I don't want to see you

I don't want to see you anymore.
Disappear around the corner
so that you seem farther away
and when I return
please make sure you're gone.

I can't see your face even if I wished;
it seems to have smeared
at the back of my mind, like mud
just washed up by rain
and you are no more.

I don't want to see you anymore.
Disappear around the corner
so that you seem farther away
and when I return
you'll be gone.

Fireworks for November

Fireworks be lit on November nights
and as I watch them disappear,
disperse in the cold, I feel saddened,
knowing nothing lasts forever.

Writing Stories

Come and write stories for me.
Tell me what will happen,
tell me what will become
tell me what we will be.

Follow skies for the future
and watch as life rolls under
but take care you hold on tight
or I might just let you go.

Please write stories with me
I want to you to be here
and be the character of my heart
which will live on forever.

Topple

Ceasing

It's knowing we could cease overnight
and by morning, be no more
than pasts and forgotten figments
pencilled away in hidden diaries
to be burnt in winter's flame.

To watch its ashes rise and litter the air
would remind me of how engulfed
in grief and sadness I would be
and how the words I carefully articulated
would float aimlessly away from me.

Flames can't take it away from me -
they stay like bloodstains on fresh sheets
and hover at the back of my mind
like ghosts ready to haunt
and forgetting is no option which
can be attained...not with the depths
we've created, not with
the hearts we've formed and now
have to break

________________________________________

How do we find broken glass in pockets
ready to graze and cut
when we rummage through all we have left?
How do we find a way out
when all we have are
memories which lie hidden and hurting?

The Lies I Create

Let's talk about all the lies I've created;
there are lies on my face
lies in my words
and lies in the hands that shake yours.

They lie at the fingertips
that pen and type
words which hide everything
and express nothing.
They lie in the mouth
which conjure stories
to disguise yesterday's tears
which you caused.

The lies I form are stories
which come from me and you.
They shrivel and mingle
with language and thoughts
to bring to you an account
more obscure and hidden
than the very truth itself.

And in sadness,

we are.