#wi2122

o h

s o t h i s i s h o w i t f e e l s

e c h o i n g e c h o ing ech o in g echo ing echoingecho i n g g g, oh,

oh so this is how it feels,

fighting, flying, taking hold,

self-preservation makes me cold,

an anxiety so old,

it’s like digging up a grave.

you again?

on the tip of my tongue,

“are you going to hurt me?”

tell me quickly,

breathe deep and hit me,

hiding it so thinly,

i could see your hands

wrapped around me

but oh, baby,

you keep me warm,

you keep me happy,

you keep me high and you love it.

like an addict

living without it is…

well, it’s coming, babe.

i’ve seen the smoke

the smell, the choke

of my dying hope

it burns your throat

i can’t bring myself to cry,

it’s unlike me.

where are you?

(where you might be)

sacrificial serendipity,

an angel sent

to hurt me.

do it, babe,

you ask too much of me

don’t think you understand

how much of me is left

how much i gave for free

the question you asked

hurt more than what you did

i wish you’d laid down

and died instead.

i should have died.

i dont know why

i'm the last one alive

don't doubt you loved

me in a way of your own

you didn't love me enough

i wish you’d asked me

the first three times

and saved me the pain

but i answered in silence.

the silence you live in

the broken pieces that shattered

sweet dreams, i miss you,

sometimes my own skin

tastes like you. so i chew

myself open in case you're there.

i like your kisses, i like your hands,

i like how attentive you are to me

in a way i can barely comprehend.

do you know i ache to reciprocate,

to tear you from an imagined thing,

and fill you up with all my pain?

tiger, monarch, admiral,

such grand and fierce names

for the gentle, glowing feelings

that dance inside like tiny flames.

camellia, dahlia, zinnia,

wild blooming in my chest,

photosynthetic memory

i saw an empty billboard 

on my city's tired streets,

blue wide open, reminding

me of a painted sky that speaks.

she's the architect of beauty,

of a world so hard to find,

light that makes you notice

all the life you've left behind.

your lungs are full of silver, 

lined and loaded in a gun,

your breath held in my palm,

held against the winter sun.

what wets your lips is sacred

in a desert, sand sting tongue,

collecting tears like diamonds 

as the siren’s song is sung.

streaks of ink, a paper tear,

sweet velvet skin of fruit,

clandestine embroidery

undone, pulled up by the root.

smoke and embers and ash.

and a garden growing truth,

the blushing dusk does taste

like the years of your youth.

you are rich in gold, my dear,

your duchy above the trees, 

cascading, ever-chasing,

like waking from a dream. 

a crown for the poorest man

and a procession in his name,

a firefly dances on your neck

on the sixteenth night of may. 

do you wish you were looking

east, waiting, what will rise?

you’ve had a hand in august,

and all the june’s and the july’s.

but you’re here beside me

and for you, i might realise.

in bliss, the sky doesn’t change,

do you bite your lip?

do you fidget when you think?

do you lean on your hip,

close your eyes when you drink?

do your hands fit next to mine?

do your fingers bind like thread?

does your gaze wander to the sky

when there's too much in your head?

will the sun shine when you laugh?

do you try to hide a frown?

do i stand a fair chance,

i said,

‘you look like my future

and you’d look good in my bed’

he laughed,

ofcourse he laughed,

quietly hush now do you smell the smoke? someone’s burning out there are they alone?

tracks in the forest follow the bloody footprints feral a creature unburdened by sins

take care out there maybe dangerous house made of bones their grim purpose