A Discord of a Friend

I didn't think goodbye had any meaning until I met you.

A thousand words but I couldn't pick one, that spoke about the damage that's been done.

You're someone I can't let go, someone who won't disappear by will alone.

And I wish you had known

That everything had a connection to a suffering that poured storms of rain

That smothered the ground along with the dust, along with our trust.

I always thought 'Til I see you again'.

But you've gone, leaving me to blame pain that is a constant arrival on platform one,

A timetable strictly woven to begin over and over

'Til the birds cry 'Tis really over!'

And I too am gone.

We broke the house

You wrote me from a book of disorder.

You stole an identity

painted my name with a tattered brush

long, old, and worn.

Paint thrown thick and black

onto walls, onto paper,

onto stone, brick, and a cold house

yellow wallpaper no longer kind, gentle

the place that you longed for

torn, ripped, decayed and unloved.

The paint drips onto your shoes

as you remember where the first cracks appeared.

But you don't remember how.

Or what.

Except, the hate you have of me.

Grown, kept, nourished

by desperation.

That poison
My dear, it is called addiction.

You cannot resist to taste and paste

my name like lyrics to explain your hate.

To everything purple and green, yellow and red,

you compare me to everything you love and dread.

For all to see and share and learn

the evil you see

the satisfaction you feed

desperate

to help support your sadness as it burns.

Hungry child weeps.

Amoré

I want to share this moment's warmth

And sing it's softness with a breath so sweet,

that it would curl around you and hold you tight.

If only I could reach those strings and play those notes

you so easily release into the air,

that transcribed from your voice, your touch, your love,

locks me into a synethesia of rich colour

that bursts beneath my feet

and keeps me         floating.

Silence on the Borderlines

Logical annotations

To fixed memoirs

Lay on the table.

So subtly label

The experiences into emotion.

Of toil and struggle,

And the laughs of faces

That no longer

Smile.

Lost decaying touch

Fell dead with colour

And leak,

The intended saturation

now weak

And pretending never to exist.

Words we never said,

Words we were too afraid to say

Once we said good bye

Rot on the raining fence.

Stuck, hooked on the spikes between us,

Blowing away in the wind.

You and I

In no more words than

An angry whisper,

Killed the garden we shared,

And slaughtered the keeper.

So that it would grow with weeds,

And then into nothing.

But sometimes I catch your eye,

As you weep in between the trees,

Still tangled by my thorns

Still afraid of new seeds.

And I have sown many more

Bad roses that have wilted.

But when I look into the sky

I see a world untouched by my hand.

I see a world where birds fly,

And colours sing in infinite prose.

Affixed associations,

But escapist intentions

Burn paper by moonlight.

Romanticised hallucinations

Or tangible realisations

Softly suggest

A new way to move from the chess board

Into a snug chair by the fireplace.

High bookshelves stand grand on all the walls,

Crisp, tender new words,

Kiss unknown philosophy gently.

I feel the waves of cold sea

Touch warm toes

Naked hands no longer curled around

Empty glass bottles.

Instead, those bottles are buried in the sand,

Their labels still on the outside

But the corners begin to peel away until

They are all the same,

No longer distinguished.

And that's how I will remember,

The box with your name

that will always hold

All of those memories.

But no longer painful,

As I cut off the canopy

and let the sun fall onto my face.

I still peer over the fence,

And hope that someday,

You too will see the sky

But in your own way.

And feel the gentle breeze,

Not choked by leaf and dirt,

But calm and sweet

In your orange lion mane.

Wounds of love

CRUNCH!

Teeth snare

Encoding data

Transmit

Into the apple.

Pulse of sound

Replays.

CRUNCH.

Teeth snare

Into apple.

Then withdraw,

Dividing flesh

To attack core.

Drunk

On bitter sweet sour

Green blood.

A thirst, a devious hunger,

For another taste

Of a broken structure.

CRUNCH.

Teeth snare

Into apple.

Another--

CRUNCH!

Fangs dig

Into apple.

Lips kiss leaking apple.

DUMP!

Remains discarded

Deep, dark bin.

Diagnosed silence for a little too long.

Weep, melody weep.
The drifting keeps on sowing borders.
Weep, melody weep.
The forestry is growing,
And the horizon sinking
With silhouettes of grey.

Nylon Strings

There was a parcel left for me yesterday;

Dressed in red ribbon and fancy writing.

I had came back from work,

Weary bones, weary mind.

The house was full of dust,

It hadn't be tidied for a while.

I took a sigh, turned on the kettle,

And sat down, unwrapping the beige paper.

Sitting inside was an old cassette,

No note, no name.

With a little hesitation, I plugged in my stereo,

Put the cassette inside, and without another thought,

I pressed play.

I closed my eyes as I recognised your honest voice

Singin' our truths,

Along your refreshing beat.

A cold stream of music tickled my ankles,

Making my stuffy surroundings blur and disappear.

I stepped forward into the ocean,

And let my body free-fall onto the surface,

A splash of colour as the water swallowed me,

And I can began to sink deep,

To a world of water; of the tears I had cried,

The laughter I had once sung,

All the smiles and the frowns,

The warmth and the coldness of my heart,

Intertwined.

Your lyrical exhibit sang to me,

Flooded my surroundings with bright coral

And strange shadows I could not recognise.

My body sits still with a lowered head,

As I explore and swim on,

Your beautiful waves of rhythm,

The seaweed waves along,

In total harmony.

The ocean so expansive,

My sorrows hadn't left me,

But I could no longer cry.

I watch above and around,

The melody is the heart of the ocean,

The sea bed wild with chords so grand,

And your essence,

The streams of light from the surface,

From my life's aquarium of emotion.

Revealing old memories,

Newer hopes, greater times,

A promise of a world full of everything,

And as the music fades,

I see a room not full of clutter,

But a home.

Reckless words

Ain't like that any more.On the floor,
Near the bookshelf
By the stairs.
Fourth step. Fourth step doesn't smile.
But fourth step never smiled.

Quiet words,
Whispers
Thoughts
A thunder.
Simple things, a faint fire,
Burns like a scream,
A preying liar.
She ain't crazy,
Oh she ain't crazy-
But the heart's desire.
A drenched flier
Sayin'
I love you.

A mist.
A flood.
All honesty,
Written in mud.
Complicated knots
Entangle muscle, memory, mind.
Pulls me in a dark, dark cave.
Leaves my warmth behind.
Oh so subtle,
Your gentle breeze in the shape of your smile.
But then my breath,
It's empty and vile,
My words
Just
Spoken
With a rotten tongue.
But it's not just a mistake,
Because you're someone.

I'm sorry.

(But there's more to that.
They're just reckless words,
Meaningless birds
That sing no notes
in the Garden.
Invisible feathers,
invisible everything.
But let them sing,
In whatever colour you choose,
The sense they bring,
That I refuse
To say I'm always right,
Always bright.
Always alight
With kind thoughts and...
Understanding tones.
Understanding glows,
Of polite sentences.
Yourself is my importance,
And that's why I say it.
Just like that.)

Hanging on words that no longer rhyme.

So there I was.
Standing.
Just waiting.
Listening. Hoping. Longing;
For its voice to return,
To a familiar tone.
Not the angry one
That was displayed in front of me.
But all there was
Were thorny vines,
Creeping. Surrounding. Binding.
Wrapping around my insides,
Like a poisonous snake,
It’s words leaking into my veins,
Like a foul dye emptied into water.
Every new sentence
Began with an uglier word,
Distant. Cold. Heartless.
Is what they wanted to say.
But that isn’t what they said.

Stone stares with blank face,

Blackbirds tweet it's usual phrase.
No meaning in the song,
Just an intention to make the photograph
A forgotten memory.
She’s not like that, anymore. Anymore.

A Wonderful Pair of Silver-blue Eyes

There was once a boy of fourteen,

Standing by the road

Watching leaves chase his feet,

As they ride the April wind.

For a moment, he becomes alone,

Blossom settles onto the ground,

And inside the hood of his favourite coat.

His silver-blue eyes watching the world,

From where he stood.

In the distance, the faint sound of engines

snorting fumes on the main road,

And the seagulls yelling irregular tunes

To the cloudy sky; of which was of a grey melody.

But his smile was warm,

His bright eyes forever shining,

For there was the most beautiful song,

Singing inside his heart.

The Desk I

It's late again, and I can't help thinking about the many times I was close to you. My dear friend. The candle burns and casts a shadow on my desk. I relate more to the shadow than the flame now, your distance is so far as to sit in an entirely different world. Sometimes your friends tag your photos online, photos of happy smiles with people I don't recognise. I guess time moves on, and your shadow moves further away. I would contact you, but other than for the sake of loneliness I wouldn't know what to say. Maybe I'll wait next month and say happy birthday. But that'll make me just another message, a sentence with no real meaning. I don't want to be just another person you met some time ago, but I'm afraid to admit that some friends come and go. But just so you know, a reply from you would make my day, don't be afraid to say “I miss you” sometime soon.

Box

Imagine everything we suffer goes into a large box.

Our physical illnesses,

Mental anxieties,

All the pain and the depression,

Everything, into the box.

I'd carry this box for you my dear friends,

But alone it's too heavy for me to carry.

However, I'll carry as much as I can,

Even if on the days when you can only carry a little,

I'll always try to lift the box.

Even if it gets heavier,

And even if we all get a little more weaker,

We are strong because we've made a box together,

Something we can share when the other is down.

And with the spare hand, we can pick each other up again.

Just don't forget that this special box is always here,

So there is nothing you need to hide.

No matter what it is,

It's our box,

So it's yours to use as much as mine.

Older Stuff

I've always used writing as one of the ways to deal with emotion and reasoning. In particular
'It began with a card', it helped me to figure out a way to deal with anger, and as cheesy as it sounds, to have some kind of sympathy and forgiveness at the end. 
Most of the time I use my own emotions to write expressively, probably 'The Rumour' was my most 'angry' poem/rant. When I read it I remember the anger I had felt - and even though I firmly believe in forgiveness and letting go of the past... Remembering your experiences and emotions which made 'you' at the time yourself and explained what your past self is like is important.
------------------------------------

It began with a card

 And so it read...

                Fly!   If you want to.

You can if only you want to!

Fly without strings – nothing to catch your fall!

Say their name and no reply,

But you can damn well FLY!

Fly as high as you can – so no one can see you.

Fly over to visit – so they don’t have to come to you.

It’s all because they’re holding you in their heart...

When it’s convenient.

And they’ll let go, when it’s just as practical.

So lets fly!

Fly over to say hello, how are you?

Such bland conversation with no meaning,

The demand of thinking so demeaning,

Would you remember my name, if it wasn’t written down?

Somewhere on your desk, is there a note ---

Remember her name, on that day, write a card, make it

say...

Fly! If you want to.

 -Only-, if you want to.

Fly one way, one direction.

Fly my way, a grand dictation.

Your only wish, is my decision,

Your wings fly towards me,

Like it’s my mission

I have to say it was kind of you,

 To think of me so fondly,

 Such happy memories you describe,

 When you saw me as a baby,

 Did you remember the colour of my eyes?

 Did you watch them grow and change?

 It’s easy now to see my face,

 New photos online to replace,

 The old ones you never had,

 The ones you never asked for.

I don’t think I’ll fly the course,

I’m eighteen now, I see through your cloud.

I won’t play along any more,

Though I'll remain at the same place,

To return your once in a blue moon messages,

And your birthday wishes and kisses.

I know you're busy, I know you have your own life.

But if only you knew how wrong it was,

To think I can so freely fly.

-------------------------------

A true friend never drops a stone.

No, no, just no more. She can't say yes any more.
Burning flames, light the stone,
Never mind that, leave it alone.
Go back to the crowd, it's easy that way.
Abandon the flames, take it away.
You walk, you go, you leave, you know,
That stone gonna burn, gonna burn through the snow.
Let it melt away, forget it's decay,
She can't yes anyway. Any more. Any day.
She don't care, she's free now.Free from that small little stone,
A small little stone that's going to burn,
No love, no regret, no wish, no debt,
As long as she's not bound from that tiny stone,
She's fine, she's happy, she's alone.As long as she can abandon the stone.

But when that stone's flame extinguish,
By one true friend.
By one one true distinguish.
The little stone will remember,
Who set it on fire, and who saved her.

One small stone you could not save.
One small regret you have made.
------------------------------

The Rumour

After two years your whispers have turned into a direct scream,
That leaves me shivering,
And hurt.
I find myself in the dark room you seem so eager to push me into,
Because I am not you.
Because I am not like you at all.
Do you like me pretending not to hear,
your comments that you so loudly preach to eager listeners? Of your so called tales of my life, that you call actual 'history'?
Are you so brave in fact,
that every so often I can hear my name,
I turn to see eyes looking at me and mouths closed.
I turn away.
And you continue.
Is it easy because I'm open minded? Because I'm so gullible? That I were to think that you were not leading me to this dark, cold room,
but to a grassy field were perhaps, we could all just get along?
No.
That's not how you work is it? I've learnt now. And I'm disappointed but...
I open the door and leave the dark room.
There is that field ahead of me – but it doesn't involve you. It's far more nicer than that.
Sitting in a circle are my friends – amazing friends. They speak louder words that you, and they have honest eyes.
They are true to nature, and true to me. I haven't needed to care any more, about your deadly remarks.
The ones that leak poison, the ones that hurt again, and again like a wasp's sting.
Because my friends are the cure, the remedy and the sun. They remove the darkness, and now you're affect on me has gone.

---------------------------

My ShoeBox

My shoebox has no windows.
My shoebox has no light.
And now my shoebox has a lid,
That is wedged on tight.

In my shoebox there are moments.
That one cannot share.
Of things like smiles and voices,
From everywhere.

I know that some people may not understand
The box I'm carrying around.
I know that some people do understand
How tightly I hold things close by me.

(They whispered about effort, distraction, lack of concentration.
They whispered about clothes, face, sexuality.
They whispered about things, they knew I could hear.
And they whispered about things, they thought I couldn't.
What hurt most?)

I also know that its already too late
To change what has been happening of late.
But I needed that time, to prepare
To be strong and kill that nightmare.
And continue...

So soon after, I will try harder.
I'll be as strong as I can.
I will practice, know and master.

And: Then I will build and make
A new shoebox for me.
And this one, will be just as precious
With every good single memory.
With my new 'obsession' embedded into me,
Letting go won't be easy.

And I won't let my shoebox ever die.

Dear friend,

I'm going to miss you.
I'm going to miss you a lot.

You're a friend I've shared such great memories that I will always treasure and will take with me wherever I go. You are exciting, unique, and filled with unlimited kindess. You're so dang friendly to people, I hope you continue to make friends and you have an exciting new adventure. Oh. Make sure you remember that. Don't forget that you're an adventurous spirit - that part of you I know will never change. Never give up and always keep fighting. Good luck and be happy.

See you later.

The Monster and a Game of Chess.

You say that you are mean,

        That you are a bad person,

                  Who uses people,

                            For your own gain.

And you say this behind your clever spectacles,

And your handsome stare.

Usually facing between my shoulders, but somewhat beside my head.

Your mind is thinking of a distant person,

Who you can't quite touch.

I wish I could give you the link, but I only got in the way.

My foolish desire for you to be happy,

Led me to give you such ideals there were beyond your hand.

It is because of me that you suffered, and will suffer.

Because I am the mean person that you so think you are.

I know what it takes to be truly mean;

One must act blindly, become reckless, become foolish.

You act only with immense thought.

Even if you're actions are selfish,

They are not irrational.

You know who your friends are, and you recognise that friendship.

I don't even see the faces on the pawns I throw forward.

And then when I do,

It is often too late.

A few regrets that I burden,

Are using those who are honest and truly kind,

In a bitterly twisted game.

You have a clean and colourful path,

Even if you see only grey.

One who has painted so much anger and caused conflict,

can recognise and only admire a picture of serenity.

I touch your image for a moment,

and see that I marked the canvas.

I am decaying your wonderful gallery,

With a sickening burden of darkness.

I should leave, but I don't know anywhere else,
That burns a welcoming fire so brightly,

As you.

My friend

I wanna sing,
In caramel blues,
Holding your hand,
Streetwalkin' through the town.
Rooftops sing along with daytime city birds.
Ol' smell of dust and dirt,
Taint the ice cream parlours with a lively fume.
Cup of coffee,
Down the street.
Smilin' all the way home.
Living a life with you.

Sometimes it's simple things.

I used to call you everyday.
You were amazing.
Thank you.

Twisted World

You were sick. And I tried all I could, but I couldn't fix you.

Your broken pieces covered the ground,

And I couldn't bare to look any more... So I...

Painted them. With as many colours as I could.

Feeling that it wasn't enough,

I placed bows on your arms,

And glitter on your feet.

I drew very carefully on your hands,

Little pictures of birds and angels.

And before I knew it,

The pieces I loved so much were beautiful.

And then I realised, that you too,

covered me with stars.

I now look in the mirror, and you stand beside me.

Despite living in a twisted world,

We make the sky look beautiful.

To live

Lets not grow to be beautiful.

Lets grow to be happy.

Let us colour the wonderful canvas we have been given.

The final picture is yet to come.

Beautiful Girl

I saw her.

And she was beautiful! In everything!
In sound, in face, in warmth!

I could walk by her side and it was wonderful!

Such a kind and happy time,

To mask the hidden shadow in my heart.

It wasn't escapism you gave me,

But an overpowering light.

So meaningful.

The lantern turns cold again because it is weak.

But I will remember when it lit up bright.