Day Thirty

April 30, 2012

Lace & Poison


I. the lace-maker

hid his broken hands in his trench-deep
pockets, fingernails bitten down
to calloused skin, until a packet mix
of life crept up and kissed the
back of his neck with malice.

lines beneath his eyes soaked up
the straying ghosts, running away in
screaming delight,

 ….the light has never shined
….. so bright and you can’t even see it.

II. the poison-mixer

blurted his
secrets into inky
depths of pain –

pieces of
smoke drifts in
his face as he
inhales skies
of death.

the stars shrieked
supernovas across
the universe:

. walk away again, death-bringer.

III. the crossroads

approached as he wrapped
bandages around his dislocated fingers,
breathing clouds into the air as
the stars sung their song in silent

he wound lace across his forehead
to stop a gash into the brain from bleeding –
it stained like red wine,
blooming like a poppy, gushing
black-red mysteries drying in the
sweet air.

 ….. fly away to a peaceful
 ….. place, hide away in the hollow of
 ….. a gnarled tree.

IV. and the pieces

fade out
as the scent of
poison turns
around the corner
and grins
at a man wrapped
in lace and spider

the wind howls
a rotten song
of unfamiliar
amongst the
midnight hour.

and raspy voices
cry with
intensity hidden
in indifference.

. ‘there is a better way to die
. than lace and blood;
. have you ever tried poison?’

and he offered a hand
………. of fatal veins.


Day Twenty-Nine

April 29, 2012



dear friend –
let me protect you, okay?
I don’t like to watch
you hurting.

Day Twenty-Eight

April 28, 2012



when the sun comes up, there is nothing more than a map
to be deciphered, written in bright, scary ink, bathed in the purest
of sunlight my eyes will ever have the grace to see in this failing, short lifetime –

it is such an early morning but already i am lost amongst the criss-
crossing roads, weaving together like the threads of time, connecting
everything from blood and love and passion and pain
until it is all screaming at each other, tied to each other, sick of each other.


and you said,
well, your sense of direction has always been hopeless, but how am i to save you
when you can’t even tell me the colour of the trees or the sound of the birds or the cries
of the baby next door, waking up far too early?

i told you that understanding is just three small letters from


the messenger has come to scribe another unbreakable map, no street names,
no houses, just endless roads, splintered and broken and littered with potholes
to trip up stupidly sleep-deprived, desperate and worn down people
like me.


i fear sometimes that the map is not to scale
and that each centimetre of red line has a changing measurement in daytime.


the night has hands, i told you, and it’s reaching down to pick me
up and take me somewhere else but i don’t know if it would be scarier than here
or much, much better.
and you said –
who cares? life is still life.

and i wished for the sunlight to rise again because i couldn’t have picked a worst
person to ask for directions around this fluctuating map.


an embrace that reeks of silver blades – metallic with the underlying scent
of desire and salt that i knew as blood – carried itself until it swamped
me in the time between dusk and dawn that didn’t know it had a name.

and i cried obscenities to someone with a blank face and the dim-witted
butterflies flitting to a horizon that never made sense to anyone –


i crush my hands into spheres of time that was not good enough to be categorised
and a sluggish thought slides its way slowly into the picture,
calling attention to itself as though it enjoyed it, smirking in a most
familiar way, and i

decide to grin at you too, with spite in my eyes, as i flatten my fingers
over the red-inked map once more and help myself before you help me, knowing
now why this map cannot be read:


the world is flat, you idiot.

Day Twenty-Seven

April 28, 2012

Song of the Sky


the thunder rinsed the clouds from the sky,
as blue eyes stare down with remorse
upon hands clutching the brightest of
sharp words on forked tongues.

coiling waves scream the poetry of lovers;
whispers spring from throats,
parched as the future, goodbye a
silent wave of departing.

shrieks from the snapping strings of
fate and future, past mistakes –
they cry across a pain-and-greed-
driven world, loud and clear –

like songs of originality and unity,
they snap and merge like glue
that hangs on too tightly until it’s
peeled away with derision.

so, still the leaves fly in circles around
the patterns of the wind:
out, out into the ocean and beyond
a white horizon.

watchful but rampaging, the skies
bleat a terrible melody,
notes writing tales in the clouds,
light and sound blurring until –

a white hazy horizon approaches
with caution to the newborn,
skin pale and fragile, weeping
broken symphonies of

mistaken identity.

Day Twenty-Six

April 26, 2012


Time is fragmented –
These years run away from us:
Piece me together.


I’m going to come back to this and fix it, but not right now. The last line is bugging me. I’m not quite sure why…

Day Twenty-Five

April 25, 2012



the grass was a wonder yet unknown –
pretty distance lay in the mountainous
eyes screaming from afar;

to the specks of dust in the torch-light,
tiny in an already star-speckled
sight beyond any kind of reach you
hope to give, calling out from
another brick-built wall amongst the
space that was nothing


and everything all in one era;
clutching hands meant no-
body had more precious an upbringing than
the original soul right underneath
the quilt covers blanketing it –

let it out,
too soon you will forget:

surface-reflected, the moans of
the wind speak of another story between
Romeo and Juliet,
another love that died into


the glass used to be half-empty
but now it sparkles with a crooked smile,
smashed against who-knows-what;
there are crazies everywhere,
aren’t there?

hunger bled from your pores and
the world kept crying, but the moon
shed its light with gratefulness –


silence breathes its life around
the cold night air, as everyone lowers themselves
down to the place that is as close as they
can get to death;


we are reaching
up, up, up into the sky,
grabbing hold of the clouds and
swirling them through our veins.

Day Twenty-Four

April 24, 2012



Time comes hurtling down the road,
splattering like a paint-filled water bomb, showering distressed colours over everyone nearby, and all Time’s victims try to run, screaming and covering their heads with their arms, beseeching it to leave leave leave them alone but –

it never lets go; once Time has a hold of you, it keeps hold, and trust me, it never misses anyone, no matter how small the corners are that you’ve squeezed yourself in to –
it’ll snatch you up in its teeth and drag you along until your hair rips out on the thorns by the side of the road

you look like an angel with your hair torn out
but I can hear your screams as Time pulls you along and you keep beg beg begging it to let you tumble back into the past and stitch up your mistakes until your road is seamless and perfect, no potholes to trip you up, no crumbling bits leaving you desperate to repair it:

and Time just screams by again and again, clutching your hand like a pain-driven child,

cruel in the forgiving way, forcing you to keep go go going until your heart stops beating and you finally pause for a moment; but for now, we’re hurtling at break-neck speed, laughing and crying and shrieking and smiling, sometimes dragged on by our hair,

sometimes grinning right beside Time.




A different type of poetry, called “prosetry” or a “prose poem.” Basically, a mix between prose and poetry.

I’m not altogether satisfied with this. I’m not sure exactly what about it is bugging me. But I’ve always wanted to write prosetry, so here is my first one I’ve ever written.


Day Twenty-Three

April 23, 2012

Wickedly Rainbow


i’ll take my hat off to you;
………. and i’ll bow until the tips of
………. my rainbow smile touches the ground
………. in a pool of wickedness.

there are swirls in my
………. eyes that dance across my page,
……….………. beaming like fireworks,
……….………. turning the world into an inside-
……….………. out whirlpool-like dance.

and i tuck the medication
………. right under my tongue,
………. where it feels like a rosary bead:
………. too pretty to swallow.

……….………. you smile at me and i grin
……….………. until my cheeks split open.

i throw my head back and
………. laugh in death’s face, when it crawls
………. towards me with a razor or a belt
……….………. and it’s so exciting to think that here
……….………. i am in a world of colours, perched
……….………. on a see-saw.

and i swing back and forth,
………. from blue to rainbow, black and red
……….………. to multi-coloured blurs of
……….………. joy.

……….………. oh honey,
……….………. you’re sick, we’ll make you better –
……….………. you’re too weird for us!

shut up, shut up, shut up,
………. let me dance in my little world,
………. twirling hands of twinkly-twinkly-
……….………. stars.

but then, i’ll sink to the floor
………. in the middle of a room that
………. looks as though an earthquake hit it
……….………. quite recently

and realise,
i’m a disaster in the making.

Day Twenty-Two

April 22, 2012

the before


pause for a moment:
feel the air breathing through us.
the world waits for you.

Day Twenty-One

April 21, 2012

flying on broken wings.



sorrow is etched into my blood,
like the initials of someone long gone,
wrung out through the cells that
shed onto surfaces that were never
meant to take something else:


breath sighs from between your lips –
……………………… your skin’s curves and dips
bidden to covers of undisguised
……………. constellations bright on your thighs.


sunlight blinds the concrete in
your soul – it is a wall like that of
no other – and I am falling
through skies of murky grey, flailing
limbs struggling to clutch the air.


too late the hands grab hold of my skirt
…………. cries a distance away, crusted with dirt,
a distance away, blurry in a vision once so clear –
……………………….. lamenting away from here.


bound in ropes of disgust, I still
somehow find pity for the most crystallised
eyes I have ever witnessed in this
tossed-up plaited fairy tales designed
to belittle children into believing.


to hide from the aged lover’s pleas
……………. is a crime written down to your knees:
shadows crept up your cheeks,
………… even as they screamed to seek


another trussed-up heart, for partially
broken stitches guided yet another hand
to cradle yet another hurting child.
this world wants to help …… (and destroy)
but it is never enough for greed-driven passion.


the candles burned together;
……… a silence built for time away from forever
I want to help so badly but it seems
……………. I’m the one dissolving to steam.


and if I had one wish on a star tonight,
I’d give it all to you:
I want you to take it, so I can fall
to the ground, knowing someone else had
the better of me, without the faultiness.


but you know, wanting never got me anywhere;
…………. destiny cuts me into strips of care,
and it sliced until there was no blood left –
…………………. it dealt with nothing but theft.


it wasn’t until time travel was ignored
and my hat ripped into pieces
that I realised that my mind has been
beaten through with holes and now
I’ve forgotten who you are –


but something stirs to awaken a longing
……… cluttered into thoughts of no belonging.


just another bird of broken wings, aren’t I?