Possibility

I said something

that perhaps I shouldn’t,

on the day

when you became

more than a possibility,

and more of a promise.

Simpler

This could be

easier;

it needn’t be this hard.

This could be

simpler;

it could be

some sort of start.

Problem

The problem is,

when I

hear your voice,

all I want to do

is tell you:

this

could be it,

or,

at least,

it might be

worth a try.

Let’s Find Out

If I said that

this is it

or,

at least,

was worth a try,

would you say

yes,

perhaps,

why not?

Let’s find out,

me: yours;

you: mine.

Unavoidably

Somehow,

you said you love me,

but we are

trapped

in our secret guilt.

Once,

you said you were in love,

but our desire

is trapped inside

not wanting this.

Inevitably,

I will say

it’s complicated.

Unavoidably,

so will you.

This is a circle,

dark and solid;

no entrance,

nor escape,

only endlessness.

So,

what do we do,

when we have left everything

and nothing

unsaid?

Pull

Perhaps,

before I even

pull you in

I’ll push you

away.

How Do You

How do you cry

in this place?

How do you laugh?

How do you feel

anything?

Beginning

The sun set,

the clouds part

and the sky darkens.

The night’s end

is a beginning;

dark is, really, light.

Happen

Take your time.

It will happen,

this will pass,

and what will be

will be.

There Are Songs

There are songs here;

music,

if you listen carefully.

He Sits

He sits,

in his usual way,

with music playing;

and wind

whispering

through the drapes.

It is peace,

in its own way,

as he sits.

Who We Are

This is

who we are,

and who we

will always be.

We are not

a question;

nor a problem,

nor confusion.

We are ourselves,

and this

is who we are.

Made of Sand

When this is the world

you live in –

not the one

out there,

but the one inside your head;

inside your chest –

then birds

fly through you

like an open window;

seas

crash against you

like mountains

were made of sand

all along.

When this is the world you live in,

it is like

you are not here,

or never should have been;

like even if you are,

it doesn’t matter.

It is existing –

lost –

like you were

never there,

to begin with.

Worth Doing

If something

makes your heart beat

like the sweetest music,

makes your blood boil

to the perfect point,

makes your skin tingle

like a burst of electricity,

makes your eyes water

like a beautiful stream,

then it is worth doing,

so just do it.

And It Goes On

This

is a wheel,

already spinning;

a cog,

already turning.

This

is a river,

already flowing;

rain,

already falling.

This

has already begun,

and it

goes on

in its forever.

Lies I’ve Told.

These are the lies I’ve told:

Everything is fine.

I’ll get there.

It’s all under control.

You don’t need to worry.

I’m not trying to be difficult.

I understand.

That’s a great idea.

I’m on my way.

I’d love to.

Yes, of course.

These are the lies I’ve told.

Complicated

‘It’s complicated’,

I tell you,

as we kiss

to the sound

of the television

in the background.

‘It’s complicated’,

I say,

as I rest my head

on your chest.

‘It’s complicated’,

I whisper,

as I hold tight

onto your hand,

and to the words

I am not allowed to say.

I Will Leave You

I will leave you

at the bottom

of the grave

you dug for me;

leave you stranded

on the island

where you left me.

I will leave you

in the darkness

of the lights that you extinguished;

leave you locked

in this cage

of your own making.

I will leave you,

as you left me;

as you left me,

I will leave.

I will leave you

at the bottom

of the grave.

Blood Flow

My god,

you make my blood flow.

Everything with you

in tension and release.

Relief.

You are a shiver in the warmth;

growls and grunts and groans

in the silence.

My god,

you make my blood flow.

Terrible

You

are

a terrible

person –

that much

is

true.

Whole

You don’t

have to feel

one hundred percent.

You’re a

whole person

either way.

Undone

I realised,

then,

that it does not matter.

It is

what it is,

and what is

has always been –

indeed will always be.

What is inevitable

cannot,

in fact,

be undone;

it already is,

that is to say,

done.

I would

let it be,

but

that

would be

folly:

it already is,

and

has already been.

There is

no use

in allowing it

to be a problem.

To

let it go

would be wiser.

Infinite Needles

Despite the sense

that every nerve in this body

is paralysed,

unresponsive,

sleeping,

deceased,

this is a pain like no other:

infinite needles,

blazing fires,

a carcass where

my hungry wolves may feast.

Ask Me Who I Am

Ask me who I am

and I shall tell you.

I am an outline

of a drawing of a man,

much erased and restarted.

I am lost white noise

in a silent room,

with no voice to be found on the air.

Ask me who I am

and I shall tell you.

I am missing,

for I do not exist;

for I am not here:

I am gone.

Ask me who I am,

and I shall tell you:

No one.

May Be

I am

afraid

of all things

that are,

and that

may

one day be.

Pain

There is a kind of pain

known only to the lucky.

It is not the screaming of your nerves,

but the aching of your heart.

Bloodshot

Like an eye,

bloodshot

from too much crying,

no route is ever clear,

or simple.

It hurts;

sets many

broken

and stunted paths,

and leaves things unclear

The eye sees little

of what is

ahead.

How can it?

Nothing But Rubble

If a building,

however beautiful,

however well-intentioned,

has

too much

damage

and too much weight

upon it,

it surely will collapse,

beneath its

pressures

and its

weakness,

at the hands of its

crumbling

walls,

it’s cracked windows

and its rotting wood,

until

nothing is left,

but rubble.

The Barren Land

This unknown land –

this no man’s land –

is dark:

a night with no stars;

heavy,

the air and the atmosphere thick;

cold:

a biting breeze

on raw, uncovered skin,

sensitive to the touch.

This land is barren –

it may never grow again.

No Idea

I have

no idea

what’s

going on here.

Perhaps nothing.

Yes,

that seems

likely.