Willard of Tuffelton

It's OK, I wouldn't remember me,

It's hard to make an impression

when you're focused on not being seen.

Do you know what I mean?

If you read my poems,

then please remember what they meant.

If I felt I had failed then I'd pack it all in.

So please, let's make that the deal

Remember how I made you feel.

I'm a fighter; alone

And there's a sickness in my bones.

But in my head, there is beauty

And it's shown in my work,

Don't remember the man you don't see.

Here's to the words that I sold.

The books people are willing to pay for.

Poems I wrote and got laid for.

All the money I'll spend on

Things that I'm bent on.

To my rent

My walls

My hard wood floors

The body of your scrutiny

Rests upon my teenage wound

Opening it.

Cascading carmine memories,

Cover the callous skin of my wrist.

Old voices, decisions and insecurities

Chase back to my head

Like a bang from a pistol.

Ringing my ears

Staining my eyes.

A scar faded.

I came back

I embellished

I only tried to help

Writing is a joke

Writing is my life

I might catch a break

As if it were the flu.

When all hope is lost

and time is runny short.

Quickly join me,

For a midnight walk.

We have till morning,

look up to space.

I'll match constellations

With the freckles on your face.

They will come in droves

With fire and sharp metal.

They've come for the undead queen

and the unclean spirit.

The sand drops from the hour glass,

You recite my orders.

Then look to the moon

And I sink my teeth in your neck.

The blood drips from my chin

Like juice from a pear.

I had no idea

That you'd taste so sweet

You drop

I whimper

The sun rises

I turn to ash.

Poetic to die

We were just friends at the start, Now we are together in our special place.

Where we'd sit and read poetry And laugh at how edgy we tried to be.

It wasn't long before we had a go at sex, But it was considered a benefit.

Now you admit that whilst the moaning seemed sincere, I had no idea what I was doing.

It was a comfort, that was the deal; Shaking hands as we lied in bed.

Then we smoked a pack of cigarettes and read each other poetry again.

We cut our teeth on relationships, Drinking through pain and using tears as ink.

So I guess it was my fault, I was the first to open up.

When I talked about the faults in my dreams, You lied and said I was the best you'd ever seen.

I didn't think that I could break your heart, But my lack of though is my biggest fault.

Now we are sitting awkwardly, Looking out from our special place.

You ask if I have any poems to read, I joke that these days I don't play for free.

Tall and sweaty and covered in hair.

Skinny, not pretty with eyes rubbed bare.

Hidden beneath a hood, ears plugged by music.

Cut off from strangers, afraid they'll lose it.

A dance of avoidance.

A sprint of anxiety

And a perpetual feeling of dread.

The blood won't clot quick enough

I'm tired of drinking tonic and gin

My head hurts more than it did

One small solace in this typical life

Everything's fallen apart

Like a pen that's run out of ink

If this trauma takes me and I don't wake up,

Promise me you'll tell them I went

In a much better state than my sleep.

Tell them I went fighting, striking and biting.

Spin them a tale of heroics and failure.

Convince them I lived a life of adventure.

That I was a candle that burned twice as bright.

That I flew too close to the sun.

Anything other than 'my death was just boring.'

Bare feet on the cold bathroom tiles,

Stained make up wipes in the sink.

She slows her breathing,

Stares at the bruises on her wrist

And wipes a few more tears from her cheeks.

Now she's in pieces

But she won't give up

Because she knows,

That her friends won't let her forget

That she made a mistake.

That she shouldn't have trusted him

in the first place.

Now she's sad and alone.

Hallelujah.

We all saw

My strength is nothing but an illustration. Carefully picked words from a brain connected by a strand, to a body ready to die.

I lied, I've always been two world's. A mind contrasting like heaven and hell, but the hell is the only thing that feels real.

My life is just stained paper. Some will say it's ruined; others, a masterpiece.

Still alive

I need time,

I would do a lot for money

But I try to keep my pride if I can.

I met you

In my bar.

Thought you'd give me what I need

But you look for the fault in my dreams,

Like me.

I am a ghoul,

I'm unkind.

I look for war,

I work in crime

And my eyes are dull as stone.

I am cold

And unwell,

I have no blood,

Only fuel

To keep from a proper point of view.

My body is weak,

Soon my heart will give up on me.

I'm scared of what I'll be,