I wrote you a poem on
our first date
                on tissue paper ..

I'd kept it all these years  
                                 framed
on our bedside table..

When I saw you with another,
               I knew we were over.
So I wiped my **** with it

Putting it on her pillow,
             with new words.
You treated my heart like excrement.

So I've wiped you from my
                                 thoughts.
             My old verse is no more.

All that is left are ******
                                       feelings,
That I wiped away with my first words.

Silly sullen sentences
strut in my brain
boiling baffling batches
of cluttered dust-bunnies
creating a babel tower of
lost love lullabies
slowly
decaying, dying, drifting
Wet your quill
with the ink of now
write new lulls
swaying your pendulum
between your now's
and what's yet to come

When I go back
and listen from beginning to end
every song I listened to back then,
I feel so sad.

Remembering all that I did,  
back when I was feeling hopeless.

never has death
seemed more
humble, or charming
sincere, engaging.
Extending a hand
to a friend
in need
it seems.
But we only
brush fingertips...
I am scared
that the land of the dead
will not accept me
if I
stumble in
uninvited.

something in me
stuck the day
you didn't come.
my eyes became machinery;
every sound caught
in my throat
and the silence
followed for weeks.
I smoked 14 cigarettes
in the car;
I burned at the thought
of stillness;
I was vulnerable to light;
I washed my body in the way
you said my name.

now I come
to the sound of leaving.
like the way a symphony sounds
to deaf ears,
I am unafraid of what
you will say to me.
we are different people now;
I am silent
and you are stillness;
we are tangled around
the sadness of each other.

I have been running
in between towns
waiting for your capture;
I am running
hoping to never be found.

okay, so i was the other woman.

okay, so i can’t call it that. so we were never a thing, never a label, never announced. so she was the pretty one and i was the *******. so i was never your first choice but i was, for a minute, your second.

okay, so maybe it started as cheap entertainment on the nights beer and phone calls weren’t enough and distance got the best of you. maybe i loved you then but i think i hate you now.

okay, so maybe i don’t hate you. maybe i’m just trying to pretend we never happened because maybe if it was all in my head i’d be over it by now. maybe i’m just tired, okay? of being the back-up girl. of being the one who stays, who breaks, who sits in the basement of a burning house just to feel the carpet one more time.
i just don’t want to burn anymore.

I am crazy about you
That fact is so true
I am in love with you
And you love me too
I wish you were here
That would put a smile on my face from ear to ear
I think about you daily
And miss you when you are away

poppies and chamomile bloomed roads,
covered in warm dust... such a pity
that these are the only ones left
to be pointing towards the eternal city,

where marble and stone still stand
on places gods used to walk bare-footed,
where belief was more than just demand,
until cassocks have had ancient ways sooted.

A place where manner was turned into art
And polymaths emerged from genius creation,
where Latin blood spills from heart to mart
In a continuous state of vibrant elation.

where green is the colour of oils and lust
and the sun can burn to a lemon flavour,
and the sand on the front of the boot is black
and the wine is more than a bitter-sweet savour...

There, where a walk through square paved markets
is bursting with hand-made stories,
where scratching through history's pride
would always end in timeless glory...

Alien to the things I see,
I have no intention to glance,
Through their lenses,
Alternative perceptions cannot clout
What I wish to seek.