27 April 2015

How can I find solace in knowing
you are anything but? The distance
decreases the meanings, abstracts
romance to platonic form.

I need to be strong enough to let
the hope of a romance go and let
fate be, to allow the solitary pain
not blind by jealousy and allow you to be free.

Tomorrow cries no better,
and stuck in a whirlwind, knowing
if anything but, I don’t wish to feel
shame whilst in love.

I’ll wish the best to you,
and stay true to the words –
but cannot feign happiness in the idea
of you with another girl.

I can only control myself,
this I know. But it doesn’t
decrease the length of heartstrings
and your created end of what I

27 April 2015 (WIP)

At last have I
the pain to fill
the hearts of Keats,
of Darcy, Fitz.

Oh, such pains to
fill the Turners and
Nichols – this is not
a stong of loss, but
a product of art.

I am part of the greats,
of doing before thinking
and throwing in my soul the
heart into worlds it need
not know.

Now I’m one of my heroes,
an Austen, a writer, a player.
We’re all equal and all
it needed was mt soul to take.

A Bronte, a Welsh,
a Vizzini – we’re all one now.

Mistakes mixed with days

The ringing in my ears
refuse to quiet now.
Now, I’m alone, with
nothing to show save
the loose contents
of my bank account.

Spent three days
drinking and thinking
and not trying to think
about you –
but it hasn’t worked.
Not like it was supposed to
but it makes it feel
better – this idea of losing
you – when downing a
drink and two….

I’m digging a ditch.
I building the walls
so that the next time I meet
someone half-as-good as you
they won’t fall down and
reveal the worn-out-wasted
broken-shattered me.

This is about me,
dealing with the ‘about you’,
and words lose diction,
meaning falling down.

Ears reminded, hearing
the melody of the song
from us, about a long time ago,
when things were new and
falling-in-love wasn’t a choice
but a rule.

But now I’m digging a ditch.
Building myself in from the world and you
as I drown. I’m not sure what to do but
swim in this blackened pool,
but arms get tired.
And the mind cannot live
in a cave built for one.

I’m digging a ditch,
building the walls so that the
next time I meet someone half
as good as you,
they won’t know the worn-out
wasted-broken-shattered version
of me as you knew.

23 April 2015

Tonight let us be filled with
hate and pretend that
it is love between you
and I.

The door is locked, no one’ll
know the difference for love
and hate sound
the same to covered
eyes, the unknowing

I’ll take one for
the road – because God
knows I’ll miss it
when I start to
forget you.

The words, the face,
the pace of the way you spoke.
But I couldn’t dare
forget the closest thing
we shares; the mirrored
difference of peaceful love.

The closest I’ll get for at
least another night.
Until light breaks in love
dwells in hate.


Fire flirts the sky
but misses my eyes
face turned long,

Coping loneliness through
hard water mixed with
sugared fragments of lime.
Distraction through
learning skills of

Where did the flames
up high go? Passing
the sheathed clouds in
perfect gaze.

Were they on their
way home or just
going through the
quickest path to
also forget their doom?

My image the stars,
mirrored they be. Or
so it seems of this late

One cannot miss
things never seen.
I did not miss the
flame-covered stars –
they in fact missed