I had to look up
the word
'dating'
on Urban Dictionary
because I didn't know
what we were,
what we are.

And it said things like
'a socially acceptable
form of prostitution' and
'feelings of
puppy love that usually
dissolve
in a few weeks'.

But this is
not
puppy love.
This is not going to
dissolve or
fizzle out or
whatever,
you're not a
fizzle
you're a *******
fireworks display.

And you turn
everything in my head
into this
multi-coloured
turbulence and
I can't keep up with
how much I
adore you.

But the thing is
I don't know
if your view
is as good as mine.
What if you're
looking at something
a little less
beautiful.

What if I'm your
fizzle.

What if I'm as
temporary
as the flame you use
to light the
cigarettes
you find more
addictive
than my touch.

If that's the case
I'd rather
I left you
craving.

Because
if I'm your flame
you're my
forest fire
and you're burning
it all down until
the only thing left
standing is
you.

And I'll walk for
miles across this
carpet of ashes
just to feel the
softness of your skin
against mine.

And I'll cough
and I'll splutter
on toxic smoke
but you'll just
breathe it in because
you never realised anything
was even
lost.

You don't see me
crawl
you just know that
I'm here,
I'm here
I made it
I'm yours
I'll always be yours
because there's
nothing else
left.

And maybe
I can be
content with that
if only
you will see
that
you could burn down
everything
and I still
wouldn't put you
out.

you
you're not a poet
and no matter how hard you try, you'll never be one
but what you are, is even better
you're a poem

everytime i look in your eyes
i see new lines, freshly written

when i touch your face
echo's of ancient words are heared deep inside my soul

i haven't made love to you yet, and i can't even imagine
the poetry i will feel that day

so even when you will never be a poet
you'll be the only poem i ever want to read

From the subtle strokes
of a solemn wrist.
I can see so much
of her on this page.

It could be sadness,
or laughter.
Love sonnets,
or groceries.

Like her eyes,
I get lost
in the flow
of her lines.

❦

When im home alone
I like to walk outside
In the middle of the yard
And hear everything

Theres so much to see
To hear
When no one
Is there to speak.

I hear poetry
In the christmas carols
Ringing from the houses
All around me

From the train
Roaring away
Just down the street
From my small existence

The baseball feild
Is illuminated
And the cheers ring
Over the line of trees

And everything
Around me
Is so
Alive

How can i dare
To believe im anything
Next to this universe
Of noise and life

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

Walking through the halls in my mind
Lost and almost out of time
I'm own my own
I walk these halls alone
I hear the screams echo off the walls
I hate these ******* halls
Walking through the broken glass
Made from a shattered past
Lost and on my own
I walk these halls alone
Theres writing on these walls
I can hear their calls
Words I cant comprehend
Oh why wont this end
Searching for a way to escape my cell
Why cant I leave this hell
A hundred people live in these halls
Yet im alone despite them all
There trying to take control
I wont let them steal my soul
Lost and on my own
I wander these halls alone
Bound in chain
Locked away inside my own brain
I cant save myself
But I have no one else
My blood begins to freeze
I wish someone would cure my disease
Its getting hard to talk
I'm losing my ability to walk
Lost and on my own
I wish I didn't walk these halls alone