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A place I used to marvel at, as if the darkness was a game
Running past the gates with intoxicated smiles
Fingertips on iron, tracing secrets with our youth
And the cool thrum of safety
Because we knew
We were there

(…and not beyond the rusting chimes
With the nettles and the rues
Today I walk the rain slick cobbles,
trying not to see the muted slabs of sadness
in amongst the sleeping blooms)

There are strangers at your place…
An unfamiliarity, and a conflict in itself
I wonder what to say, and imagine what you’d see
Awkward,
this eye to eye, a dance of a different kind
But then we smile to one another
…because we knew
We were there.

Was it so?

The vapid walls, they sung so clear their very emptiness
In washed out greys, diluted tones
She walks barefoot into a falsity
And eyes closed tight, the sky makes pearls to rain from…
No screams could feel existence
Now the glass speaks her echoes from scarlet tainted lips

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Leave me be
I need to know the twist and turn
The gut wrench of existence
With its eyes wide
Like a saucer of milk as it captures a jaded sea

Melt

A fraying hem, this need to stop a spiral of decaying time
Buttercups told silent fairytales to youth before its knowing
Now the wood expands beneath a step into a memory
What the pantry could divulge…
And all these nooks, these dormant happenings
Could the fuller pale be when a voice is found beneath the debris of a childhood?
It wasn’t hers, but well she knew
The vinyl keeps its song

Climbing Ivy

Pristine, and yet they crumpled
at the sight of a downward gaze
and yes, it faltered…

She recalled the night
and how it came to wrap her limbs
in its cerise and venom hold

(If this is night, am I the enemy?
Are all regrets at the pane, begging me to
hear?)

At 3am they all drew closer
Daisies bled their milky tears
and saved their hearts for truer falls

(If these tears could only know the scent
of their remorse…)

And so the gravel turned before her
into some place void of being
The hollow voices of a branch,
a splintered vision of herself

Broken hours crept within her
(These uninvited guests)
They reached her only in the dark
Climbing ivy, just to feel her

Paler Scorch, of Memory

As if to peel the misty paleness
was to know the brutal scour,
and the curl of a thought dare whisper

Softer tread, the wood could splinter
at her blistered ache of tell
The painting fled into her stride

So the ruby told her lips to hear
the gentle memory of a childhood,
of a curtained moonless sky

Limbo, and the flaking chalk of boundary
To step, to move, beyond the glass…

(And falter, yes I see the smokescreen lilac)

I know the air will strip me of reality
Or is the seesaw in a storm, a fuller sense of me?

Old friends, the rusty chrome, and the cloth to drive the breeze
The staircase and its stories for a rainy contemplation

I feel the axis spin, spin until the edge is closer to my pulse

Outside, and outside in, the dwell…
Tulips bold in brevity, circling a world, shy of all its sentiments

The peeling wood, I wore its eyes in quiet song
Chasing slowly, round in circles tarnished white
and the rust climbed a frame, wishing it was ivy
(as the ghost of a flower mourned)

Humidly, the air
it stole a breeze of human simile
(and all the chrome…
I listened,
as it smiled its vaporous death)

Dissolving thresholds with closed eyes, until the daisies bled their open
I felt the bridge as it crumbled, and watched the lilies lift their roots
There I drowned, in a lake filled sky, beneath the wings of pale reflection