There's a string of sentences hanging from this ceiling,
and as I caress the horizon with wilted fingers,
I'll trudge through half-hearted attempts at trying to break me.
Oh honey, your desperation is showing, how revealing;
Not even the finest red dress could hide this mess, princess.


To the night that change floated upon the glacial touch of the wind,
Thank You.
With your divine form of alchemy, employed against senses unknown;
With toxin guided directly for receptors, paralysing me in place, you held me so;
Your scent, your lust, enthralled me,
but like the snake that with teeth bound to tail, now unbound;
I can break you in half, Ouroboros, I can break you in two.


Misinterpretation is the devil's advocate today, baby.
You are kidding yourself if you waste time in public spaces, studying very public faces.
Mismatching all of the places when your heart couldn't chase this.
Play your synthesizer with no keys,
And throw your heart into rhythm with the silence.


And with hushed words, we strive to not be busted,
Our constant struggle to go undiscovered,
Unravelled at the seams though, your fingers show,
A sense of urgency, a sense of skepticism,
and did you get some?, my criticisms;


Of course not, but my gifts of cotton and colour,
still reside upon your bedroom floor.






I woke up with my head placed firmly upon the earth, and my hair sprayed against the ground like the arms of an octopus before it encapsulates its prey. Sitting up, I write notes on a year old notepad. Without thought, my hand just moves across the page, and ink just stains the cellulose blue, red and black. I concoct stories, and then I follow a shadow across the green of the grass, a shadow I know. I see not his face, but just darkness, a product of my mind, a product of my desire to feel real. He has done no wrong to me, caused me no ill, and turned his back. I imagine what his face must look like, twisted, but dark, a skewed form of something human, something remotely associated with my species. I draw circles in the ground as I analyse his very existence, notepad by my side. The circles show me the boy was mine, the circles show me I possessed this ungodly creature, this mutant, this... Boy.
As his story unfolds, I discover that everything I ever felt was real, and it stings. In my attempts to validate something that last so long, I grasp at the air and fabricate parts of his story that were not blank, but just ignored. I am ignorant, I am selfish and I am no one to him. He holds the hand of a girl so bright, she illuminates his shadow and it smiles. His shadow smiles at the light of this girl, when the boy, the real boy, never really smiled from his vessel. As he walks off, shadows slip out of his pockets. They fall onto the grass, and tint the tips a deep purple. I stumble and find my feet, and chase. As I run past the purple grass, his shadow spells out I never loved...


I don't need to chase anymore, I need to replace.