S.C.S

You! Lie. Yes, you do.

Is it to make it all more, appealing?
Like smoothing out the covers, you know the creases don’t go away, right?

They float and then fall.

In your room of crumples, tell me the truth.

Don’t repeat yourself.

You can’t show me any beauty, if I don’t know what you really look like.

You can’t tell me I am beautiful, or at least if you do, I want a receipt.

How did you cut yourself? Why don’t you have an address? How can you possibly stay awake for so long?

The answers are easy, you are not.

Untitled

Close your eyes and let your face tell me everything.

Recite me something important, you’ve been thinking about.

I say recite, because you have been thinking very hard about what you might say.

You even spoke it aloud…just the once, in case your voice was to crack or you stumbled and you wouldn’t want any of the meaning to be lost, I’m sure of that.

You did it in front of the mirror; you felt slight embarrassment, so to get you in the mood, the zone as they say….you dipped your finger into a hot cup of tea, just boiled, so as to shock your system. Just like a paper cut it sprung your mind forward to the present and away from all the emotions you are so tired of wearing.

Your red finger pulsed with pain and the pain let you forget and so, you spoke, aloud, in the bathroom.

Tug

Syrup is binding our fingers together,
we seep in sentiment,
perfect for our ‘sweet tooth’.

Our laughter creates a beautiful ambience,
we’ll be written up in the paper, with a rave review.

I tug at a loose thread on the sleeve of your jacket,
hoping this is the beginning.

Three Poems about HER

Done

She ended it,
cut off her arm, without a wince.

Tragedy is inevitable.

Her misfortune just happened.


#2

Her bruises are beautiful,
I stare vacantly.
I once said bus trips were romantic,
I would like to wipe that remark from my lips, with the back of my hand.


#3

In transit,
holding tears onto your face,
harder than your the grip on an expired newspaper.

With my eyes shut, it is always light.

I think about where we stand, if you are behind, then you will notice, my amble, my hesitation.

If you are in front, you are too far ahead of me.

In a nutshell

Always stupid instead of impressive,
the cadence is too fast, I don’t like playing catch up.

My thoughts are crisp enough to bite.

You are gonna miss out.

From midnight into the morning: How it happened...

3.17am


Time is elongated, I am fickle.

But everything is razor sharp. I feel as though I could shave the surface of a blown up balloon, without anything having to…

Blow.

Up.



5.19am

I don’t have anything left to say, balance reads zero.

At a banquet I eat everything in front of me, too fast, too soon.

So, everything is over?

You scrape your shoe; a soggy cigarette butt is all that remains.

You walk away….there is much to be said for tact and timing

Easy

Covered in dusty icing sugar, nothing can go wrong.

Our sweat will turn to icing; we will be glazed and gorgeous.

Insert a hole in my arm, for a slow leak, to let the nerves dissipate.

If I cary around a ball of string, surely a story will take place, I want a beginning and a middle with no end in sight.

Put sunglasses on; so we look handsome and pretentious.
I'll be looking at the road and you'll be looking at my breasts. But neither of us will know.

I'll forget what colour eyes you have, that'll be exciting. We'll rediscover.

It's all about making things easier, like red lighting.