day two

damn this. Another autumn day slinking away like some forgotten lover. I feel nauseous and incapable. There’s more to my body than late night shivers and yearning for the soft skin of another. Leather and ringlets. I think about dark breaths, off beat and faster than mine. Somebody to warm my reptilian body. I wake up and the thought plants itself in my breakfast and on the train tracks and in the pages of my books. Soon I am enveloped in heavy blankets and the thought sleeps beside me and seeps into my dreams. Another day, swallowed.

in transit

There’s a lush and gentle falling these days. Things are dying, giving up without a breath of pride. I feel the shrivelling of oceans in people’s bodies; the dry cracks of hot and haunted deserts are beginning to ripple like snakes across their chests and lips.
I want to blame it on seasonal changing, the transitory period of awkward purgatory when sense and logic leave all emotional dealings. I want to also blame it on my lack of understanding; I don’t know the clockwork behind those wicked smiles and cigarette fingers. I want to blame it on the music penetrating my skull, the cruel words tinged with the most harrowing depressions, and those major chord achings so slow and heart driven.
I want to, but I don’t. It’s much too real. We’re mimicking the autumn leaves and not understanding why. Letting our breaths fall where they land and tracing our shapes beside every opened heart we meet. The fall is gentle but the landing will echo with the pains we’ve hushed.

You swell up my eyeballs!
The way they cannot swallow the truth of you
Compare we to the breeze and rustling leaves,
And compare me to the moon, grown full with your love.

your instincts are afloat,
like cold air and vapours in the snow
or baby feathers;
they are very real and very tangible,
but only just.

you believe in living by them
but they are mists to me
and you are blindfolded,
following a trail of silver fog
in the moaning woods.

you barely exist,
you are a paradox that disproves my rules of being.
you shouldn’t be,
yet your presence
and the shallow breathes
you compress and release
are proof enough

she looks at me,
with those big black eyes
and I think my heart will burst.

I am her eclipse and it hurts me
more than anyone can bare

my demise is foretold in her
furrowed brows smile
and I become liquid,
under that spell.

she moves me,
for better or worse,
she moves me.

you, my friend, remembered and loved

I’m going to miss the sea, the hanging rocks, the caves—those things that rang in the full moon and seasonal changing for us. It’s been twenty seven weeks now and I’m afraid to move on from my own past—so I breathe in the heavy notes of melancholic tunes and whisper the words in my daydreams.

Today I tried to conjure you in my sleep. I traced your shape behind my eyelids and drew the scent of your hair from some secret drawer in the back of my memories, I even etched in the tiny smile lines beside your eyes, but I couldn’t float near you. I would draw slowly closer to you and feel the magnetic pulse of your heartbeat then you would turn to mist and seep away. I sat for hours thinking what this could mean.

I asked you to watch the skies above us and you thought it was cryptic.

Maybe my way of speaking confuses you. I am cryptic sometimes, like right now…but other times I mean what I say.

it’s 3am.
i seem most alert when it feels as though i am the only one awake. maybe i fee like i have less to compete with and the world’s clutter disappears for a short while so i can peacefully, and without fear, express myself.
i have an affinity with darkness,
the night time.

i never dream i am flying. i am always floating, falling,
not unlike a feather.

You are a lung filled with water and me, I am an appetite.

falling/floating from vexation

It’s unlike my body to float so,
naked and lucid over the waters
It’s icy here, frozen limbs and wet hair
Something penetrates my skin,
burrows deep into my blood stream
and pumps its way into my heart

I’m floating still
Like a leaf or driftwood; unintentionally
falling into the rhythm of another world
And my heart beats odd,
Faster here and slower, slower,
stopping then up again

My lungs are drowning, I know that
I feel them floundering
But breath eases in out of me
like the cosmic sighs of mountains
I’m in the process of becoming,
in the midst of some prophetic change
A natural realignment as my limbs become
leaves and driftwood

The air in me turns liquid
My skin and hair melting or moulding
into their surroundings
I’m humming now
Open in every way
Humming to the vibrations
That encase me and follow
My previous form
Humming now
Gentle, awake

remember that

Sometimes a halo attaches itself to me
Circles my waist and glows,
An ember from the sun
sent from the cosmos
to make a Saturn out of me
Boring into my flesh as it tightens

In reality, it’s sent by my mother
A cruel reminder of the cherub
that I must’ve been to her
An unsightly homage to
those Jones’s whose tails
she could barely touch
And me, an other too,
But unwilling to dance
with guilt and denial
Even when it sits on my body
And burns acidic into my flesh