The dead eat the living
and come alive again
so wilt away
and fall as petals do
The abyss is only as deep as you dig
It’s like I said
The world will eat us and all our friends.
writing
A violent heart
Smugness has sculpted your face into a permanent sneer
It’s fascinating
I can’t bear it
Sometimes I want to punch you, rearrange your face
I know it’s violence for violence’s sake, I’m afraid
You bring out the worst in me
Though sometimes I doubt it’s not for the greater good
Doesn’t it show that inside of me is a thumping heart?
And what better way to feed it’s hunger
than being on the lookout for blood?
Primal Heart
The sunrays spangled
through the human debris
plastic
ensared on the branches of a tree
flailing in the breeze
playing trickery in the shadows
make it appear like flights of fancy
but then a Blackbird
dino skitters along the fence
It makes me imagine a velociraptor
and his shadow plays on my wall
and I think that’s what I’m missing
something primal, primitive
My heart beats for it
though overcome by the fear of it
but the fear itself uncivilising me
Thus, wild I am becoming
Flesh
I don’t know why; I picture us under red light
as we become entwined under the sheets
I’ve seen films trying to be poetry
bending light in such ways
as to allow the viewer to possess beauty
but I want to bear you
while you seize me as your own territory
Perhaps the red light is a symbol of the blood that runs in moments like this
the rivers we run through
to be taken or take another
always trying to claw back to that feeling
of something primal, something more than human
that animal within us
when we need something
more akin to murder
perhaps like fucking
where nothing is more tender
than the meeting of flesh and bone
…And
outside covered itself in our intentions
or lack thereof
It’s hard to be sure
but death laid itself bare
the truest of all deaths
for life did not stir
Not from last year’s seed
nor the loins of death itself
…..And it was true
there was nothing wild left
but for the action of fucking
Bone
The remains gleamed in the white hot sun
the earth harvesting us
as we reaped the land we toiled
made in our image
Death comes for us
as does our turmoil
fleshed out in our marrow
seeking us
for the history in our bones.
A mundane view of a room
The books to be read piled in the corner
not too many, just enough
the smell of the imaginings yearned, wafting into the air
a room lived in
yellowing, like the pages
lives and worlds intermingled
becoming part of each other’s history
a feeling in our guts
that life just has something missing
that can only be found in books
In anothers eyes
Another’s eyes can consume you
Always, forever
your face emboldened behind them
and they can draw traces around you
drawing you into caricatures
telling themselves that’s what you really were
Malaise
A sense of malaise had set itself into the stone of the building
The clouds pregnant with promise of storms
Everyone inside held their breaths
Waiting for the first pin to drop
But it doesn’t come
Instead it builds up
A dreadful space filled with cigarette butts
The air acrid with sweat
And we persist
In spite of them
Our shadows a crowd
Crawling out from the walls
We think aloud
And the ears that pry litter the halls
And in our breath, the air is rigid and stagnant
Our lungs sensing only absence
A mundane moment with secretive silences between teeth
The world holds on around us
While we fall apart
still, we falter in this dance
not allowing one another to ever change their stance
we shrug, palms up and say, ‘Fuck knows, eh?’
and we smile knowing smiles
a joke that needn’t be said
the birds sing
as if the world wasn’t broken
as if we didn’t yearn for slings
to support us with our aches
and we listen and we say, ‘That’s a blackbird, advertising for mates’
then we smile sheepishly
Secrets between our teeth
‘If you were a bird, which one would you be?’ You ask
And I reply, ‘a bittern so I can hide away in the rustling of the reeds and boom and bust with secretive laments, where no one really knows where I am or what I meant’
But, no, I don’t really say that, I shrug and say, ‘I don’t know.’
because this is part of the game
always holding back the little parts of ourselves
when we’re not sure what should be shown
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