i rather be high off pain pills and *** than memories of us that are only that;
memories

s.s

he had found a girl a while back
to fill the space i left
and now that he's the one who left
i finally understand why
because another boy
might rid my mind of you
and the taste of his skin
might make me forget yours

s.s

I didn’t know it at the time
The bench seemed more a subject
A reminder to sit and look

Ease one’s load
Reflect upon the day
Reach for plumbs unexplored

Years later the memories were revived
The day we saw the bench

She and they
Strolled leisurely
Quaint small exhibits of musty furniture
The rickety interior of the old stone manor

Please, can you take our picture?
Here.  Use my phone.

We were on our way home
Through the garden path
Unflowered in the early winter’s dusk
Brisk but not too chilly.  The cold would come later.

Waiting, alone, I chanced a shot
The composition was
Just OK.  My fans said “good”.  I, “no not”.

I now recall the view
From behind the porch
Looking upward at the stained
Glass dormer
Halfway between the house and the bench

I remember that day
When I saw her.
When I was able to see her.

There was a time that I was unfilled
searched and dropped in an ocean*
in the deep water the last hope lost
bombs exploded and shells bursted
the whole of me was decanted
a remnant that seems muted
but one that's alive and lasting

There was a time that I was waiting
to be seen, loved, deserved and adored
like the lentil sat in the water to sprout
and the state withered, lowly swallowed
the brokenness of it ached, stakes gone
the bets were a loss drained on the grounds
as the escalator crept it's way up

There is moment in the present day
where the awoken me is a desire
a goal to believe within my depths
touching the instincts and procures
not hurt and not wanting to believe
neither relying on the adoration to sate
*as the state of lone licked all the tears

The call centre chap calls
day in and out finding
that soonest excuse
to hold on the day
and sail some greetings

He would ask about my day
and if I am feeling okay
the most strange fleeting
of flatter and flirtatious hills
It’s an absurd daunted mill

His voice I would hear in the morn
and just before the dusk settles
Ohh how he said he loves my voice
and my existence is his concern
with withheld numbers and utters

Yet, I never ever ask anything
I show no concern or interest
that sort of art is a moment away
like a moody absent rose I appear
Not guessing, dreaming or wanting

As dreams of another slips away
I remain the centre of my games
As preys approach erected fences
The blinded windows become unspoken
Soon he will give way and walk away

Lay as the rain tears it’s way
In trenches drenched eternally
As the waters draw sequences
Pat the dreams of April showers
Gently mesh on the downing dew
Resting on the daring ventures
Textures of the enduring greys
eyes patched with persistent blues
Let the fire burn to a summer day
Simmering it’s light on a bloom
A blossom of the drooling *****
Leading to the winter starry lens
Black towers of the night draw close
Flickering with a drowsy tamed sheen
Reflecting the loony daring moon
Water remains a confession eye
A mirror that stays and revises