Your poetry is lonely. And yet, you write to feel less alone.
You can make the world beautiful just by refusing to lie about it.
The Wasted Words You will forgive me, I hope you don’t mind me saying, I just wanted to add, if you’ve got time and I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, because you should know, before we go any further, we should put everything on the table because the reality is and the truth is and the fact of the matter is, I shouldn’t interrupt but I was wondering and if you know, please tell me, how we manage to say so much, without saying anything at all.
And you almost killed me. But I didn’t die.
You and I could collide, like atoms in some scientist’s wet dream. We could start a new universe together. We could mix like a disease. And if we do, I hope we never get better.
Because art is the word we give to our feelings made public. And art doesn’t worry anyone.
The world made me cold. You made me water. One day we’ll be clouds.
So yes, we could kiss. I could kiss you and you could kiss me. There’s no science, plane ticket or clock stopping us. But if we kiss, it will end the world. And I’ve ended the world before. No one survived. Least of all me.
I can’t hear you unless you speak.
The Scars You Love There are a million ways to bleed. But you are by far my favourite.
I know you’re not here, I can see it in your eyes when we talk. Where ever you are, come back soon.
Only a hard heart, breaks.
You are so patriotic to your heart. It keeps the country together. But it tears the world apart.
Because you look. But you do not see.
You should know that there is something worse than hate and that is unlove. Because hate is anger over something lost, hate is passion, hate is misguided, it’s caring for the wrong things but it is still caring. But unlove, unlove is to unkiss, to unremember, to unhold, to undream, to undo everything that ever was and leave smooth stone behind in its wake. No.
Monday’s obviously a bastard, quite literally as Dad can’t remember what or who he was doing. Tuesday’s temperamental but ok as long as you stay on her good side. Wednesday doesn’t say much and Thursday sometimes hums just to break the silence. They’re in love. Friday’s always wasted and she and Saturday hold each other tightly until their delirium fades.
Everything you do, you pay for. So if you’re going to kiss me, you’d best be prepared to bleed.
The least you could do, is uncross your heart. Unhope to die.
If you can’t let go, you can’t put your heart back in your chest.
I guess I should sat thank you, for cutting all my strings. But if it’s all the same to you, I wish you’d left my wings.