Colourblind

Colourblind

The world is grey

and I am numb

if not numb

I am drowning

if not drowning

I am suffocating

if not suffocating

I am lost

if not lost

I am found

with a razor in my hand

and an urge to press it down

to reclaim this body found

but if I am not bleeding red

the world is grey

and I am numb.

Feeding the Ghosts

Feeding the Ghosts

Dear my demons,

it’s me again

just a quick note

as since we last spoke

I’ve done some more thinking

and I’ve come to see

that the one blocking

the door to your exit

is me.

See, I’ve left it wide open

but inside my head

is a maze

that I built

in the hope

to avoid your gazes

but instead

of keeping me safe

we’re both lost in here too,

stubbornly refusing to move.

And I’ve learnt

that you won’t go

if you’re asked,

I’ve tried being polite,

I’ve tried casting spells

or blasting you with a couple of good days

till I’m screaming at you to fuck off

and it’s me that’s got the headache.

Because I’m screaming at me,

your presence is me,

you come from me,

you’re the parts of me

I’ve decided are too painful

to be part of me

because I don’t want you

in here [mind] feeding this [heart].

But whilst you’re still my enemy

we’re all starving of something

so maybe it’s time I listened

to what you’ve got to say

and do something less predictable

and ask you to stay.

I’m not saying we’ll be friends here

this just isn’t worth the fight

and I might as well

get to know you

if you’re planning on popping in

through every hard time in my life.

And you’re pretty fucking persistent at that,

and maybe that’s something important,

like how I don’t give you enough credit

for still dropping by

and coming to see me

when no matter how hard you try

to pass a message onto me

all I do is my best

to ignore you,

I mean,

that’s a pretty shit job.

Look, I don’t think

I’ll get this right first time,

I’m still trying to come to terms

with the fact that you’re mine

and it’s pretty hard to face you

when all I’ve done is wanted you gone,

but in the spirit

of trying to love

every part of myself,

whilst I grab us a slice of cake

do you mind putting the kettle on?

To the Boy who Lives

To the Boy who Lives

To the boy

who fell asleep

on my bedroom floor

in too much pain

to lie next

to the one you adore.

To the blood

that you shed

for a sense of relief,

how your skin

bears the scars

of your numbness beneath.

To the tears

that we’ve shared

when you’ve scraped through the fight

-ing your thoughts

that say peace

is the end of your life.

To the courage

with which you face

the depths of your mind;

victory is in the living,

and my love,

you’re alive.

The Weight of Space

The Weight of Space

‘Maybe you should take a nap’

I say

hoping it will confine your sadness

to just one room of the house

or how with your sleep

we find temporary peace.

You wonder how

I can spend so long

lying in the bath.

It’s the only door with a lock on.

Sometimes it’s my only escape.

If rooms had porous walls,

like a sponge

I’d beg them to soak up all your melancholy,

then saturated,

let it trickle out to the ground

and water seeds

who will blossom in its memory.

If it were mine,

I would give the sun to watch you glow,

because I’d rather live in darkness

my whole life

if it would just keep you warm.

Élan Vital

Élan Vital

Is it up to the universe

to bring about the circumstances

that present me with the conditions to thrive?

Is it not equally up to me

to live out my innermost hopes

and present myself to the circumstances?

Self-assured this armour keeps me safe

it cushions not the fall

from every failed pursuit towards freedom.

Shackled to this psyche;

I

weigh

me

down.