In Absentia

Why not eat dinner on a couch, in front of a static television
that shows news more relevant than any of that media bullshit.
Picking peas off the plate and flicking them through air,
Cutting through spores and the lonely insect.
(Complaining of the brutal light,
Unforgiving the air of wrong vs. right.)

When eating is a chore and keeping it down, even more,
Your body is just as uncaring as your mind trained it to be.
Crack your toes on the tiles treated like speckled stone
skies in the morning, the shepards warning settled with me.
(My bed whispers lies to me in the night,
Between the dreams there's static plight.)

What is it that makes the tiny bugs appear in the afternoon?
The suns angle? But the morning sun angles the same.
Perhaps, just maybe it's instict that cannot be erased:
Like dogs being put to sleep, horses become lame.
(I'm living out a cardboard fight:
Eyes so clear but free of sight.)

Beauty in the Beggar

There's a stray dog crawling up to you,
Timid, somehow timeless, treading heavy,
You don't know how to treat it, but I do.
You don't like loneliness now, do you?

High-maintenance dreams
The glamour the city will take away,
Such a beautiful face, so it seems.
Such a place for sour worm dreams.

The timeless notion of give and take,
Sitting on the streets, you're up in the air,
Glitter and grudges are all you make.
Some freedom and ethics you'd never for take.

Captivated by where the sun goes;
I remember being a child,
Fascinated by the gaps between my toes
Wondering where the space below goes.

The grays' decided to climb some trees,
Delivering home some much needed closure,
But for what? A beggar forced to his knees,
Meditating to the sound of falling trees.

Tricks and Drones

The tide rises and it falls,
Tame, yet escaping through wrinkled floors,
Making its way between the hands of clocks,
Slipping through fingers and landing on rocks
That will turn into tiny specks, so coarse.
Time drags on with an immeasurable force:
Past the child in a cradle, lady in a chair,
The establishing, the growing, the graying of hair.
Tiptoe past my first pet's grave, lined with fish of gold,
Passed the For Sale signs that quickly turned to Sold.
Now the trees' silhouettes are showing in a way
That it is impossible to decipher night from day.
Just like the tide falls and rises,
Time itself has no surprises.

Sun and Moon

It is impossible to escape you. Your exhale has to be my inhale or else you’ll try to pull me back. Are you sick of getting what you want? Is it really compassion that I lack? I am Melancholy and you are Euphoria, we dream the same dream but in different angles in different light. And never at the same time. We sleep in different nights. Sometimes I want you to step in my arms, away from that stinging sun. Sometimes I swear I’m insane for always coming back to where we begun. In vain attempts I took six from seven and never have been left with more. I told you that I want to leave, and you echoed “without me you’ll never find what you’re looking for”. I will pull your body over my head to hide beneath the moon. Now I’ve ceased my breathing and you’re complaining I’m leaving all too soon.

“I never called you in the morning to simply say hello. I was making sure you wouldn’t cry, you wouldn’t scream or go. There have been times I couldn't stand you, there have been times I wanted to scream. All the times I split hairs and crying 'you're never what you seem'. The flowers started shrinking, I just blamed it on the cold; but then the trees started creaking and I knew that they would fold. Your home was written within these walls, so why are you drifting further away? You will always be the same, Melancholy, but change from day to day.”

A Fair

A dream that I despise,
Close to home, I recognise,
Values that changed me,
Their promise to save me.

Safety I find outside of morals,
A risk that cut through like coral
Bleached my standards, set alight,
I'm happy here, sheltered by night.

You have two different names,
Each too different to be the same.
Only I travel between the two,
In day, in night, surrounded by you.

A heart that's racing with imperfection,
With obscene thoughts, a new obesession.
So far gone I do not recognise
That this is what I used to despise.

A Book on a Shelf

You're safe without my arms tonight,
Smiles disappearing the candle light,
Does she treat your soul alright?
Secrets are absorbed into night.
Apologies for the buried souls,
With rotting clothes, decaying holes
Minds once filled with tangible goals,
I'm left fighting to break that mold.

My shoes are coloured charcoal dreams,
Taking me places I had once seen,
Skies of gold, dirt of green,
A distant flame, so obscene.
Forced to the top of a hill, I stay,
Buried myself in blue, as not to decay,
Emerged a wizard with eyes set on prey,
And my apathy drew him far away.

I turned a flower into a memory,
That told me you regret being sorry
When you promised it was just me.
Other lovers hidden in secrecy.
No expectations, I demanded less,
But you insisted I was not like the rest,
Laying with your bed understanding your breaths,
Now I twist these sheets of loneliness.

Valentine

The expected takes form in roses of red,
Shielded, caged by a garden bed.
A thorn you stole, and pricked your head,
Whimpering slowly; "would you prefer me dead?"

Now I'm sleeping in between your walls,
Admiring the off-white paint, how it falls
Between your fingers, they trace lonely halls,
Only the echo remains to answer your calls.

Your mirror finally turned its back on you,
Sick of your vanity, the hate just grew.
Until it did your head in and you finally knew
Those roses, not violets burn that comforting blue.