the garden

golden gates
cut throat pools, precise
always hazy
reverie and drums
switchblade grass
clear waters, mirrors
sleeve drifts
the sunrise, reflections
losing focus
pouring more wine
sweet rhythms
trees, cherub fountains
soft sight
wondering, dreaming
hoping

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Waterlogged

forever daydreams of sleep
lusting for the inbetween
no safe haven in interactions.

toxicity of conversations
planting indeas inside you
slowly flooding all marrow.

waterlogged sense of self
heavy wet cardboard rotting
it sets in as roots grow.

esteem burning with infection
emotions wilting one by one
the bone idle death of you.

Jack, The Time Machine

Jack is a time machine,
a single sip and I’m back,
on the kitchen floor
of an old friend’s house,
or stuck to the dancefloor,
the creaking old wood.
Cigarette ends and techno
and punk rock.

Jack is a time machine,
washing away years,
back to washing away pain.
Crying in the mirror,
drinking alone.
Alone with no north star,
my “idols” never got me,
I looked the wrong way.

Jack is a time machine,
to every old pursuit,
after dancing with my friends.
Blowing guys in car parks,
Jack and cum on my tongue,
diet coke after taste,
lighting up a fag
and slipping away.

Jack is a time machine,
the morning wheeze,
Christmas lights in June,
sheets around my ankles.
A mix CD on repeat,
left spinning all night.
House mates in the next room,
us all with stories to tell.

Jack is a time machine,
fifteen years have passed,
I haven’t touched him in years.
Bringing him to my lips,
the taste of an old friend.
Vaping and thinking,
thinking and thinking.

leave me alone

i can smile all i want
bare bone disingenuously
go fuck yourself
you are horrible
leave me alone
its more than i can bare
leave me out of this
save your bullshit
i have to smile
im trapped here
you dont have to be a cunt
why should i care
leave me alone
civility is not challenging
just fuck off

Chasms

it falls when you’re not watching
it will float there when you do
all wrong and pointless
vast chasms between interactions
interactions that matter
that mean something to you
pain in the drop
rolling slowly in the chasms
prime real estate
for a connection to be built
fewer bonds forged with age
fewer still when pinned down
when accosted
the echo of thought in the chasms
it is a boring sensation
echoes and thoughts and interests
and echoes of thought
either repeat to fade again
or to die in your ear