three of swords

Climbing the peach tree in your grandparents’ backyard

is the first memory you have of falling.

Full from all the nectarines,

you slept through the summer afternoon

and by the time you came to, there were

sixteen stitches in your skull

stopping your brain from leaking out of it.

  Yet you yearned all year long for the opportunity

to climb the tree over and over and over again,

no matter how many times your mother made

out like it might one day mean another trip to A&E.

  The objects of your obsessions aren’t restricted to

now-withered-up nectarine trees anymore, but you

still keep a steady supply of stone fruit,

hoping that the peach pits’ poison finishes

what the tree could not.

Be not afraid, the words fell out. Please be not afraid.

  She spotted the tips of my wings while I watched

her from behind a rock that was put there to decorate

the campsite. She did not scream like Mary had screamed.

She did not beg for mercy like Arthur had done.

  She asked me to approach her, offered me a fresh meal

and the chocolate ran between my sharpened fingers.

The marshmallow melted on my golden tongue.

  Most vibrant of God’s creations, I said,

how do you shine brighter than the galaxy

when you are so minuscule in comparison?

Love is an assisted suicide charge, 

Dressed up as a game of Russian roulette 

Because even if you both play the game right, 

One of you will always want the bullet 

More than the other. 

It's all fun and games 'til someone falls in love, 

That is, unless you're anything like me 

(Which, for your sake, I hope isn't the case). 

Then it's a signed and sealed death wish, 

Except no one wants to shoot you. 

I didn't dodge a bullet, since none were fired, 

Instead we managed five blanks altogether, 

So when the sixth time came around 

I put my head to the barrel of the gun, 

And I begged her to shoot me but she wouldn't.

37 - Is it easier to forgive or forget?

Forget. Damn straight. The second I forgive someone is the second I betray my nature and the worm inside me, that gives me my paracausal abilities which let me get what I want most of the time, consumes me and I die

52 - Do you believe everything happens for a reason?

From a stone-cold apple seed, 

The universe, in its incandescence, 

Was born - singing an age old anthem 

That the entirety of existence 

Is singing along to; you, me and the stars. 

So how lucky are we, 

To have the chance to dance together 

On the largest canvas in the cosmos, 

Leaving shades of purple where 

Our reds and blues collide? 

I'd say we're pretty lucky. 

Even if it's lost on us sometimes, 

It's important to remember that 

Life is fleeting, 

Life is harsh, 

Life is cruel. 

But life is also beautiful.

She looks at me with wildfire eyes, 

Sat on a bench in Central Park 

With birds sitting on her golden halo. 

Flowers bloomed around her bare feet, 

And she sighed at the wilting lilies 

Wrapped around my crooked horns. 

Not to say there's no chemistry here 

Between the pair of us, just that 

I don't know what to do with it. 

"You're going to die like this." 

I scoff and turn away, walking off. 

"I sure as hell hope so."

Crystalline roses outline the dirt path,

Serenading our steps as we trek forward.

Sunlight filters through the blue leaves,

Painting the floor in a navy shimmer.

How much longer? You know I hate walking...

You’re by my side, hands in your pockets,

Laughter on your lips from my stupid joke.

The summer breeze whispers loving words

In our ears as we walk ever onwards.

Yeah, but it’s such a nice day out... we’re almost there anyways.

A fallen angel carrying a shattered halo

And an ascended demon, with one horn 

Broken and the other barely hanging on.

Faeries fly by, gossiping between giggles.

Hey, isn’t your favourite colour purple?

The gods gift us both crowns of aster and

We can’t help but blush at the suggestion.

I smile and pull you closer, my darling,

As the rest of our lives become so clear.

Close second. It’s the colour of your eyes.