twenty sixteen

                                                                         

And thats when I realised that
Home
isn't a place
Its a person

- home, sweet home

                                                                         

I gave up.
Because chasing you was like chasing the moon.

- bye

                                                                         

Whats the feeling when there's simply no feelings left?
When you walk into a room, empty.
Desolate.
Stare into its white walls like the eyes of a lover.
Lost in an abyss of nothingness.
Craving a landscape of no one.
Look down at the puce floorboard and think-
Wow, isn't this-
                           empty
There's no emotion left.
No opinion.
In the doorway to the room of nothingness you dropped something;
Sanity

- the room of nothingness

                                                                         

Calm. You said it. But you didn't spit it.
Not like other people do.
Well, they don't understand do they?
You spoke it.
Long and slow.
Holding onto the vowel, extending the word.
Your voice filled my inhale,
Your advice, my exhale.
And you might not have known it then, but thats all it took.
I was breaking,
no one cared,
you did.
Even if you didn't,
Now
        I'm
              Calm

- calm

                                                                         

But one day, love may pluck me from this mere pond,
and fling me into an ocean.

- snippets

                                                                         

Post.

And in that moment I feel goosebumps form like a rash,
spreading all over my pale body.
Icy fingers trace my spine whilst passers by caress my boyish thighs.
A crowd of savages tear at my stomach, ripping away at my juvenile skin.
Like hyenas they laugh.
And it gets louder, as their touches become more forceful, more invading.
The beasts demand more, my petrified howls only encourage them.
They swarm me as though critters, each time I look there are more.
My skin prickling from the ice cold turns crimson.
My heart blue.
But monsters do not care for their victims- oh no.
They care for their feed.
Savages.
They live for destruction, they live for pain.

Delete.

- social media

                                                                         

And i won't be able to sing our song for the stones in my throat
and the pebbles in my eyes.
Because one day,
us will be all but a memory.

-f b g

                                                                         

I want to go where the river goes
because the river takes me to you.
When you left in your river boat,
a part of me left too.

- river

                                                                         

Because the one thing they don't tell you about writers is that it's all they are.
You start with a pen and paper
and then the ink is in your veins
and the books are your heart
and the only thing you breathe is literature.
The words become your soul
and poetry coats your skin

- writing

                                                                         

I know what you deserve
But I know what I want
and they aren't the same anymore

- toxic
                                                                         

I gazed into her amber eyes, mesmerised by the sheer complexity of those
relatively small features, the very intricacies that made her, well her.
Coins. Small, hard, valuable pieces of gold, untarnishable yet somewhat worn.
You could tell she had shed too many tears, the edges of her iris dusted in ash,
the centres bright and new, hopeful I suppose. Her pupils, held a depth like no
pupil I had seen before. Those tunnels led to areas I would never dare venture,
oceans so vast man could never find an end. And they were always dwindling,
shrivelling away, overwhelmed by the light, shrinking back to darkness where
they were born. Then there were the small fine specks, cinnamon sprinkles on
those lattes she loved so much, and that's what made those eyes oh so bemusing.
Because those very dashings of cinnamon sat as a constant reminder, that
somewhere between the worn out edges, the pristine centre and the deepest of
oceans, there was her. She was never a symbol of hope. But she wasn't a symbol
of struggle either. She was there, here and everything in between. She was ugly,
I mean she really was aesthetically displeasing, but she was life. And somewhere
between those complexities and intricacies of her being, I found her.
My golden girl.

- golden girl (an excerpt)

                                                                         

She craved the darkness so much that she became it.

- liar (an excerpt)

                                                                         

to the human race the silence of a skeleton is louder than the screams of the living

- skeleton

                                                                         

She walks in the thunderstorm
but she never gets wet

- reasons for loving her

                                                                         

There's something endearing in the guilt of secrets, something to be sought in the mystery of lies.
Maybe thats why she done it- lied for so long.
In her mind there was no other way,
the inhabitants of her life could reject her at any moment,
her life gone,
diminished.
So she lived
an illusion maybe
but she lived.

I guess she craved the darkness so much that she became it

- liar

                                                                         

And I say-
whats the danger in a little romance?
Because I know it all too well

- love story