If You’re Looking for a Meaning, Why Bother 

The desire to 


has left me

but the idea

the idea of disappearing 

still sounds quite


I don’t know what that means

I wrote it

I thought it

but I couldn’t tell you what

it means. 


M 2

Driving home

and we’re singing

our voices seem to

blend into one

and the silence 

kisses my eyes

so the need to blink

feels like missing

a moment

and we’re alone

but together 

together in the loneliness 

and alone

in the togetherness. 

It feels like something should be missing

maybe it is

but for now

for now the sound of our voices is enough

no matter how out tune they may be. 

The Taste of Having to Say-


the image of

your back

how it turned 

and your hair seemed

to flow

bouncing in the air

along with the air

and I’ll never forget

as I remember now

I’ll never forget

forget how your shoulders 

seemed to hold themselves higher

and your spine seemed to loosen 

with the fade of my features 

burning from your goodbye. 

I turned to mist

you shone with the release 

and time wasn’t sweet

but it was edible. 

17th of Some Day

The curtains pull themselves over my eyes and the darkness wraps itself into my side. Sadness is, is no longer an enemy of mine; sadness is a friend, an annoying, yet loveable friend, that I cannot possibly ignore. 

I like the darkness- the hope- the pieces of light that surround themselves in the black. I like the sensation, the feeling of hopelessness- I revel- I succumb to it. 

The curtains pull themselves over my eyes as the thought of waking becomes too much; as the thought of breathing begins to hurt; as the need to live molds itself into the possibility of death; as the darkness turns to simple sadness and the poetics lose themselves in the dust- it’s feeling, all of this, it’s feeling; feeling nothing but, feeling nonetheless. 

I’d like normality but, living as another would has never been in mind and, and I doubt the idea will return again. 

Holes in the Air 

I miss it,

the not-knowing-

knowing too much,

so pretending-

knowing nothing and 

avoiding eye contact. 

I miss it;

the motivation to

wake each morning 

and do,

just do-

I miss it-

doing nothing,

doing everything. 

I want the sun

to open up,

right up,

so I can see her smile,

see her warmth-

I miss it-

I’m cold. 

The naivety of yesterday 

has left me

and the not-knowing 

is almost just a memory


and I miss it,

I really do-

miss it-

I miss it. 

There’s a hole,

an emptiness,

where my memories 

should be and,

instead, there’s a drop,

a darkness, a hole

of some sort 


I miss-

I miss it. 


Enough of this-

whatever ‘this’ is-

I don’t like it

and the air’s thinning,

time’s thinning


I miss-

I need,

I need it. 

The Last Drink Before the First 

Another day

more memories 

more of yesterday

more of today. 

The memories

they bind us

they keep us together 

they force us together 


these memories 

they will not rest

constantly flashing up as warning signs 

dancing around our minds. 

It’s another 

another day

and yesterday is no longer yesterday 

and today is today

and the memories are memories 

and we are we

together and together

together and not. 

When the Colours End 

These blues 

have their way

of finding me

when I least expect 

them to. 

I usually like

the colour blue

but the one inside my head

looks different


looks more grey than a blue 

and I don’t like it

I don’t want to like it. 

These blues 

they always find their way out

out of my mouth 

and out

out through my eyes 

and out

out onto my hands




I want the colour blue

but I don’t want these blues

and blue is blue

and blue is blue

and blue is-

I’m sick.