and making me want to die was something you were always good at.
not in a bad way
because for someone who has been suicidal since age 11,
that means you made me feel something.
feeling something has been a problem of mine for a while now
i either feel it all or nothing
and my therapist tells me that's
"black and white thinking"
and i tell her
"no, it's realistic"
and she laughs and tells me i must be colourblind
but the world has so many different tones of grey
and i tell her i know
i just can't see them yet
and she sends me home with a worksheet to fill out
she says bring it back tomorrow for our next session
but the worksheet asks me questions i don't have the answer to
"what's your favourite shade of grey"
almost arbitrary
could be written off
but i feel the breath catching in my throat
because i don't think about grey anymore
grey reminds me of the colour in your eyes
a colour chart that ranges from silver lining
to solitaire
you've ran off again
and i have to be honest
i'm glad that when
you left
you left
me colourblind
because i can't see grey without thinking of you
and i can't see your note so it's another night of feeling nothing
feeling something
feeling it all

I went to my eye doctor
And told him I was unstable.
He gawked at me from across the table
Thankfully he tested me
For otherwise I couldn't see
The light in life
Or colours of the trees.
You see, my broken heart was very unkind
Causing me to go colourblind

What is blue?
They say it’s the colour of the sky
But I never saw it, for I am colourblind.
And then you came along, covering my sky with your compassion
The wisdom of your words, the comfort of your embrace
They say the say the sky watches over the world
But the one watching over my world, is you
I can now see the colour blue.

What is green?
They say it’s the colour of the forest
But I never saw it, for I am colourblind.
And then you came along, bringing out sides of me I didn’t know I had
Just as the forest harbours all forms of life
You brought out all forms of mine
The child, the man, and all things in me unseen
I now see the colour green.

What is red?
They say it’s the colour of a rose.
But I never saw it, for I am colourblind.
And then you came along, touching your soft lips to mine
The tenderness, the electricity, the passion you conveyed
Ran through my lips, my veins, all the way to my core
Your eyes said the rest, everything that was unsaid
I now see the colour red.

What is grey?
They say it is the colour of a rainy day.
Wait, this looks familiar, for I am colourblind!
Ah, the clouds, the drops, the world I’ve always known
But why is it so different, what are these colourful dashes in the way?
Have I always felt so much, did my smile always stay?
No, I see red, I see green, and I see blue
I now see the colour of you.

Scientists estimate that you will fall in love seven times before you get married.
That 42% of these marriages will end in divorce.
That lesbians get their sexuality from their fathers inability to
Maintain a platonic relationship with a woman
Pram pushing into bedrooms whilst our mothers clean
With wine stained pinafores and nicotine laced lips.
They remove their motherhood camise
And hang it on the banister one day after school,
Her fatal attraction to the bottle and mine to the silk touch of a woman’s fabric being the perfect childhood cliché for a
chronic homosexual.

My mothers is still there like a scare crow to heterosexuality,
warning off all my seven deadly loves that could have come from man but now come from the caress of a woman’s cheek but still,
I am afraid of wearing my heart on my sleeve
In case I shrink it in the wash so I place it in my rib cage
Captive to the beat of my own heart grieving.

You are my second love and according to science
I am therefore chasing something that cannot be caught,
Something that has an expiry date before I can even co-create this thing called love  

So when I sip seduction from your navel,
When I unwrap you like the present at Christmas I never got,
Untying the ribbon as I undo your jeans,
Just know the only I do I will say is when you ask me if I think you look pretty.
Or if I want a brew when we are lying in bed puffing smoke rings
Around our impending sighs that float over us like rainclouds,
Drips of fate falling from these skies dampening my desire.

So forgive me if the only aisle I will see you up is the biscuit aisle, Pulling the fabric of my non-wedding dress around my slipping tights.
Forgive me if I trade in the sweat on your neck
For the salt side of a tequila
As sometimes I like to use the wool from over my eyes to knit me telescope so I can look at the stars between your thighs,
But what no one ever tells you is that when you wish upon a star,
That star has surely died.
  
Because I want to fall in and out of love 7 times.
Correction: I want to fall in and out of love with you 7 times.
I want to press you, not in a book, but against me.
Imprint the lines of your fingertips on my ******* like maps of Atlantis because I want to go places with you I never knew existed.
I want your nails engraved on my back like constellations of stars
So I can always find my way back to now. To then.
The present. The past. That very moment where Greenwich meantime got it wrong:
Those seconds were longer than any before,
And my life has been full of seconds.
Second child. Second best. Second chances. Second love.
The third the forth, the fifth the sixth but the 7th, the 7th time you tell me is no longer reserved for you.

You tell me the 7th time is for me to fall inexplicably, uncontrollably in love with myself.
So when I walk myself up a different kind of aisle I can do it with you by my side.
And I’ll stand there, lifting the veil from over my eyes and I will tell you, Darling, second love, science is colourblind.
It doesn’t see the colours of the rainbow like I do.

Because yes, I do.

Dedication:

Nectare bred of an artist's haught testament—
        brings only stunted buds of tastelessness.
Be it naught for the height in numerous tidal of Muse—
        to cause the strike of warmth in bruise.

Upon the cheeks shadow'd in might—
        strength of amour upon near-sight.
You!—Blossom, are of a frightful power—
        to journey nestled mind of dark tower.

As though a hawk perched higher than the peak—
        of mountainous and controlling streaks,
Colourblind by potent affair lost—
        by centuries of sicken'd fever crossed.

By and by another name, honeyed pursuit—
        yearning that cause a poet becoming mute.
Meagerly, he instead scribes his burning allegory—
        that shall cause a life—eternal fragmentary.


Dangers of Kimberleigh

“Love Jo all your days, if you choose, but don't let it spoil you, for it's wicked to throw away so many good gifts because you can't have the one you want.”
― Louisa May Alcott, "Little Women"

I.

When the morning demands you and I—
        our ghosts shall pass empty resides,
Against fields where lines opposing light, force and bind—
        of Angel's breath and Dæmon's spine.

Of shrieks louder than their first meeting's kiss—
        residing now—perfection upon midnight's bliss,
Abiding near the tender gardens upon the blinding dark—
        creating haste of love-song made by grave Skylark.

Who in joyous play—should cause collapse—
        towards serene, augmented lapse.
Lapse of falling, of where gentle screams—
        of every child that's ever been,

Who stroke themselves against empty glass—
        and where visions pray upon the grasp,
Of wind—Of blinding—Of melody—
        to hold faint—Immortality.


II.

This shall be where morning seeks—
        no longer calming of beauty's cheek.
Instead to lash with vain and hostile mount—
        crimson over dashed and harsh doubt.

Until image engraved by forgiving rite—
        speaking neglect of fiend or fiendish blight.
In-versed—coole angelic heart to passéd—
        passage beside Lilac's memory in mortal castéd.

In the unwashed Earth, where the unwashed play—
        'till they unfairly capture it from younglings— Away.
Lonesomeness of watchtowers in gossamer's breast—
        when airy words strangled from bless.
  
Reachéd by the hand—abide in fable—
        quiet tho—in fruitation, a single silver Maple.
Shyly envisioned inside salvation's solitude—
        where tenderness drowns tenderéd concludes.


III.

The sister was lovely—inside my sight—
        in our union—created Nature's first night.
Through our throats rendered fragile lullaby—
        which slaughtered silence and made soldiers cry.

Her bristles—exploit in darkness—I could not see—
        or merely recollect in memory.
A mouth moving inside of mine—
        creatures in mawkery of untouched divine.

Eyes whom beatéd harder than the breeze—
        to remind me—gently of the ease.
Of being caught in cognitive stance.
        which leaves surrender to in traditional, disciplined dance.

Upon the backs of universal forestry—
        and inside their stomachs to where we would meet.
Offended to death by requiem—
        made inside our faint dream's drum.


IV.

Where dreamer's would lash upon in endless screams—
        innumerable Rubies ruin'd before their first gleam.
Upon reflection in lover's loss—
        diminished to demise before their first gloss.

It is upon the fool's finest end—
        where lies his fantasy—condemned.
The jester who remains as undefeat—
        before death shall cause lackluster's retreat.

Unaware tho, in current mode—
        as body by body closely will hold.
And messages of Gold conspire in streaks—
        immersed—affection in mind eternally correlates oblique.

Ringing and humming throughout what laid—
        against blonde grass from Sin was made.
Refraction's cast that betrayed—to promise me—
        endless nights of haunting harmonies.


V.

Held tightly in grieving bourne—
        broken—in new blood is sworn.
Across the snow-cover'd Evergreens—
        where the temptress grave is left unseen.

Not upon her kiss—did darkness fall—
        alone—in shining pieces did crawl,
Against creator—and thus creator hence—
        bitter loving shrouded by bare defense.

As her finite skin had laid eternal flesh—
        of what laid inside Pine's parting mesh.
Holding and crying out for uncertainty—
       feelings moaned into sudden Mercenaries.

Morose and fledgling in their stand—
        spiritéd to Death's light misunderstand,
Of peerless eyes and broken brooks by the sea—
        casting ruined cloth over our Evergreens.


VI.

Unfurnished dawn may scour for length of furnished night—
        quick—until mirroréd ebbed ocean does wrong.
To consume the idles of Man's afraid mind—
        fairest—lest His idles struck into divine.

Exclaiméd none tho, in archaic lust—
        deceased—firmest in high robust.
Where pleasure finds comforted pause—
        inside arched-back in neglected cause.

Betray the shallow grimace flee—
        and ethereal composed by the breeze.
Lies delicate delusion before sorrow—
        that shall thieve away the Artist's morrow.

And in thievery is where the Angels lie—
        angelic beasts with unlawful guise,
In courts—castrated by the throat—
        hardened in assumption by blackened elope.

Roses are red,
violets are blue,
but according to what I learned in science about how light works...
That's not really true...
You see, when light hits something,
say a leaf, it looks green.
But in reality it's every colour but the one you see.

Roses are green
Violets are green
The amount of vivid colours in this garden made me throw up.

Roses are red,
violets are red,
I lit my garden on fire.

Roses are blue
Violets are red
What are colours again?

Roses are red,
violets are red,
someone killed my cat.

Roses are yellow,
Violets are purple,
I think I might be colourblind.

Roses are grey,
Violets are also grey,
woof.

Roses are dead.
Violets are dead.
I'm a horrible gardener...

My name is Dave,
Roses are Paul,
It hurt my head,
when I walked into that wall.

I know that the
grass is green and
sun red, but sometimes
yellow like dandelions,
and the earth is brown
just like trunks of trees.
I know the skies
are painted in blues
that eventually fade
into mauve, at some point
coalescing into the seas
and limpid waters of
sun-kissed beaches, where
strange exotic fruits would
entice with violets and amaranths
redolent of a night on
some far island, stood
beneath the stars whilst
they shine white like...
a million ways out.
Each one a brush,
showing me the palette.
But everything just looks
grey and dark and
black.

Tell me I’m not stupid for allowing myself to feel,
searching out for the next wound before letting the former heal,
I’ve been convincing myself that the invisible path is real,
but it’s not wide enough for two; one can stand and one can kneel.

If there’s anything in this world that tightens my chest,
it’s the moment I am strangled by vulnerability.
I keep it chained away to the very best,
to the very best of all my abilities.
Take all those thrown away phrases
and piece them back together to hit my ears
it’s funny how the long silence still amazes,
amazes me after all these quiet years.

Are you Sonic the hedgehog,
‘cause this is a chaos emerald.
Wipe away the tears to see the fog,
my world shakes when once it trembled.
I’ve got an easy road ahead of me
where the path could be so easy,
but I’m drawn to walk into the sea,
I wish that instinctive pull would leave me.

We humans are such destructive creatures
we turn soil to scorched earth with just one touch.
It’s the curse of emotions and all it features,
makes us decline a cast and accept a crutch.
We fall prey to our monsters like a disease,
do I pick life support or a clean cut cure?
A solid steel spine or weak and shaking knees?
Toxic lungs or a gasp of air too pure?

Should I swallow this gulp of mundane routine
conform and erase all individuality?
The white picket fence in photographs is so pristine
but it’s covered in dust and mold the naked eye can’t see.

My storybook ending is incomplete
as I didn’t much care for the ending.
I traded in tragedy instead of something sweet,
‘cause I’ve never been so good at pretending.
All along there are holes both in the souls and plot,
and I wish to roll but can’t afford the toll as empty hands are all I got

I can’t see, I try but I can’t

Without all those colours, life is bland

Everything has turned to grey

From happiness to dismay

In the blink of an eye

Time to say goodbye

To your perfect little life

It’s turned into a struggle to survive

But my problem is my head

Not those two eyes of mine

I think my brain is dead

My eyes are working just fine


I envy those around me

Enjoying their lives, being free

Whilst I’m trapped in a grey environment

All dark, blurry and violent

Streams of tears trickle down my face

Are those tears or is it blood?

I should check, just in case

For I can’t distinguish one from the other

Then how am I ever to discover?



I’m full of open gashes

They hurt and I see flashes

Of my past, catching up to me

Leave me alone, I desperately plead

The present is still haunting my body

The future looks the same, a carbon copy

Full of hate, despair and depression

Introspection is the name of this session

Please don’t use discretion for your self-expression

Not a single concession it’s your possession

Say no to oppression, no to suppression

For you have to help yourself here

It’s a difficult road to get rid of the fear

To be free from the the thought

The one that your depression brought

The one occupying all of your brain

Screaming “YOU’RE NOTHING, YOU’RE INSANE!”

You’re stronger than that,

Please just have a little chat

About your issues, with anyone you trust

Your problems will decrease when discussed

Don’t stay colourblind, 
There’s too much you’re missing

Open up to people, don’t stay hidden


Depression is colourblind too

No matter how you look, it’ll find you

Do you know how long it look

For me to discover what was wrong?

Way longer than I could stay strong

But I figured it out, no I haven’t

I preach this advice, but my mind is still absent

Still struggling, but I think I know what to do

How to actually fix this, oh I wish I knew

It’s certainly hard, it’s a struggle

Chucking around all these emotions

Don’t even know how to juggle
I let them all fall, they crack and break
Don’t have emotions anymore,

All I do is fake


I envy those around me

Enjoying their lives, being free

Whilst I’m trapped in a grey environment

All dark, blurry and violent

Streams of tears trickle down my face

Are those tears or is it blood?

I should check, just in case

For I can’t distinguish one from the other

Then how am I ever to discover?

What I feel like

Who I am

This whole thing called life is a scam

It’s not what they told me it’d be

Or is it too soon, when will I be free?

When will I see colours, I don’t understand

They ask about my favourite colour, I pretend

“Oh it’s blue, or red or something..”

I know it’s wrong, I feel disgusting



I shouldn’t lie, I need to speak

As life keeps looking bleak

Don’t know how long I’ll survive

Not just pretend to live a life

I want to enjoy, laugh and discover

Not having to recover

From thinking for too long

That’s just what is wrong

I’m sick, so sick

From myself I’m so thick

I know what is wrong, but assistance?

I’d rather have some distance

Settled on coexistence

Gave up any persistence or resistance

Along the way,

The cost is that everything stays grey

Everything tastes the same

I claim I’m not to blame

I live in shame, 

Seeing who I became



I became weak, a grey character

Not knowing if I’m good or bad

Doesn’t matter, not a competitor

Simply breathing, going mad

It’ll be alright, it’ll sort itself out

Keep telling yourself that friend

As you drown in this drought

Of emotions