Cold Dust Girl.

It was a chance.

A ticket booked for an hourless flight,
and the job you took when you were 18.

The six steps you climbed to get to me.

A small screen conversation with a friend,
and a sleepless wednesday night.

I met you at the top of the stairs.

Riot.

Your halo is flickering again

and you might need the light
when you drive the final nail in.

It's true; I let my words turn black,
though they still sound so beautiful.
I can't remember when it was
that I actually cared about you.

I have plunged myself in the ground
beneath someone else's feet now,
so I guess you can blame it all on me.

I didn't look back when the riot started,
I didn't turn around once when
the adolescent hurricane finally hit.
I knew I wasn't leaving anything (worthwhile) behind.

Fugitives.

Things fray,

but you sit perfectly against my skin.
It was music you know,
the way you first murmured my name;
poetry on a blank page.
It filled this once empty gallon drum
I had sitting beneath my ribcage.
Rest your eyes lover,

rest your doubtless mind aswell;
I took my first real breath
when you slipped your boots
off on my bedroom floor.

This Morning.

In the indigo tinted light
of one more sleepless dawn
I rested my head on your shoulder
and planted the rest in your hands.

Dust.

And so it spreads,
thicker than a viscous deception and more
violently
than an infidelity.
Curing all the innocence with a sliding tongue of deceit
and spreading the killer,
the new cancer
the fresh disease.
It shines like the fresh start the old testament foretold
and feels like cleared air after rain weary weather
finally fades,
but
sometimes the dirt becomes so thick you just want to get
dirtier,
just need to sink further into the grit,
itch to feel the filth in every eyes-open kiss.

The dust will settle in the same place as before,
and all those fingertips will those their points.

Perfume.

In the middle of the night
the phone was hot against my ear.
She sounded like she had red lips and a cigarette
in her hand
as she broke my heart, telling me my love was in fact
hers.
I could smell her perfume through the cables
and see her blonde hair resting perfectly on her shoulders.
Fresh cut flowers through every room,
and white lace against her flawless skin.
Curled up in mismatched sheets
with my tears wetting my tangled hair,
I realised that I don't stand a chance against
women
when I'm nothing more than just a girl.

Lift.

I know this could completely drown me but
I want to keep swimmng out to sea.
I dreamt you came over,
felt the weight of your body
and listened to your fingers making soft music
on me.