there are things
living in my ceiling
i hear them when i
try to sleep
i hear them when i
try to wake
i hear them…
they scratch and they scrape across my
mind-
mice (or
memories?
am i insane?!)
no difference does it make.
the scratchers are there,
living in my ceiling…
resentment is cold and
revenge is for the helpless.
drip, drip
insults, questions
drip, drip
accusations, lies
the watery consistency of my frustrations and
hurt solidified as my
resolve hardened-
it is a thin shard of ice.
remorse? that is something shown by a guilty murderer-
I’ve killed no one.
emotion? that is something hidden by a mask of pain-
I’m hiding it from you.
Call me cold.
Call me heartless.
Fling your insults at me. I dare you, helpless, helpless man. Powerless to change so why not emphasis the shit you’ve created?
Deny it all. I dare you, pitiable, pitiable man. Truth angers you, doesn’t it? Rant, and rave and rage all you like…
I will bite my lip, and restrain my fists.
But I will not tolerate your lies. I will not be humiliated or wrongly painted a demonic villain.
my resentment is cold but my mind is now clear:
revenge is for the helpless soul and I will not play your losing game.
So, I will let this ice melt back to water.
Keep throwing your fire,
no use will it bring to you but spitting, angry steam.
Good luck and goodbye
I’m letting it all
(the resentment, the pain, the frustrations, the worries, the pity and the hurt…)
all of it just…
go
i have lost my
muse;
misery.
hence, an
absence of
elegys
inspiration is a
fickle beast.
flickering from all consuming to
utterly void in an
instant.
pity
such a pity.
but now I am neither.
I am barely
Numb.
sorry for the lack of the emotional response you expected and directed in your carefully written script of life.
Numb.
Visit me only in my dreams…
My heart is devoted to your no more
My body is yours to own no longer
My soul is weary of being bound to yours
My heart, my body, my soul… they belong, dear lover, to another
***
The darkness…
It murmurs
of your
arrival,
The door is slid open,
a rock breaking the surface of a still pond,
disrupting the vanity of reflection.
Carpet muffles footsteps.
Floorboards moan under your weight.
all prying eyes are
shut
prying eyes cannot
see in the
dark…
I hope.
You were expected.
You were invited.
You were tempted,
lured, drawn
to me in the
haze of
alone.
I knew that fog… I knew that feeling…
My façade of sleep fades,
last line of
defence to
naked
skin.
Denial; a smokescreen of sleep
it will
become a
dream. A good dream,
a bad dream,
I cannot discriminate
I cannot discern
Do I know?
or care?
You kiss skin aching to be caressed.
burn
where your fingers stroke.
Is it only
so exciting
so electric
so enticing because it’s all
so wrong?
That spark in your eyes,
that fire in my abdomen …
why wasn’t it
there before?
Now you love me.
It’s too late.
There’s too much
history.
History: wars and grand battles.
Conquerors and the
conquered both have their names
written down on the pages of
history.
But memory is a poor
map of
history.
Memory can be
revisited,
re-edited.
Memory can be
haunted…
haunting…
The memories sting me.
They’re a deathly poison
seeping through these
heated veins
of mine.
cold
so cold is the air
surrounding us
surrounding the space
that hovers between our
bodies.
The words that hover between our
bodies.
Come closer.
don’t let those
pesky words
keep tapping on your
mind.
don’t let those
nasty words
bite your
skin.
“Are you okay?”
Your cheeks are
dampened with
a tear
it drops silently
down, down your
hardened stone face.
it falls loudly
upon my
guilty, guilty hand.
What is wrong lover?
Death.
You say
it beckons you.
Why does it tempt you so?
“No one cares..” your words weep but your
face is still as the night is
dark.
Guilt wants me to repair, and so
“I care. Don’t leave me yet.
Stay here.
Living.
Surviving.”
Kiss me.
Say those words that I longed for,
once longed for.
Say them. Confess them to me and hand them over
with your heart dangling by a chain:
“I love you.”
…That was me, months ago
you were me and I was you.
“I am sorry.
So sorry.
I cannot tear myself in two.”
Remorse seeps over and in and under my syllables,
“If you love me
let me go now.
I am sorry.”
***
Ache, ache
cry,
howl with
the obscure clarity
the sudden sharpness of
pain
silently
SCREAM
only now
when it is
over
do I say
how I
felt
what you
were
no, what you
still are
to
me.
I…
loved you
But it
never
began.
whenever I think
of you now it isn’t now…
it will be in
past tense.
A memory
a time of memories
to be summoned,
returned to,
reminded of…
to help with the alone
only to
AMPLIFY!
so then it
silently
SCREAMS
***
it’s so chilling
outside
-the fog of
Alone breathes of
whispers of
a freezing, still heart…
but inside we are
Together
and it’s
hot.
with the heat of..
drapped
across
the back of my chair is
more than just
Two
jumpers
there’s a significance
it’s an unspoken word
You’re ‘here’
cloth discarded in the
rush
to escape the
chill of
alone.
thoughts are discarded in the
rush to escape the
fog of
alone.
words fade
‘till there’s
no need
for
words.
no need for
anything
but what we are.
‘here’
***
string;
it stretched
and wound itself
tightly
around me
constricting me
holding
me
here.
I hung from your
strings.
strings of words, hope, want, need and
love.
I wanted, i needed for you to
love me.
and i
grip on every little
word of
hope so tight that i
strangle it.
smuther the
flame.
Emotions?
i have felt them
all.
but now…
cut the strings.
sever it.
bleed.
i must
cut
you
from
me.
in order to
survive
because…
You’re not here...
lay it out in a line.
(You’re not here)
a maze of colourful string
on the concrete.
colours.
so many colours.
happiness is a bright yellow.
sadness is a dark blue
love is…
hope is…
rejection is…
and lay it down.
spread it out.
not a rainbow but a
melody.
of colours.
you.
you are the base of all of these colours,
the pigment,
what makes the tones and shades
so brilliant or
so miserable.
stand up
walk along the string of colours on the cold, hard concrete.
Hear the sorrowful symphony of sounds:
the opening of a door,
the soft crumple of sheets,
breathing,
foot steps,
closing the door..
crying..
weeping..
Silence..
the moment stretches
walking the line of
the time i had with you…
now,
our strings laid down on the bare ground.
together our strings of memories and emotions
intertwine.
more mine than yours.
i felt deeper.
(i always feel deeper.)
i was caught by you.
ensnared by you.
en captured by you.
what you were.
what you meant.
you.
after so long of this
it is so good,
so easy to be
free.
But I am tired.
so
tired
and
weary
so weary.
everything is so
hard.
so
much effort.
to cry would require a stamina I
feel has left me along with
the feelings.
so… I’m just
numb.
numb and
caged and
trapped… held within my own
mind.
feel like I cannot
breathe,
cannot move,
cannot think…
numb.
people say i look happy
people say i smile
people say i…
people say some funny,
funny things.
***
imagine, a red balloon
hold tightly to its
string
for it could easily
be
swept up
and float up
float
away…
run.
with a crazed desperation.
the smell of morning and
the smell of you.
hold tightly to that ribbon-
hold tightly to you.
then… let it go… let you go.
see it float away.
see you drive away
and know,
know that it’s time.
time to
Leave.
not forget
but
Live
once more.
The man
sits
so brittle
so Frail
on a bench-
its paint is
Peeling-
in the park, feeding the birds.
He doesn’t see me.
His jaw is set, his brow furrowed, his face Creased in a way
that says
alone.
But I walk past.
And it’s raining.
A newly drawn
word is
smudged; running
down a
wall covered in graffiti
the word is
“alone”
A busy, lonely street
filled with cars, trucks,
filled with
noise, fumes,
people.
So many people.
yet I
Feel so
look so
Am so…
alone
label myself,
- and paint in white,
the colour of surrender-
a smudged and
running word
-on a standing wall of
graffiti-
and pause beside,
“alone”
***
It’s time to start
living.
be more than existing,
be more than waiting.
Living.
love is destructive.
love is beautiful
Love is
for the Living.
______
visit me only in my dreams.
My bed is yours no longer, lover.My heart is unfaithful to you.
I will drown.
Stand in the shower,
watching the water…
I will drown
Beauty, how its virulently alluring ways entice me so.
Success, oh how I crave its’ inviting hand of acceptance and acknowledgement.
I crave, I need, I want, I…
I’m drowning
Tears of
expectation, responsibility, conformity
solidify as stone rocks and fall down pink-end cheek
to cluster together in a riot at my feet,
heavy boulders tumble.
Tiny pebbles cling and clang and scatter and scuttle to follow in a fumble.
I am a self proclaimed seeker of
success
elusive be it’s nature
fickle be luck of finding
desperate be my heart
For what is left without success’ soured kiss and lucid binding?
A taunting wind whips my hair
and
whispers in my
ear habitually laden with
self doubting
(self-hating)
thoughts. Metal
defences and spiked steel
prongs do little to block its
onslaught; the
wind and it’s bitter, icy,
bite. It
whispers, it
screams! “NOTHING”
I am a machine
(dirty, filthy, corrupt and hateful machinery is what I’ve become!?)
I conform and I obey and I do as the reaper
(The System)
intended.
Why?
once… yes, once I was
free.
but I was remade,
and with my own consent?!
Have I already sold out? Have I already sold my soul in exchange for more important possessions, assets aplenty?
Capitalistic heart demanded
noble black horses. How fine i would look atop such a
stunning mount! (Status symbol.)
But with no soul… there is no
joy.
And i left them unridden.
And their eyes grew dull, clouding with the dust of a shut stable door.
My eyes grew duller,
a metal shell,
organs replaced while I was
sleeping,
cogs and bolts and conveyor belts lubricated thick with oil and spluttering blackened grease; that is what is inside
of me
now…
***
metallic soldiers march
to a metronomic drum.
1, 2.
1, 2.
tightly packed bodies follow behind in
a squeezing group.
(sucking life as juice from fruit)
no one wants to be on the outside.
no one wants to be dragged out into the open…
no one wants to be where you’d be easy to get at;
it’s a primal instinct.
survival
instinct.
1, 2.
1, 2.
we are walked
to the hot bowels of
The System.
though we are sweltering and steaming
no sweat seeps from our skin; instead
oil drips in black streaks,
splattering to the floor,
a dirty mark
left behind.
1, 2, pounds the drum,
1, 2.
1…
“Halt!”
the iron hand holding the stick is poised,
utterly motionless
(utterly lifeless)
above the drum,
above the hide stretched
tight
across wood hollowed and smooth.
The unsounded beat is
left ringing expectantly,
it is hanging in the air,
and we are left suspended from
hooks in our spines.
like beasts ready for slaughter we holler and bellow.
“The time has come when you must prove…
your worth.” He spits the words and spew’s them across us disapprovingly. He speaks idiomatic English but without the life or depth or feeling possessed by those still truly human. The cold, hard metal head surveys the group of us animals the same I imagine a farmer his second rate stock headed to market; glad to be rid of them.
I can sense his mind; Edit and edit some more. Cut and paste and lie all The Hopefuls spread out (with a knife; melting butter, hot toast, dissolving, disappearing into the crumbs.) across the floor.
Subtract what is useful and dispose of all that does not fit.
Filter for the beauty
and sift for the success
then dispose of the worthless, the uselessness… the rest.
Evidence? Not a trace.
Welcome to
The System .
***
The mind;
sees what it chooses to see,
hears what it chooses to hear,
believes what it is told.
selective.
***
I sold my soul?
without so much as a second glance? Without so much as a passing nod? An ambivalent wave? A casual, dismissive, laughing… shockingly bright white goodbye?..
I’m standing in the shower.
watching the water.
feeling the (pressure, the hurt, the uselessness, the helplessness, the ICAN’TDOANYOFTHISANYMORE!)
feeling the
water;
freedom.
seeing it tumble, seeing it fall and noticing it’s acceptance, acknowledge
it’s
understanding of having
no
control.
Yet, water is
strong,
a force;
of delight or
destruction…
But water is
freeing.
Nice, so nice it would be to simply float away on it
float away with it,
float away as it.
But water and machinery don’t mix.
water cripples and erodes strong steel to rust.
beautiful fluid, floating, soft water eats away the evil of metal and cogs and bolts and grease and chains of
The System
***
I’m floating with the water;
away from pursuits of all that’s material
and status symbols, and competition and war and conflict
away from BEAUTY’S quick judgement and
SUCCESS’ tainted kiss
far, far away from
The System
Oh yes, I calmly think,
I’m drowned
The water envelops me,
it wraps me up as a foetus
inside a womb;
seeping into my veins is diluted blood
not oil.
beating in my chest is a faintly pounding heart
not machinery.
deep within the cavity of my head are thoughts… my own thoughts(!)
and covering it all is
flesh.
real, mortal flesh.
Elation and joy and love and laughter and feelings erupt and explode
and i realise this is what it is like to be
free, to be happy, to…
I cannot breathe…
I cannot breathe.
but I am happy.
I am content.
I think I will stay here now.
For a while
yes…
I’m drowned.
I’m drowned
I’m
drown…………………………………………………………………………………………………
it would be nice, (oh, kiss me, kiss my neck, kiss my skin, kiss my soul with the burning passion of a man possessed)
would be
easy, (oh, love me, yes love me as a freezing man does a fire)
would be
complicated (oh, memory, memory, erase, replace, memory, memory) to
forget
what you
were,
what youdid
and hear your
love
know your love
now.
***
wake me,
in the middle of the
dark
and touch me,
tracing the lines of my
leg.
come under the
sheets.
lie under the
sheets
with me.
all prying eyes are
shut
prying eyes cannot
see in the
dark…
I hope.
cold
so cold is the air
surrounding us
surrounding the space
that hovers between our
bodies.
Come closer
Are you okay?
Your cheeks are
dampend with
a tear
it drops silently
down, down your
hardened stone face.
it falls loudly
upon my
guilty hand.
No.
You never cry…
What is wrong lover?Death.
It beckons you.
Why does it tempt you?
No one cares..
I care. Don’t leave me yet. Stay here. Living. Surviving.
Kiss me.
Say those words that I longed for once.
Say them:
I love you.
That was me, months ago
you were me and I was you.
late? yes, you are.
I am sorry.
So sorry.
I cannot tear myself in two.
Do you want to hear what I believe?
We will always be
connected.
And in some other
life
in some other
world
we are together: lovers, friends
in the truest respect of the words.
But for now
fate has
other
visions
fate works on another
clock
If you love me
let me go now.
I am sorry.
So
Please… visit me only in my dreams.
My bed is not yours any longer, lover.My bed, my heart, my soul… it belongs to another.
I love you
sometimes it
frightens me
how much…
how much I
love,
ache for,
miss
you.
How much i need you
But i can’t say..
it burnt me last time.
till I was
charred
black
ash
rained on with tears
and washed away…
I don’t want to venture too
far
into
the relem of
the world of
the game of
trust.
To love is to give
your heart to hold
in anothers
hands
and trust
they won’t
fumble and
break.
I have.
I did.
I broke.
And
mended.
I was
caught
holding my own
heart- caged and chained,
locked and bolted-
safe in my own
chest.
but you…
please, undo the bolts
one
by one.
unfasten my lock
melt those chains
and open the door.
light.
air.
free.
but… love
it hauls me,
from the
heights of
cressendo..
dropping
as a
tear
slipping down
hardened cheek
sometimes it
aches with
joy,
sobs of
happiness,
wreaks of
love
…and sometimes
it smiles of misery,
laughs of sorrow,
leaps of hurt.
This is what i see.
so forgive me
while I am still new
to all of this
hapiness.
so forgive me
and my silly
misery.
Hold me without asking
“why?”
and whisper,
till your voice is hoarse,
your throat dry,
and your lips cracked
“I love you”
a knock sounds in the night,
suspision whispers to you:
murder
don’t be so
stupid.
breathe in.
open the door
slowly.
the face of
a little
boy
it is a face
yet to be
ten.
but it is a face
weary
with age
weary
from life.
weary
with
fear.
hanging from
the already frowning furrowed lined skin
death
is a pasty complection
death
is a heaviness of step
death
is a darkness of eye, his are deep pools of dark
those eyes
they know of death.
death is…
a howling wind of icey chill,
the door slams shut.
he speaks not a
word
utters not a
sound.
only the soft smell of
perfum softens the air
he leaves
you say goodbye
and he is
gone
disappearing into the darkness
before you can stop to think
why had he come?
close the door gently, shut out the cold
but it lingers
an unwanted guest in your home.
you are
not quite at ease.
something was not
right.
the perfum lingers too,
it clinges to the air.
his ghost lingers also,
crying tears of death from those eyes,
those eyes of
darkness.
he waited on a
“welcome”
mat.
saw his breath
breathe out
infront
of his mouth.
fog.
he pressed his warm finger
to the
glass.
left a mark
***
pacing;
back,
forth,
window,
door,
back,
forth,
window…
halt.
fingerprint on the glass
ghostly reminder of…
only remaining mark of…
wipe around it
with your
sleeve
so that it is fades
slowly
fades
until it is a
smudge
of what was.
a dirty trace from
your past.
or..
perhaps,
just maybe
it might
simply be
a fingerprint.
the even
number
is so
unstable
it is a spinning top
it spins
and spins
and
then it stops.
because the even
number
stops.
ends.
much more
balanced
is the odd
number.
they stand
-crumbling- as a
wall
because the odd
number is
true.
there will always be
1.
left.
alone.
I say: but
the more i
love
the easier to
slip.
the easier to
lose.
and
the more i
love
the faster they
slip
the faster i
lose
the faster they
run
you say: if i
was to know
that
I
was
loved
I would
not
run
now I am not
that 1.
now you are not
that one.
we can be
more.
