Blue-Blue Skies

3 years and many-many grey-scales later, I find myself absent. From my own life, from my own time, from my own space, from my own aspirations. And if not here, where am I? Lithium in my system seems to slow everything down so now I am a part of everything, I see everything, I hear everything, I sense everything. But I am not here, so where am I?

The Good In Goodbye

There are some moments in our lives that remain imprinted in the depths of our memories, like the vivid strokes of a master’s brush, every colour; every trice of the painter’s anguish clearly visible on the canvas of thought. I wrote about snowflakes, but the truth is it never does snow where I stay. My vivid moment wasn’t painted in colours, but loud voices and shrill thoughts.

Togetherness doesn’t always feel the greatest. The people we choose for ourselves will do the unpardonable, the unfathomable, the ‘shocking’. But if we did choose in our honesty, honesty to ourselves at the very least, our choices will require us to show courage in the darkest hours. So when tomorrow comes and the dawn breaks, we have someone to watch the sunrise with.

Those on the faraway ship will then drown, to which we will just turn our backs and walk the white sands - glad to be ashore, glad to be home. 

One

Look for the stars
And I’ll spin you a dream
We can walk through the winds,
And kiss in the rain,
And burn with the skies,
And dance in the dirt...

Let me up close, to your abyss
So we can spin, and then spin some more
As we shed away these clothes,
And leave behind this wretched skin

Oh, dear lover, don’t close your eyes then,
Don’t find your feet or the ground
For we left that world, a long time ago
When we had swayed to the sacred songs
Of love and loss and hurt
And the Gods themselves had stopped to ask,
Who were those two, or was she just one?
That blessed mortal, who with her lover spun,
Who with her lover, lived.

Winter 2007

The cold as it dawns,

Into the night as it becomes

Are you the memory that it brings?

It's dark, but for the warmth of that winter sun

When you and me, had laughed

When our dreams were together spun.

So where will this season take us now?

Where do you think will it abandon?

For lovers, we weren't ever

And yet, nothing else seems to less offend.

Sun-Drenched

Bring me the sun,

Ring it here close

So my lashes kiss its heat

So the world may singe its hold

It's alone, it's above,

What a perverse scrap of gold!

So it's begging me to bolt

So it's following through my door

Bring me the sun,

As it falls from its throne

So my lashes keep it warm,

So it gets through the cold

It's alone, it's above,

And now it's getting kind of bold

So I watch it rise as morning smoke

So I resign to getting this very old

Deer In The Headlights

I've never tried harder, never been more still

Did never speak, sought no feeling before

And yet look at me now

As I fear not the car, not even the lights

But only not getting hit, while I might still be alive;

While I might still manage to cry

Perhaps just even squint the last of this eye.

Deer in the headlights,

Oh dear, in the headlights.

A Ceiling Existence

It's difficult to word it out to someone who hasn't been there. You don't care if you don't eat, if you don't comb your hair in weeks, if you don't get out of bed. Ever. Staring at the ceiling is your salvation, but only till it comes crashing down. You hear it groan, feel it quiver. And yet when you wake up from being awake all along, it's still there waiting for you to stare at it, through it. Till your eyes shut into consciousness again, till the roof seems to fall again. You haven't seen a mirror or another person in days. The silence is deafening, the ceiling; on repeat.

Dance, won't you?

Help Me Breathe Deeper

Your lips, they burn as I mouth your truth

Their silence, like a deathtrap,

Waiting for you to question.

I'm here, it's near, show me fear darling

You're here, it's near, let's be scared darling.

Humble Beginnings

She ran her fingers through those golden beads of wheat that shone bright that particular morning. She didn’t know a lot of things, that girl. She didn’t know what becomes of the soul when death strikes, she didn’t know if there really was a soul to begin with and she didn’t know what to count as the beginning itself. She didn’t know the taste of wine, she didn’t know trend analysis and she most definitely didn’t know how in the world that damned thing called the internet, worked. She didn’t know of a black flower, she didn’t know the names of the artists of her favourite band and she had once even put Argentina on the map of Asia. She didn’t know the names of common trees or even what to call the person who drives a train. Train-driver? If that was the case, she didn’t know why they weren’t given specific titles like that of a pilot or a chauffeur. And then, when she stretched that thought on that particularly jaded morning, she wondered why she hadn’t thought of the bus driver who suffered the same insult hollered blatantly at him by the English language. So if there’s one thing you can be sure of right about now, is that the girl really didn’t know a lot of things.

But as she spread the fingers of both her hands taut, her palms facing downwards and scooped into that sufficient heap of gold, she began to check something off that infinite ignorance of hers. She raised her hands continuing that scooping movement and allowed her fingers to get intimate with the rough grains; she was getting to know something new. Something useless, possibly insignificant and absolutely inconsequential, but it counted. And as the wheat grains began to break away from that intimacy and slipped through her fingers, abandoning her existence, she knew the touch of wheat. She knew that. So now if anyone asked her whether or not she knew how it felt to run her fingers through a treasure of wheat grains, Cara would say that she did. She would say, ‘I know’.

That was a beautiful thought. It was good to know, it was safe to know. And it made Cara so happy; it made her so excited that she strived to stifle the giggles that escaped her, like a little child. And like that little child, she let her fingers run wild through the wheat grains. She gathered, clutched, dug further in, held and just as violently released what she now knew. She was entering a trance. The wheat was seeping into her skin and ecstasy was taking over. They were getting to know each other, they were understanding aspiration. Strangers to life, they were falling in what could have been love.

‘Breakfast!’

And she snapped out of it. She had been careful to contain her arms, so no one could relish what was hers, so her affair today morning became our secret.

Cara began to leave; it was her turn to abandon the wheat.

Over Me, A Little Above

Like a house of cards

And an orange sky

We had our fall

And it was quite alright

To be so young

And to be in love

Has been overwhelming, darling

Over me, a little above

So let these wheels rust now

Let the dust settle down

Till we can't tell time

Till we can't be found

To be so young

And to be in love

Has been overwhelming, darling

Over me, a little above