.there are some things i've seen and heard that reallyget to me sometimes, like those birds and mice with teeth markson their little red raw thighs,rotting flowers, i recall he said this is a waste of timeand you're a waste of space, it's just impossible to holda conversation with you these days,let it go, just fucking drop it,keep your mouth shut unless i sayi think i froze to death last night, my fingertips turned blue,i heard a cloud say fuck you boy, did i come all this way for youto say that i look like a rabbit,better places i could bei've seen my shadow put two fingers to her headand pull the trigger, heard my echo laughabout it with the walls, and every timei hold a match i hear itwhispering to me,if you don't want me to burn you,then you're gonna have to blow meouti heard that you can't tame a lion just by pullingat his mane, i heard that blood feels goodon porcelain and not just i
.i rememberedthe conversation with the anesthetist,he said place your thumbs over your eyesand press gently, and i replied isn't thatlizards?and no i can't feel my hands but i'mnot really bothered, i will sleepsleep and sleep, i won't need them,and please keep an eye on the sea til iwake, it might pack up its fish andgo travelling, it might leak throughthe holes in the earth like a sieve,all the shipwrecks and sharks willbe homeless(i don't believe in anything, and that makes me a liar because i believe in that)
.confess;let thosesquirmingthingsinside youhatchand falloff thetongue(i'd rather walk myself home, bare feet cold on pavement)
.if thesewalls couldtalkthen i'm surethey'd bescreamingget out,burn usdown,we can'tbearto hold youanylonger(been too busy dreaming to get any sleep)
.unbutton my skinand let me fall out;(a mass of red and blue strings to wind round your fingers)
.i will marry the moonand adopt a son, teachhim not to play with thehearts of stars(but he will)i will bring home a man,give him hope, hear himoutand then coughup his gutson the floor(i will end up there anyway, might as well say a prayer whilst i'm down there)
.and god-i saw the moonleaking into the sea,a great big silvery slickon the wavesand as i held my hands upto the hole in her side,she smiled and soakedinto me(gentle, gentle, she doesn't have long)
.my bedroomsuffocates me,so sometimes i climbout the window andcurl up on theroofinstead,there used to be a treedown the side that kept hisarms open for mebut he said i don't thinkyou're ever gonna knowhow it feels to bemidasor medusa,you know you'vealready got a heartof gold and eyesof stonei said nowyoudon't getto touch me(i can drop down into the alley from here, or sit with the cat like a gargoyle)
.lies can slipthrough your teethwith ease,the truthgets caught inyour throat(i wish it was a lie, that i'm your flesh and blood and i wish it was the truth, that i hadn't been drinking)
.there is a bodybloodless and pale,with dirty handstrying to wash it alloff, because if shecannot see it there'sa chance it won'texistso she buriedthe blood in themud with her babyteeth, asked theriver to take itaway, felt her bonesheave a sigh as shelay them all downon the banklet itallslip away(and no doubt he will say she was crazy, this bitch, with her tongue and her teeth and her mind)
.some need to know lifelike the beasts do, the heronthe stray dog the cobra the salmondead in it's stream,but i want to shed out of my skin,don't want to be no white ghost no moreand i met a magician, got rid ofthe dirt in my mind,pulled my memories outof my temple like napkins,made a mess i couldn't clean upon the pavement outside, no tip for him,you're gonna have to excusethe mess in my soul, i wasn'texpecting visitors,been pleading with words for anexplanation, came home late last nightsmelling of someone else's ink,i think i saw the light then buti heard the darkness too, i kicked themout, now it's just me and mycrazy i keep in a tank,watch him grow limbs and climb outover the side, and now sometimeshe sits on my lap and i stroke him,but he's getting too heavy to hold andhe's starting to speak for himself,says don't drink that be goodi need you and you need me and youknow it, i don't think you can evertruly know someone until you can admitto yourself t
.i can almost hearthe soundof everything -foxesweepingon the bodiesof rabbits, idid not meanto, i did notmean -howling andhowling,the deer inthe headlights sayingi told you so(and do you hear that? that's the sound of it all caving in)
.and goddess,this isn't something i cansweat or starve out of me,i'll have to write and it willbe madness,see i've often thought aboutplacing my head in the pestleand mortar, i wonder if i couldgrind out the hell inside, becomea red pulp on the worktop, andeven the oven keeps tutting at me,it's so easy, just open the doorstick your hand in, feel his forkedtongue on your palm,orange lover, youknow you'rea cowardfor thisand it's truethat the dead are never reallysilent, they grunt and they groanin their damp soil sheets,toss and turn overagain(fill the bath with water, and just drop me in it)
.he said there are a lot of things in lifethat don't make sense,i said i know,like that time i laughed so hard at the wakei had to stay out in the garden making small talk with the smokersfor the rest of it,like the time i shut myself in the garage and went to sleepin the backseat of your car,and how i'm not at all religious but i sat in church that day withmy hands clasped andi prayed,how i kept the windows shut that sunday so what i prayed forcouldn't get in,like the time i watched her throw your stuff out on the driveway,and when she managed to smash those plates even withher broken wrist, how most hearts start to sink when tempers rise,and the time i wanted to cradle that dead pigeon i saw at thetrain station, and you told me to answer the phone and i wouldn'tbecause i knew it was you,and when the night comes calling i always let him in,i'm never quite sure who he is, but he sayshe's paid for it so now i better fuckingdrink it,he says haven't you learnt by now
.the breathin my lungs -you tookeverything
.i don't believethat if you can dream ityou can do it,cos i once dreamt thati killed atlas,i tore him limb from limb and theni stabbed the globe he held,watched itdeflate,and sometimes i get sadabout the children in the worldwho will choke on all the wordsthat they'll never learn to speak,and there's a baby somewhere garglingthe meaning of his life,and he's a little bit upset that youkeep wiping itaway(i have no words for you)
.i hearthe sun hisswhen it catchessight of the moon,i see you too, so pleasedo not come any closer -i crack wordswide open to see justwhat they're reallymade of, and i longto do the sameto you, i thinka crowbar is the only thingthat would give youa more open mind, iswing then prise -you laughand saya moth in searchof the lightis boundto get burned(what are you in for?)
.i like to feed things inthrough my mind and then pull themright out of my chest when they'redone,put it on paper and call ita poem, feed itback into the brainand repeat, butanxiety says justlet this stuff go -cough up those wordsthat you've got in yourchest and dust off theshelf in your lungs, feelthem one last time if you wantbut please, send them away intheir poems, and quicki'm realsorry buti'm just notdone with themyetthere's nopoetry dripi can ripfrom the backof my handand my neck,can'tdischarge myselffrom this one(chew it up, spit it out)
Could I Send You The StarsCan I send you the stars?A million twinkling letttersWaiting above your head each night to be readIn gentle melody like midnight lullabiesFor the girl I dearly wish could hear them.Can I borrow your moon?I know without it your nights may feel emptyBut I envy its lovely radiance shiningUpon those two eyesI wish I could see wish I could gaze intoSo instead could I borrow your Moon?And gaze into it hoping I'll find the lovelinessOf your eyes there instead.Could I steal your Sun?And pocket it's millionsAnd millions of memoriesOf lightly caressing you with its raysKnowing the feel of every beautifully delicatePart of you for every day of every year..Could I lease your dreams?And reside there with youUnderneath our stars' gentle lullabiesAnd beneath the Moon's loving gazeAway from the Sun's prying raysWith you...Since you're all I really need.So could I send you the starsAnd hope they'll send my love too?
Suicidal Tendenciescourage doesn't comefrom the fibers you'reborn with. You aren'tbrave when you decideto be.when you wakeup in the bedsmeared with yourown self destructionand you act as thoughyou aren't crumblinginto the carpet.or when you holda piece of shrapnelto your veins andwant to sever every lastone, but you throw itout the window.or when you standon the sunsetwith clouds straddlingyour mind and yourwhole existence readyto hurl itself over therailing, but you limphome and through the screendoor and pretend to walkon air again.That is bravery.
i am no god-made manoh, you're so pathetic,with your parasitic nervousness;you're an anxious fever-boned boy& you've got manic headachesscrawled into gasoline anthemslike you don't know love'sonly parasympathetic &we're all romanticists(you may have smoke-spiral fingertips, butwe've all got a knack for burning ourselves out).
lung canceri will die with your name on my lipsbecause there is nothing else i'll need to say.you are my coffin, my funeral pyre.as my bones disintegrate, popping and snapping,you will greedily swallow my ashesuntil nothing is left of me but secondhand smoke.i've danced with you, love, across hospital tile,the scent of antiseptic cloying as valentine's chocolate.you dipped me into unconsciousness,and i willingly closed my eyes.the intrusion of your scalpel teeth no longer scares me.you, my rigor mortis soul mate, always take me under.your tent of frostbitten shelter pulls me down, an anchor,while i gag on pills too abstract to save me.forgive me, lungs, of my cigarette abuse,but i've found happiness in a reaper's cloak.i find comfort in these carcinogens.i've made my nest in a swaying tree,my body destroyed by the nauseous rocking.they smile at me with pity in their eyes,scribbling nonsense on those jaw-like clipboards.their crisp, stark white world still has faith in me,yet
i'm a paradigm of self-destructionsnap your marlboro bones &grind them into watercolors -bay-water boy, paint your brainson the wallpaper like a sinner'ssermon; you won't wilt the waythat deities do, you solipsist:you're just a suicide drone.
Sweet CornHe shuckedher cleanto the spine.Broke off the gold untilnothingbut the stalk remained;bareand broken open.The ribcage spilledher secretsand gushed her painupon the sheets.She lay in the bloodand wept, for the lieshe had lost.
if you want to stop hurting:i. i have swallowed down this 3am lovelike the ibuprofen i fed myself for myswollen ankle that time in spainwhen i pushed a little too hard andlet go for a little too long.i have swallowed you down so manytimes before, kept you like little embersin the crevices of my chest, burningholes through tissue and bone andeverything that i am - through everythingthat i swore i wasn't.ii. a few months ago,i learnt that it's easier to breathewith your throat open, to take itdown and let go gracefully,like opening your palms againstthe wind outside the car and inhalingthrough your nose.iii. if you want to stop hurting:listen to them speak but do not hear their words, hear only their voice,feel it reverberate against your spine and tell yourself -this isn't a bad thing.rebuild your body like jenga blocks. if somebody comes close,hold their hand and tell them -i trust you.let the air rush between your fingers,let the fire in your arteries sizzle aw
War.If someone tells you, "War is hell." They lie.There are no innocents in hell.
How to love a poet: Expect them to be flawed, a field of wild flowered- imperfections, sticky metaphors & an inability to speak. Love them anyway. Know that when they look at you they are noticing the little things.
.in a poemeverything comesto life, so i writeabout you, i writeabout you, and iam still keepingus alive(light the path then, lantern eyes, if you know the fucking way out of here)