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.

Still Here

I hope you're still here.
Sometimes it feels like you've gone
and I'd be left in tears
wondering if you'll be back
to pick me up when I'm alone.

No Time Left

I'm afraid I can't see you.
Behind the bend where I left
you stand, unaccounted for
by passer-bys and drivers
who overlook and ignore you.

After months of talk and months of joy,
I lose sight of you
behind that small bend by Twining Avenue.
Time flies away and work rears ugly heads to reveal
that we never cared at all.

So goodbye is said
in an obscure place
at the back of my mind,
and I shatter into pieces like broken glass
littered uncaringly
on a cold Autumn's night.

Once Left

It is more the days that were happy
that get to me now. They remind me
of warmth and love that bloomed in spring
only to end as autumn comes to close.
It is when the days are no longer right
and the nights no longer habitable
that I wish that light could come again
and whisk me away to a better place.
Where have you gone when everything fell?
Were you not to be here and hold me tight?
Were you just here, then, to get
all you needed and then leave
me on cold, hard platforms to be bitten
by wind and frost and heartless intent?
I assume so, considering I'm alone,
alone in a room with no windows or holes
to let sunlight in. I wonder where you are
even though you've left; I wonder if you know
that you've left me in sadness.

I Am to You

I think you know me now;
I was the one you met at the pub.
Spring was just coming round
and I turned up, unannounced
and unbeknownst to you
I would become more important
than just a person you ran into.

I think you know me now.
I was the one whose number you got
and the person you tried to know.
I think you know me now.
I was the one who became everything
and eventually became nothing.

I think you knew me then;
I was the person you tried to love
and then the person you tried to leave.
And when we parted ways
down paths which will never meet
I became a memory you want to forget.

Cheats

I saw so many things that day
how memories can slip into the dark
and your hand away from me.
I can still see how there was nowhere to go
except into the woods
where no one went.
I knew you were there to lie to me
and then I would decide
I want nothing to do with you any more.

Blind Behind Doors

Doors closed like coffins

in the dark

in the dark.

Walk through piles of stones

and broken glass

bare foot

in the dark

in the dark.

Cuts on your feet

Sand in your hands;

shredded diaries

scattered words

fall on the ground

before your eyes...

what eyes?
What eyes?

In the dark

can't see, 

don't know where we're going

in the dark

away from this 

on my own 

opening doors

closed like coffins.

Where is my future?

Drunk in unknown

High on anticipation;

you don't know.

We're blind behind doors

like children 

seen not heard,

we see no more

then the nameless doors

which mock our lives

hiding the future.

Where do we go?

Where do we fucking go?

Through the door,

through the door

and we'll be blind like bats

knowing no more

than what we do now.

A Lot of Child

There was a lot of child in him
from gait to talk
to being in his shell;

there was nothing obscure
or hidden in being
and no history to hide;

but again, I feel lonely
and wandering minds, make me
think that maybe, he was left behind.