.
Ones that drag me across the floor.
Bleeding and wrist tied.
Black and blue. Shaking into territory.
Tracked me down, run me down.
Scuffed jeans and wicked.
Metal to my temple, finger on my heart.
The smell of this masterpiece.
This smith and wesson smile that cries;
‘Just love me’.

Colour my direction

Dreams, again complicating my life.
They swing their megaphone and make me no longer breathe.
Diving deep, fill my lungs in my chest as they weigh heavy.
Underwater, and the unsettling sound of silence.
Swimming in the dark, where no-one will see if I drown.
They force me to murmur out a sound. An action.
A sleep twitch.
Taking off with little beats. Like coloured balls escaping.
A Personal pilgrimage to land in your lap.
Hold me in your crossed arms, talk to me of the Passion.
Your passion.
Fade into my hue and join me. Linked in gravity.
Seeking rainbows, as I carry the weight of my world.
Imitating life. We have it all.

Crushed chalk to diamond dust

They did not see, our crucifixion wasn’t televised.
The day you broke down, and held my hand.
Swimming in chalk, dusting it off our clothes.
Feeling so low and desperate.
The soft surrender of hopelessness.
But we did not die, we did not fade into white.
A burst of control and all the things they’ll never know.
Our resurrection, in colour and flesh and bone.
Just a matter of time now until they paint our picture.
Hang it on the wall where the wolves devour other hearts.
Stronger, from here on out.

Drifting…into cover designs

Though I should really pick a release date, the ambiguousness of ‘Coming soon’ still rings appropriate for the forthcoming book. More information can be found here, however, any feedback on cover preferences would be most welcome: Please let me know in the comments section which you prefer:

Thoughts, suggestions or anything else is welcomed. Thank you.

Painting Frida Kahlo

My bones are smashed, my soul is shaken.
Paint flecks into my blood stream. All reds and blues.
Peal my skin away and display my head as a candy skull, paint a smile that misrepresents.
Confined to my bed I see the world not how it is, or how it should be.
But as a world where the monsters roam, resurging my secure need to stay inside.
Confined and cloistered away.
Painting the windows up, choking off the world.
You could find me there, if you decide to look.
Where monkeys run amok in my head, and I remain devoted to you despite all I’ve seen.
Bathing in the heat of the tropics and the bleach in the bathtub, vomiting out the apples you feed me.
Admiring my own reflection.
Painting Frida Kahlo.

Second sight

Going towards the resolve, the 20/20 equalling something higher.
A Fissure in my memory, wraps around the stillness.
Allowing the world to hum and clatter around me now in its chaotic busyness.
Your X-rays burn through, avoiding the heart and preventing the cancer.
My realness drifts up towards you, and you cherish it all; pulling it close.
We are everything.
This blindness no longer fits me, like all of these clothes.
Swimming in ignorance makes me long for bliss.
Thank god for you. Your bones and skin, and where you walk.
Where you breathe is where I take a picture.
You heart I steal as a souvenir.
Still like the frosted birds and the rocks we climbed upon.
The sand where we walk.
Refracting in your presence, seeing your glory in my second sight.
Your cat eyes shimmer, as I count your nine lives and try to keep up.