teach yourself to be kind again

start small: seven words to appraise

the hark of the lyrebird,

pressed flower-stems folded between bible pages

crisp linen dampened with the dense lichen

of the forest floor

once you learn to do these,

i pray your burnt heart and sun-kissed throat

and the vast expanse of your soul

will find peace.

peace... in the knowledge that the past is dead and

the future merely a cruel trick played on us

by some mean spirited fae.

i hope the marigold-washed fields of your thoughts

catch ablaze in the light of your acceptance.

the sun washes up,

facedown/ two pavement cracks

apart/ dandelion fluff boat crashes,

on the unforgiving linoleum

of the sea floor/ and the elegant curve

of your throat, pruned with too salty

bathwater// you said it would help you think //

drooping, because sometimes even a distorted reality

is too much/ instead, you watch the lone crest of the moon

over the weary horizon/

the sweet rustle of ripened foliage/

from the slanted joint of your fingers

does the deep light sedate your mind?

oh to be alone- truly!

Beneath the soft crumbling of shale

and the sloped faces of the

sea-bruised cliffsides,

there’s a spot where the waning sun strikes a salt crusted smear of dandelions

and there,

when their leaves unfurl and emerge

from their stagnant chrysalis

and they raise their meek, bowed

heads

That- that is where your lungs

will fill,

finally

and

your

parched throat

and

your

bruised eyes

and

your

barbed wrists

can rest.

neither heaven or hell gaze from your eyes and i wonder if that’s because you made that vow to never love anyone again because if love was a sin but also a blessing, you. would have never tried to step into the swollen red abyss- below what fathomable tales were told to you about the princess and the prince- only to be dragged back up to the surface. torn wings, bound by some flimsy leather that i swore was something i adored, even if it killed you in the end. and for that i wish that heaven could have been nicer to those fallen angels- tar soaked, treacle dripping through brief temporal instances of love, was it? there is something clouded behind your eyes that rubs against frail sclera every time you blink but not once have you cried for me,, i must have mistook your tears for the rain...

four washed out tea-bags later i am insufferable, torment in what could have been and what should have been but never quite asking what was- we all know what happened then. it’s only the fact that i’ve been here before, the same notions. thoughts.

spiraling

back

again

inevitably. that keeps me from going insane. She knows nothing of this of course, building those ruler-straight bars between me and (redacted) is as ritutal as the fucking sun rising now and what i hate the most about all this is that there is not a single thing that could convince me that any of this was a mistake. i take the same knife still crusted with blood to cut out my heart again and again and again and again,,,, and its not prometheus’ punishment but something that has become some tokenistic motion if only to take some twisted satisfaction in the way the knife digs deeper, hurts less, and i beam with bloodied hands because i had no use for it anyways.

she is the monument to my failures and i love her the more for it.

splintered plastic knives

and a thrice folded ticket

to some gate to Heaven

that a man sold to you

blunt yellow teeth and smoky lungs

for your time

and a promise

to never love her again

which

i guess

worked in the end

what could describe the ache, the weary longing for stardusted brushes of molten skin (she doesn’t mean it and you know- so why do you still care?). you smell like home and a place where i could finally be safe from my own thoughts that plague me like some two tonne shadow that clings to my back and never stops, and i long for your touch if not just to feel the abscence of it for far longer than it’s there. the weight of it all bears down on atlas, but even he collapses sometimes- when you look at me through your lashes and the sky spins and spins. it falls towards you and spins, spins around us so that all i can see is

you

nothing but you

shes pretty but i think that she doesnt know, but i would give my heart to her in an instant. i fall in love easily but its hard to get back out and now i dont think i can tell when ive gone too deep untill its too late and ive got a broken heart in one hand and too many regrets in the other. i wish that i could just tell her how i feel but its so hard because im too scared to change anything, and before you know it the moment has passed and there's no point in looking back because whats left? nothing but my own misfortunes and a you shaped hole. and you can only do it again and again because my heart is young but my soul is weary and i wish i could find a respite in someone else because lord knows that my own head is a mess. i need to escape but its hard and i wish i knew a way out. god, shes so pretty and i wish i could claim every inch of skin she would let me. perhaps love is what drove all those men crazy- i think i may get it now. the universe dies every day i dont see you, and the sun is eclipsed with my want for tender bruised love that only comes with time and some otherworldly force some call god and others fate.

the sky falls,

spins like some crimson horse

shatters like your heart did,

when she said she didn’t love you anymore,

and the melancholy wail

of some long forgotten rhythm

moves you

to rosy tears

that spread like wildfire

and hurt

just

as

much

i guess there's a kind of beauty to brokenness,

that i've never really noticed,

your crooked smile,

snapped in places,

but still ever present,

how you never forget,

but always forgive,

even if it kills you a little,

or a lot.

how the lines on your hands,

don't tell a future,

but rather,

dreams,

wishes,

and your eyes,

although dimmer than others,

reflect galaxies of a different kind,

ones of peace,

hope, a forgotten love.

and how sometimes,

you break,

but always manage to reshape yourself,

so the punches hurt less,

how through everything,

your heart still beats,

to the unheard melody of joy,

which you said was, 

only because of you

so it hurts when i see you,

but even though you've been broken,

i hope that together,

we could be,

something like a whole.