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I get a chill, when it’s quiet

missing shadows whilst counting


I think of you and wonder how you’re

doing – if perhaps, life is bowling cherries

or lemons

Do you think of me, too?

A surge of addiction 

A sadness dances when exhaling 

I think of you. Time and time again

The Hypocrite

I search for visions
from eyes; windows to their souls
whilst hoping my own is secreted 
deep within some sacred tomb

I make music. Strum strings, creating melodic vibrations to drown out
the sound of screaming ideas – only to push pedals to embrace them; riding free in the wind
where they tune in with a frequency worth my concentration

I want to be heard – listened to; a voice in veins that reaches the source

Yet I am lost in dreams of
imagination when words drip
from mouths – wasted intentions
for my own heart, whispering before they finally die at my feet

Drops of youth

Do you remember those days
when spring sprung from the snow
crevise and anything was possible?

Laughter lines lay dormant 
and only its sound left traces
of smiles in the air – carried on wings
to warm the coldest of hearts

We’d be running. Running or skipping 
and never felt the ache, save the one for the boy two doors down
whose years outnumbered mine own, leaving
him to see nothing but petals on a
pleated skirt
and puppy dog eyes. 

I breathe you in, like yesterday 

Perfume strained from flowers, yes…

I like the smell of all that

Pretty Little Lie

I once knew a story so well

that I loved it; willingly enchanted 

by the sweet scent of deceit

that made my heart sing songs 

with a hypnotic beat – based

implicitly on duplicitous stammerings; hammering 

tiny smiles in pockets

of pain. I fed it, I fed it

and I fed it – this beast; I, no more

than its vessel

Its contents so indisguishable with mine own

that a solution was created – to hate 

dispicable truths

and smile through tainted fables

until the time came to admit defeat 

and write a line or two of

my own


I took a tear from a 

pillow, planted in soil – come the morrow

We’ll have willows weeping

and standing 


I gave a handful of miss me

that you mistook for some kiss me

and now we’re staring

at mess of  both of us

we’ve left upon 

the carpet.

I dance too much, I have the steps  

but two sore, left feet 

Twirling in the kitchen whilst you

practise standing – making 

tea from the leaves

I like that you make it strong

but just not so sweet

and that is all I said

as you poured it over 

my miss me, kiss me

Leaving me alone

to clean

Complicated confusion

I never quite felt it, never gave chance

for roots to tangle at depth

Like dancing

but never quite knowing the steps

Heart breaker. Blood and always 

so much mess

Day dreaming, seeing, building 

time machines, A

constant emotion cleaner;  smelling of bleach and smoke

choking and smiling smiles…

as big as

Hadrian’s Wall

Small Talk

Don’t talk small to me – I want

ships at sea and the tall tales of Sailors, Tinkers

who travel through their time

Give me secrets

whispered through the fabric of 

pillows; your ocean floor thoughts.

Fill the space between us with

planets and theories; give me oral 

that leaves me breathless

and needing to be captivated

time and time again


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