Cold

Oh god it’s the most terrible hollow feeling,
This loneliness.
It eats your core, your confidence and your courage.
It leaves beads of self doubt and depression against your skin, tiny irritating stones that can never be fully brushed away.
This creature, chews up my organs and leaves me like a shaking wet dog abandoned on a pavement.
I just want to feel wanted, loved, adored.
I want to be cradled in strong arms and kissed by loving lips.
I’m only touched by this ghost and it’s so cold.
The coldness that makes warmth seem impossible.

Foreign fauna

When nights are so warm
It feels alien.
The foreign fauna violently erupting heavenly sparks of scent.
It Swims through nostrils and cleanses dusty toes.

Your absent kisses throwing me to the night.
It’s dry heat of an apocalyptic air.
It’s Beads of salt bobbing down browning skin

The thoughts of you.
Calming.
Wanting.
Aching.

To be touched and tasted.
To be enamoured
Endeavoured
Devoured,
To the bone.

Thoughts other worldly and lost on a second.
Heat against a window
Punctured spiderwebs
Lost in an instant
Beautiful and never again.

The knife

 

If you haven’t had your soul ripped apart by poetry,

You haven’t experienced poetry.

 

If you haven’t had your soul ripped apart by love,

You haven’t experienced love.

Nude ripped, eyes torn, cheeks chewed,

Sitting on cold tiles with sunburnt skin,

I often think of you,

Sitting opposite a flame,

Turning silverware in hardened hands.

You’d never touch the brown flesh on your plate,

You hate the blood,

The carcass smell,

The flaked deep texture,

But my flesh,

My heart,

You’d take that knife and tear.

Shred through the veins and open it’s vessels,

Flopping, lifeless tubing rubber between gnashing teeth.

The glory of the tormented lovers,

The knife so sharp it rings.

The shrill beneath used china plates.

 

Up

White perfect skin,
Glowing in the darkness,
I’m paralysed,
Illuminating.
Half wanting to bury myself,
Half wanting to flee.

A hot white beauty,
Muscles under flesh,
Tensing like temples,
Hands uncontrollably reaching,
Towel dropped,
Heart dropped,
Pride dropped.

Growling groins.
Painful exhaustive flashing,
Rolling along floorboards that creak with
Your elegant weight.
Vivacious hands,
That I need,
I want
I love,

But then,
Stop.
Panic.
Towel up,
Chin up,
Knickers up.
You.
Again,
Back up,
Those creaking stairs,
To her.

The Professional

He told me that you would break my heart,

He said you didn’t really care,

You’d never in a million years leave her.

He said that I was a stupid kid

Icing on your cake

He said it would be foolish of me to wait.

To keep my heart hanging for you

He said he knew, he’d done the same,

Six years she’d been waiting

And never was anything, ever -changing.

She had crawled away with more damage

Then I could imagine

And he didn’t care,

So he’s telling me straight he’s telling me now,

Take my eyes, my smile, my brow,

They’re too good for the dark corner,

Don’t be satisfied with the second- rate kiss

You’re armed,

You know what you’re doing,

He can smell the death of me brewing.