Forgive my sins against myself;
All the words
And the white noise.
For they might be the size of needles,
But make enough holes
And my blood leaks out.
I get heart palpitations at least once a day
Its my anxiety trying to break through the skin
Herald a new day at my throat
So as to see the sunshine one last time
Before a tumble of darkness swallows it down
Down into my stomach
Down where it fries like chips in oil
Down where it constricts and restricts
The large and small gut
Down where it digests too much and coughs so little
No let go
All big tangled white lies
Like a turtle in the ocean
Trapped in the plastic of your 6 pack holder
It churns and twists itself up
So I sit with gaping belly
And mind full of madness
Worry over the rest and the beginning and the forever
Blood curdles over the ends and the never and the has to be’s
On a ship fraught with my own spectres
Sailing half mast
But full flight
Out where the seas are rough
The nights are dark
And the fathomless oceans
Of my own fright
Swallow me whole.
There’s a nest which sits well above my heart.
I’d like to say it was the home of a wren
But it belongs to a raven.
It is clever, heavy, wicked and wise
And it sees you.
My raven collects things,
Tiny metallic objects
Which nestle in the twigs above my heart.
I’d like to say they shimmer and shine,
But they cut
Forcing me to grow scar tissue in places
I never thought I would.
My raven tells me things,
Whisperings in its croaking voice
Chants like those from outside of sound.
I’d like to say it is made of music,
But they are maniacal and truthful,
All the things that make me breed
Just a little more madness
Just a little more hate.
There’s a nest above my heart
And it presses like a coldness,
Pushes like a heaving force,
And lands me in a world of trouble.
He traces her rippling spine
Pressing against the whisper-thin bareflesh of her back.
Leaning over the end of the bed
Her toes trail in the open sea of the carpet.
She doesn’t move from his touch.
His fingertip runs across the undulating waves of her ribs
Waves without current,
Inhaling pulls her skin taught,
For just a moment.
He likes that moment.
In that moment she is alive.
He wants to bottle up his own energy and feed it to her intravenously.
Even with her back to him he can feel her
Within her body,
Somewhere far off,
But still there.
He slides his fingers into the gaps of her breathing bones
Transferring warmth to her naked body
By way of filling negative space
Making sure she knows
She mustn’t leave
Not at all
For as long as you need.
There was an itch
She couldn’t scratch
There’s no itch
Because she cant feel her skin
Take the battered broken beams
Which hold our heads up high
And build an early warming pit
To keep us safe and dry
Below our whispers and disgrace
Lie calm and solitude
If we wait here patient, still
We’ll see salvation soon
Next to knuckles bone and white
Next to weeping breath
We pray with every fibre felt
Of bright light after death
Sweep those floors
Shove the anger
Under the rug
Use the sponge
To mop up
Last night’s tears
Air the house
Clean those tiles
Scrub away residue
Of bad days
Wipe the walls
Paint them all
Stain the trodden
A rosy pink
To match the smile
That everything is
Part of a Series. See How He Is