Blood on the light blue dress,
now turning purple
and she whispers why
while you stand there, oblivious,
picking fuzz off the carpet, because
all she needs is therapy you say
as the blood runs down her legs,
a growing pool between bare feet.
so you leave now
because there is no life jacket
and you can’t swim.


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I’m staring at the ceiling
counting shapes, counting shadows
waiting for him to come around
to think it through and be
the broken messiah i never really
have believed in
but he’s watching the stars
talking to infinity
that’s a chaos i don’t need
it’s a confusion overloading
my senses
but he’s still my saviour gone wrong
that can tilt windmills even when
they won’t stand still
he’s the creator of a fourth dimension
i somehow stepped into carefully
and now he’s got me falling
falling through the shapes and shadows
waiting for him to come around.

I’m not speaking
the words already there
this is not together
standing next to
never brushing up against
and do you smell the earth?
can your bones ache my chill?
this is not friendship
in this soul cemetery
by this open grave
looking everywhere everyway
upside down
but not at me
so i’m walking away
not standing here
feet sinking always down
heart giving
what’s so easily taken
and when you want the words
they’ll be waiting
when you want their meaning
remember eyes
you would not see
standing sidebyside
never facing

These are not my bones,
mine are not so fragile,
she said
as the death knoll tolled again
but the words scattered
billowing out to somewhere
no weight, no voice
no force to change the ending
a breath of chill,
heart severed from the core
there is no blood though,
it still flows within, whispering vitality
an echo brought back
in the end there is a beginning.

Walk past this puppetry
it’s no Punch and Judy show
with the baby on the ceiling,
a swollen, half hung marionette
choking on it’s uncut umbilical strings
an unnatural attachment to a hostile womb
caught premature –
between breath and death
force fed sour mother’s milk,
a slow controlling poison that
perpetuates this stillborn mockery of

Yellow light spills onto this shadowed street
The stars dim, maybe they stopped burning
But you dare to burn and rise again
Though you are not christ nor a phoenix
Nailed to my exterior by guilt never choice,
The angry wind cracks over you and I shudder,
Where inside, bright walls warm themselves.
I watch lying down, swollen eyes, half closed.
No, you are no Phoenix and daylight creeps
Threatening to capture, scatter your ashes
And I will still be here inside these walls
Contemplating where the night has gone.