The Miseducation of.

Crept.

2011-12-10T00:53:00.001+10:00

All of a sudden i'm soaked
through and through
and the truth you told turned
everything else into lie.

Lucifer.

2011-10-05T00:02:00.000+10:00

What's constant here is my slipping away.
The canyon in my mind deepens every day,

taking my bones away and threatening
the gaps in my breath.
I haven't stopped listening to the static on the radio,
reading the fine print in the newspapers;
I know it's in there somewhere.
But,
if it isnt,
if I can't save from falling,
it was loving you, more than words can say,
that made me want to see the sunrise
of just one more beautiful day.

Capture.

2011-10-03T22:05:00.000+10:00

I saw others in your eyes
and felt that familiar tug
of floor out from beneath
and warmth of bathroom tiles.

A.

2011-09-27T18:01:00.000+10:00

Because it's this year and this now,
because I'd like to think I could be the type of person not to blame you for their mistakes,
because illogically I'm darkest at the surface.
I have a list of reasons that I could use,
and pretend that in them somewhere, lies the perfect explanation of why I am
more of a picture than a person.
But when I look at you I realise
I just don't know.

Low.

2011-08-06T05:09:00.000+10:00

Every now and then
I look over see you as a stranger,
thinking about things you've said
and wondering if this will
turn into an ache I won't forget.

You know you can tear me up,
turn me into scraps of old newspaper.
I think this time I cared too much,
wanting more from every letter
that you spoke.

Now I guess we'll never know
just what could have been hiding
in our corners,
and when I listen to the radio
songs are playing that I never really noticed.

Ink.

2011-08-02T00:33:00.000+10:00

I stopped growing when I was nineteen,
I marked it on my bedroom wall with fat black line.
That same year I spoke to my father,
the first and only time.
He sounded so dirty, like the floor of a biker bar.
The gravel in his unfamiliar voice tore a layer off my skin.
When I hung up the phone, I was all shiny and new. Like I stepped out
of a scalding bath.

Late at night, when I can't sleep, un-missed lovers tessellate on my walls,
painting portraits of oh my god.
Late at night, when I can't sleep,
I find it comforting to imagine I can slowly take my flesh off
my bones,
that I can rearrange my body into something worthy.
Sleep is so very peaceful when it is filled with dreams of a beautiful,
mutilated me.

I can curse the history books for teaching me
lessons I never learnt my self,
but I will forever bless the boys who locked me up
in concrete cellars
for the light (of my life) at dawn and my methylated spirit.

Sheltered.

2011-07-30T03:04:00.000+10:00

Stainless words like razorblades,
I'm mostly sure that they are mine
flicker in the back of my mind
like a rain drenched 3am.
Twine and string of inadequacy and boredom,
smoothed by my curling fingers,
strand by strand into a beautiful braid
of never again
and I wish I never had.
The walls now smell like my old tweed coat,
just because you hated it,
and the dishes reek of your pin stripe suit
because they are all so fucking dirty.

Heave.

2011-07-13T16:14:00.000+10:00

Weighing down each strand of hair,
the aching truth of being half alive.
I'll forever sit in the shade of dripping
whores and sleep in a rocky divide.

Blushing.

2011-07-01T13:16:00.000+10:00

The deepest blue you have ever seen
translating me into this.

There are days I sleep through purposely
just for some pain relief,
the glass I set on the doorknob has never
shattered through my dreams.
Those lines I like to cross knowingly
show how close we could have been,
so I let my wounds breathe beneath blankets
of all our tasteless histories.

I follow packs of dogs through woods,

jealous of their warm bodies.

Victorious.

2011-06-16T23:02:00.000+10:00

I told myself
when the sun hits the pavement,
you can breathe again.
I said
this time you aren't the
rotten fruit
at the bottom of the box.
This time,
darling
it looks less like you
and more like him.
This time,
this fucking time,
I didn't let us down.

Ago.

2011-06-14T23:08:00.001+10:00

Comes through sweet
like bloody roses
but it kicks me
just like a horse,
it pulses violently
through crowds
like a whores' battery
filled toy.
I get just a little bit
worn waiting
when the kill
has already been found,
it's a hell on earth
bloodbath
we roll around in
on the ground.

We both know how
how to paint this
canvas black
a skill which we
just cant ignore.

Unconscious.

2011-05-16T15:56:00.000+10:00

Good morning

my intertwining nightmare,
the galloping ruins of a person
I did not become.

Hello
my unfolding calamity,
my lessons unlearned in
dire uncertainty.
I heard the whispers
that you could be coming,
saw the fire in the sky.
I can taste your salty betrayal
sharp on my tongue
and see my face crumbling
away in the mirror.

Crisp.

2011-05-11T22:47:00.001+10:00

Looking through all these years,

searching through all the layers.

This feeling, it explodes through me,

and it chases away

and it runs away,

it's infectious

and hopeless

and desperate

and homeless.

Those moments weren't lost on me,

I'm grasping at nothing,

whole pages disappearing

in this cold wind storm.

So long long long ago

without you,

I heard you,

I kissed you,

I felt you.

These are whole letters addressed to me,

with my name in your writing

my laughter in your typing.

Catching myself getting caught in

examples of broken,

the damage

of reckless,

the theory

of cotton.

Mistaken.

2011-04-28T20:29:00.000+10:00

You said you were sorry,

like that would keep my legs open.

The more you spoke the less I heard,

like flattery would pin me to your bed.

I know what I must have looked like,

such a fucking easy target.
But I'd rather settle out in the cold
than in the confines of your twisted head.

Bite.

2011-04-27T15:47:00.000+10:00

Anytime you decide I don't need to hold on so tight,
just let me know,
like a wooden floor, I believe in you.
Lets put our hearts up for sale, scream our lungs out in the desert,
turn these minds into landfill.
While we are still young with fresh blood pulsing through us,
meet me.
I'll run to see you at the fork in the road,
I'll scramble to all of our unspoken truths
to have one more moment,
keep you a little longer,
and feed you a bite of my heart.

Sunken.

2011-04-20T22:09:00.000+10:00

There's little more
than nothing
left in this aged head.
I stripped the walls
from white
to wood,
instantly
I hated it.

I'm Asking.

2011-04-20T14:05:00.000+10:00

Lock me up,
lock up this shattered girl and throw away they key.
I need something to keep me in this spot
when every breath fills my body with the
urge to leave.

Tie me down,
tie up my fingers, my hands, my toes and feet.
Anchor me to what I know is right
because I'm so damn good at running from
the echo of defeat.

Echo.

2011-04-19T20:08:00.000+10:00

Embrace my warm demon,
drain out your heart some.
We drink but never fly,
intoxicate the darkness
more than live.
I am a walking victim
of an endless moonlight need.

Stained.

2011-04-11T02:12:00.003+10:00

Walk on, son. Walk on now.
So you can still lift your head tomorrow,
don't tarnish that fucked up name of yours.
Someone will kiss her shoulders like she used to wish
you would,
and he'll hold onto her, for dear life,
because he can see her for what she really is.
Walk on son, just walk on now.
There ain't nothing you can do
but thank her momma for that pretty face.

Confession.

2011-03-22T20:51:00.000+10:00

Forgive me father for I have sinned.

I have kept a meaty part of myself under tight lock and key, I have hidden the darkness I bathe in so deep now I cannot breathe.

I must confess this now, before I choke on me;

I want to drown in this swirling mess, I want to suffocate so fucking badly.

Why haven't I been able to turn this bathwater red?

The idea of it is so enchanting, so soft against my desperately un-mottled skin,

so smooth against my tragically unscarred face.

Light.

2011-03-07T21:50:00.000+10:00

Lost in the has-to-be-fiction of these nights
completely addicted to the sound of brewing storms
and finally,
as the rain fell, we held hands.
The dirt and I was washed away
by the torrential knowledge of what it finally was.
The flood,
the fire.
The smell of pepper and cherries on your skin,
and I,
hungrier than ever before.

Disintegrated.

2011-03-07T21:33:00.001+10:00

A blade
of grass

A murder
of crows

A shot
of Vodka

A sharp
opinion

The curse
of beauty

The blood
of oranges

Drowning
of sorrows

The kiss
of death.

And my shattered mind.

Perfect.

2011-03-07T14:18:00.002+10:00

In the abyss of frustration
sleeping in smoky rooms
and wearing wine stained t-shirts
listening to Nirvana
and only eating your words,
you called me.

I can't tell you how flattered I am.
Really.

You Are.

2011-03-07T09:33:00.001+10:00

You are.
The brilliant poem
I cannot write,
the string of words
I cannot pearl together.

You are.
My unwritten song of 90 days.

Quietly.

2011-02-02T15:49:00.000+10:00

Sitting side by side on a swing,
moving between uncertainty and wistfulness,
we both stay silent.
I had imagined your face months ago, although your hair was darker
in my mind.
The names of faces
have long gone.
I have let down my Rapunzel hair,
and although I don't expect to feel your weight
tonight,
I will keep my braids loosened
just in case.

Ghosts.

2011-02-02T15:01:00.000+10:00

The open window let the breeze in, carrying with it the smell of salt spray and ghosts from years passed/past.
Hands open; white, empty canvases.
In the moonlight the room expanded.
A world developed within these walls and I swam through the provinces I had once occupied.
I tangle myself up in an age that was my innocence, and greedily drink saltwater from my eyes.
I miss us so much more than miss.
The night is endless and my loss is forever.
Racing with dreams and messy thoughts, my mind slips further from the world I now belong,
I now belong.

Naked and dripping in moonlight, alabaster skin begins to hum with desire that only exists in the before.
Wriggling and slithering through imagined deep waters,
touching the wet memory we shared for lifetimes,
sinking further into a watery grave.

Girl On Fire.

2011-02-02T14:35:00.000+10:00

She hasn't softened her grip on the noose, rough around her neck.
Shutting her eyes tighter than an oyster shell she tries to shed some salty water.
Next tuesday she'll set fire to herself,
waking the neighbours
and adding to the portrait of misery she has scarred on her skin.

Scattered bottles of pills and rusted razor blades,
bottles of charcoal
and a bathtub of lukewarm water is where she calls home.
She wraps herself up in kerosene comforts and inhales.
She is running into her end as fast as she can.

They have burnt sage to exorcise her, and pulsed her mind to numb her.
She knows the walls of pure white rooms are the blackest of all.
She gets higher when she swallows gravel,
finds more clarity with her head underwater.
"That girl", they whisper, "That girl is on fire."

Cold Dust Girl.

2011-01-28T00:39:00.000+10:00

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.

2011-01-17T01:02:00.000+10:00

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.

2011-01-17T00:34:00.002+10:00

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.

2011-01-11T22:40:00.000+10:00

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.

2011-01-11T22:08:00.000+10:00

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.

2011-01-02T14:45:00.000+10:00

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.

2011-01-02T14:18:00.000+10:00

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.

No excuses.

2010-12-23T00:12:00.000+10:00

I tore up all our moments

and waited for that gust of hot wind to

blow them away.

Far away from me.

I wrote the lyrics of our wars

in chalk on the streets and waited

for the storm to

wash it off of me.

I set fire to all your reasons,

warmed my hands against the flames,

burning your words

that used to burn me.

I've buried my brittle bones
beneath the ruins of this city of ours,
six feet under exactly,
in the deep dark dirt.

There are no excuses this time round,
just what you did to me.

3.

2010-12-22T00:38:00.000+10:00

You.
You smiled at me with wolves teeth.
And I,
I fell down to my knees,
cursing my promises made in this night.

We had one chance too make it mine,
one night to turn these grapes into wine.

We.
We walked the long way round again.
And you,
you just got here too late,
became just an echo in my empty mind.

There is too much left in me of you,
the tail end of a demon I never knew.

You.
You were the wrong kind of crime.
And I,
I was pulling you through,
picking glass out of wounds you did to you.

Now my eyes want to see someone new,
I'm tired of wasting my moments on you.

Driven.

2010-12-21T19:16:00.001+10:00

How many whisky neats' did he linger over
whilst deciding how to
shatter that girl?
With her chest exposed he left her crying
in his bed,
tangled in someone elses dirty underwear.
Maybe it was that crash that
killed her,
because she definitely died that morning.
He played the same old broken record
again,
as she finally took her heart off her sleeve.

Rocks.

2010-12-21T17:11:00.001+10:00

If I could be blessed with just one more thing

I'd pray for stronger legs

so when my mind might fail

and my heart will break,

I'll still be able to walk away.

List.

2010-12-07T01:50:00.000+10:00

10. Someone else's perfume on his sheets

9. The weight of a rumour on my chest

8. Losing my sister to my addiction

7. Watching as her heart was broken

6. Kissing the lips of revenge

5. His love in the heart of another

4. The scars on the tips of my fingers

3. My mothers tears

2. Watching him spill his own blood

1. Feeling him spill mine

Do Not Disturb.

2010-12-07T01:07:00.000+10:00

In a stark white hotel room, she breaks her own heart.
A cigarette in hand and smoke curling from her lips, she is folded up on the window sill watching the city dissolve into artificial darkness.
There is a red wine stain on the sheets and a bathtub full of cold water.
The tv is on, muted, in the background.
Ambivalence is rampant,
she scrawls across the hotel stationary, flicking ash onto the floor.
Chivalry is dead and I willingly sit in the crossfire.

She wakes in the morning to sunlight stabbing at her skin,
her heart still aches,
her head is throbbing
and her bed is still empty.

God this hurts.

Circles.

2010-11-17T00:42:00.001+10:00

Lying out in the midday sun, tied up in regret,

hoping to sweat out all their mistakes.

Girl,

I'm sure he really wants to hold your hand,
but he's just too proud to comprehend.
Young man,
you can try and call her name out loud,
but she's too beaten and bruised to understand.

She wants to love you kid, in every little way,
but you wont stop crumbling her away.
Kiss her,
with the whole wide world sound asleep
and the sky bleeding purple to orange.
To and fro,
with his leather tied tightly around her wrists,
and her love getting lost in liquored crowds.

Watching her bleed boy, won't prove a thing,
she's waiting for you on that park bench.
Shivering,
her soft skin covered with something borrowed
and lips turning the colour depression blue.
Boy,
she's paid her dues now so hold on or let go,
you're making it worse; testing every truth.

Slight of Hand.

2010-10-18T22:30:00.001+10:00

A flick of the wrist.

We both picked cards with suits of Spades
I used to pretend these were just black little hearts

You leant in close and whispered so softly
But your words were just as tangled as our legs

I so badly wanted more of your breath in mine
Except your lips were sour from the kiss of another

I'll cry myself to sleep again tonight, over you
I had the Two of Hearts in my pocket the entire time

Wilted.

2010-10-06T19:15:00.009+10:00

Fist to mouth, knocking intelligence off the tongue.

This isn't more than just out of date milk,

we aren't making anything here except a sticky mess.
Don't kid yourself.
You won't be my husband and I wont be your life,
neither will find a missing number tonight.
Just another boy.
Lets not colour something pink when it's painted red.
Your face is already swirling down the kitchen sink,
with my real name and how much I had to drink.

Delinquency.

2010-10-05T01:12:00.001+10:00

You became caught on my hook when you said my name.

I saw the curl of your lips become softer,

and felt the heat of your breath on my shoulder.

Holding someone else's hand you leant across the table

and asked me to write you a song.

Our eyes will always catch on one another,

my perfume will penetrate your sleepless dreams.

You can't help but brush your hand over my exposed skin,

just waiting for me to make you a mistake.

I'll sleep in your mind relentlessly.

But not beneath your sheets

Unoriginal Sin.

2010-09-29T16:43:00.000+10:00

The hounds of hell are coming for you

after what you've done.

Broken hearts and bloody mouths

aren't healed with malt and grain.

I heard you screaming out my name,
cursing all I wouldn't do.
I locked my doors, bolted my windows,
you broke through the wood.

You took my words, covered them with salt,

and fed them to the crowd.

You're not the first, won't be the last,

you're absolutely nothing in between.

Your belly is filled with your own mistakes,
though you spat them in my face.
Speed off now, down the southbound highway
with all your unoriginal sins.

Utilisé

2010-09-29T16:08:00.000+10:00

J'aime finir mon lait de l'étage,
il renverse et s'étend,
la mendicité de moi de le laper en haut.

Je pour porter mes vêtements sales,
taché avec le vin,
la loyauté à ma peau propre.

Je suis plus heureux quand vous me parlez en bas,
la pression sur mes contusions,
le fait d'accrocher mes cuisses.

Je reste dans votre pièce ce soir,
vous dormirez dans moi,
Je me réveillerai le matin avec vous séché sur ma caisse.

2.

2010-09-15T17:24:00.000+10:00

Dark haired,

shiny love.

Your lips fit mine,

our hips kiss.

Hold my hand

real tight now.
I'm the nine
before your ten.
We're beautiful,
just like this.

On The Edge Of A Knife.

2010-09-15T16:55:00.001+10:00

There are piles of unwashed mistakes in everyones room,
bruises from the night before on all of our legs.
I know I have lost my balance before,
falling into someone else.

It's simple when you only see a number on my face,
ignoring the letters I hold in my mouth.
It would be easy to look at my dirty feet
and think you know where I have been.

Regrets have scrambled their way into my oesophagus,

unannounced, choking me.

Swirls of paper dance in my front yard,

messages and poems, questions without answers.

Candied confessions have littered my floor for years,
desperation fighting adoration in the form of flesh.
I only speak one language at a time,
but nothing is foreign to me anymore.

There are chips in the paint on everyones white walls,
scratches on the lenses of all our rose coloured glasses.
What was muttered still rings in my ears,
I'm the only one who knows I'm still innocent.

White Dress.

2010-09-14T18:07:00.000+10:00

I'm all showered and clean,
ready for you to dirty me up.
I've fixed myself up so nice this time,
ready for you to break me.

I have such potential;
delicate ribs and a pretty smile.
You all cut my hands off at the wrists
putting me on a tether.

Take loneliness and my lips
and drown them deep inside you.
You're just like the other boys,
you drank too much of me.

Running.

2010-09-09T02:57:00.000+10:00

Don't take more than I have,
I'll love you, hard, if you can just leave well enough alone.
Everyone can see where your hands have been,
what ever happened to whispering quietly?

I won't take what you want,
if there ever was a moment, you never quite owned it.
Hearts beating on an empty gallon drum
sound more like crunching gravel than sweet percussion.

I can feed someone else,
shut my mouth so tight and preserve my tongue.
You'll never really know what's in my head when i'm above you,
even when I'm completely occupying yours.

Don't hold on too tight,
you could squeeze my breath clean out of my lungs
and leave my chest completely empty.
It's hard enough to fill me up at the best of times.

Heavenly.

2010-09-07T20:00:00.000+10:00

She makes herself come in the middle of the night.
All alone in the dark she can fuck herself so hard it would feel like

he used to feel.

It's still self mutilation

when you're loved by a fucking animal.

So goddamn stupid,
there's only one good reason she should open her mouth,
and talking isn't it.

She always looked better with swollen lips.

It's so easy to make her cry out;

call her bitch

or a fat fucking whore and watch her melt in your hands.

She doesn't even bother to cover those ugly scars,

intoxicated by the look of her red raw romance.

Gentle has never had it's way with her.

Those boys come and play (anxious to make her feel beautiful),

fucking her from behind and

leaving their skin beneath her fingernails.

Exotic Bird.

2010-09-04T22:17:00.000+10:00

She's alone again.

Her skin begins to itch and burn, she picks at scars until she bleeds.

She'll drink too much soon, just so she can get a fuck.

Saturation.

2010-09-02T16:27:00.000+10:00

The nights seem heavier somehow.

I walk alone through this town,

barefooted and thin.

In the miles of midnight,

I can feel you watching.

I slept through what you said to me.

There is a phantom weight

within my chest now,

and it turns with impassivity.

I feel their eyes upon my back.

My mouth was sewn shut a lifetime ago.

Trying to hide my slaughtered innocence,

sliding through moonlit streets.

Bearing the weight of witness,

how my unfamiliar hips now ache.

I'm happier when I'm empty within.

365 Days.

2010-09-01T18:16:00.000+10:00

I used to tell you lies
so beautiful,
we would both believe they were true.

You would take me out of the
dirty sink,
but I was nothing more than kitchen glass.

Sit down.

2010-07-27T13:40:00.000+10:00

Too many times
after spooning rusted nails into my mouth
have my words disappeared into a crimson knot.

I'm looking for the first time
making sure my daggers are well hidden
at hidden messages I had stuffed in my pockets.

Hosing thick mud from my skin
letting all those insect bites breathe again
for the first time, seeing the dirt was just a comfort.

Taking a seat across from a stranger
spitting out all my bricks and mortar
exhaling everything I own, inhaling everything I want.

Finally.

2010-07-12T23:27:00.001+10:00

Her words were disappearing into
fog in the night air.
Although it was unseasonably cold
as they sat there, sipping unwanted coffee,
the realisation that she liked the dirt but not the man
was much, much colder.

Substance.

2010-07-12T19:15:00.000+10:00

Your storm wasn't in a teacup,

I kept it inside of me.

Even now, I always have the hiccups.

I took three pills to help me sleep but

I woke with fractured bones.

Next time I'll know to take four.

On the sunnniest days I lay naked
beneath a window, covered in sunlight from head to toe.
It feels like I'm outside when I'm really inside.

Deliquency.

2010-07-12T18:56:00.001+10:00

In the depths of ignorance and starvation,
I took to sitting in the street with a sign saying:
"Will cure broken hearts for food."

Winter's end.

2010-06-29T22:03:00.003+10:00

While we were tangled for warmth
I drew your picture.

I hope you drew mine

Bent, not broken.

2010-06-24T23:52:00.002+10:00

The undeniable truth, that I failed, isn't what I suffer through at night.

My dreams are tortured by the moments that I kept my smart mouth shut.

I allowed my spine to curve beneath the weight of silence,

unspoken objections,

I let these seconds pass by unscathed when I should have been fighting every single one.

There was no glass of cold water to wake me up.

When nothing is left,
nothing touchable, nothing reachable, nothing notable
there is nothing to keep the physical from becoming liquid.
The inability to hold onto myself is the twisting knife I feel relentlessly.

I'm so exhausted by it now.
Trying to rebuild a person is an ocean, trying to survive as a shell of one is the universe.

I'm not sure there will ever be a worthwhile lesson learnt, there aren't any mistakes made that won't be repeated.
I like to look behind and underline how much I have changed,
but I still can't stomach the thought of touch, nervous that it will reshape me once again.

I thought I hadn't been this person before.
Perhaps I have.

Drunk.

2010-06-14T23:49:00.001+10:00

Jane,

she said.

I don't want to waste myself on unrequited love.

Gold rings,

bright with rubies.

I kept all those important promises.

Yours Faithfully,
his name.

I saw the light on from down in the street.

Each,
I thought.

The black dog followed me home again today.

One Letter(No Apology)

2010-05-19T21:45:00.004+10:00

No.

No more.

I'm filled now, with more sorry's than I could ever use. I think that may be enough.

It was just such a lovely gesture, on your behalf, to send me such scripted letters

and confess through ink and paper,

black and white,

something that was so grey.

It was a beautiful touch, I thought, to place the undying love you claimed to have,

onto the same pages

you named my replacements.
I am, I have to admit, thoroughly impressed by the way you can mutilate an apology
a thousand ways,
never repeating the same line twice.
You were able to, so magnificently, decay any dignity our chapter had left.
But who needs actions, when you have words?

I never thought I'd be the one to write to you,
I never thought I would be the one to carve it out with such strength.
I guess I was sick of being stuck between the river and the tree trunk.

Stop sending me thoughtless flowers.

(Your love was the most thoughtless thing of all)

City Walled.

2010-05-14T15:06:00.004+10:00

This two caravan town makes sure the world stays flat,

bleed your fever boy, bleed it the fuck out.

Wind travels through just to whisper there is no change,

the clocks only tick to tell there is no future.

It's always noon,

so you better fucking pray boy, only Jesus sees the good in you.

Wiry fences gape, just to show there ain't no world out there,

birds stretch their wings and sing about no freedom.

That bitch can't seem to hold her glass,

with marks all down her goddamn sunday dress.
The radio only works to scream that noone's got nothing to say,
that bastard kid just born, crying, 'cos he knows he ain't gonna leave.

Keep your head 'bout you boy, books wont feed dirty mouths.
This town weren't meant for passing through.
You can jump on those fucking trampolines all you like,
you ain't ever getting over them city walls.

I Fucking Don't.

2010-05-09T21:31:00.001+10:00

I'm committing suicide by centimetres,
killing myself in increments.
Like a finale that I did not even contemplate

until I began to contemplate it.

Tulle is creeping further up my neck

trying to pry open my mouth,

trying to drown my lungs in pearls and ribbon,

trying to crush my innards with taffeta and lace.

The entire time, I have never taken my eyes off of you.
But the rest of me,
oh god,
the rest of me.

I gave up the remainder yesterday,
I threw away the last piece before I slipped into my cold sheets
and warm whisky.
It was an exquisite deception, I can say now.

A perfectly executed slaughter,

just like you said it would be.

Supple and seamless.
Calm and angelic.

Fractured and sutured.

Wasted.

2010-04-27T16:27:00.000+10:00

It is so unfair
to put your lips on my lipstick stained cup.
I spat out your bitter coffee
years ago
and I don't want it back in my mouth again.

I can't understand
why I have put this dress on.
I used to slip it over my head
and have you button up the back.
I can't reach them on my own.

Kaleidoscope Eyes.

2010-03-31T22:02:00.001+10:00

On a single night four
explorers embraced the
amateur,
stripping away
worldly notions
of grandeur and
tearing at
experience
with insatiable appetites.

Four cowboys
silhouetted
against the full moon
on an empty road
walked the length
of a repetitive
conversation.
An ionised world
lay out before them.

A four dimensional smile
landed on the
grass,
they leapt
into cartoon characters,
tripping over fireworks
and rearranging the
sky
with their hands.

Ravenous

2010-03-31T18:48:00.001+10:00

Droplets adorn her thighs as she tosses and turns through a damp night.

Feeling the wave of desperation washing over her,
she bounds her body in dirty, gritty sheets.
Her teeth pierce holes in cheap pillows while she tries to muffle screams of anguish.
Knees collide like flint,
sending sparks into the dark,
searing the acres of the mattress.
An imagined rough hand cradles her,
another pulls at her hair,
trying to break the trance.
A dry and swollen tongue licks at asperous lips,
unable to swallow.

Juliet killing Romeo

2010-03-17T23:11:00.000+10:00

This tale belongs on the silver screen
in black and white film,
living forever in the land of grey.
The greatest love story
ever told.

Reciting poetry to one another
that neither understands,
playing like children in the
wet grass,
stealing kisses amongst ferns.

Weaving love into lovers,
they drive down highways at midnight.
Sleeping together on the backseat,
sharing blankets
and holding hands.

This tale belongs on the silver screen

in black and white film,

living forever in the land of grey.

The greatest love story

ever told.

Sentences scribbled on scraps of paper,
amateur confessions of oh so in love.
Strumming guitars by the fire,
missing his hand
through the songs.

Phosphorous fairytales
brought to cocooned life.
Dreaming silent dreams of forever,
savouring delicious times of day.
Never seeing never.

This tale belongs on the silver screen,

in black and white film,

living forever in the land of grey.

The greatest love story

ever told.

Watching her on film,
after all these years,
she still takes his breath away.
Flawless skin against cool white sheets,
still feels like home to him.

Innocence

2010-03-16T20:23:00.000+10:00

Such heavy eyes for someone barely twenty years old,
her head was filled with darkened apparitions.
Underneath her faded summer dress she was drenched in despair.
She spoke in a different language
and ears listened under water.

Weeping in secret,
she would carry the weight of damnable choices they had made.
She wiped the blood on the hands of others
off on her soft golden hair.

Injecting herself with preserves to keep her spine straight,
she wore a badge of bitterness hidden under her suit jacket.
Faceless names and nameless faces invaded her drinks
for weeks to come,
eventually all the mirrors in her apartment shattered.

She had such heavy eyes for someone barely twenty years old,
black ribbons supple beneath.
She relished the months of cold
that would numb her flesh as much as her mind.

Salvage

2010-03-08T22:47:00.000+10:00

The water is gushing in, swirling hypnotically around my feet.

This ship is going down, it will go down tonight.

Whispered words escape frozen mouths,

disappearing into cool mist.

I have known we are sinking for a long time.

The chaos of the night is blurred,
calm surrounds those on board
as all of us begin accepting fate.
We will be thrust into icy waters unknown,
pulled by currents lurking beneath the surface,
tossed by waves bearing down
and circled by beasts of the deep.

The hull will drag us down, we will certainly drown.

My hem is heavy with cold and sea,
anchoring me to this ship and these waters.
It wouldn't feel right to escape now,
a part of me will will drown here tonight
be it my body, my soul, my love or my all.

Beneath my feet metal bends and groans as the mouth of the sea begins to swallow.

The lights of the sky begin to dance as eyes fill with water,
through the cold I find your hand.
Our mouths fill with water as our lips meet below the surface,
for the last time,
clinging to each other,
weighing ourselves down,
sinking to the ocean floor.

Caged.

2010-02-22T08:19:00.000+10:00

The silence is violating.

Large discs of amber watch as the mountains between divide,
leaving nothing separating us,
but miles.

A landscaped history has escaped the page and now,
there are no fences to hold it in.
Lips have unwillingly parted, heavy with nostalgia,
but only salt spills out.

I slip.
Falling through heightened senses and having nothing tangible to reach for,
flesh and dirt collide.
The earth vibrates with empathy,
caressing bruises that are flourishing.

I bury my fingers in the verdant bed beneath,
pulling myself into it.
Blood begins to pool in the grass,
as my ears violently weep over words that were never birthed.

A Thousand Letters(A Thousand Apologies)

2010-02-17T19:44:00.000+10:00

Here I am with a pen in my hand.

I feel like I am playing games with you.

I don't like liars.

If you knew how much I miss you, you would never have left and I know that for a fact.

Without hope I can tell you I will never do that again.

Hell, I just want to hold you.

I don't tell you because I don't want to lose you, I never had anything to lose before.

You're so beautiful.

I don't want anything from you, I already took all that I could.

Where do you live?

You're a good person, my favourite person.

Oh heck I just want to tell you I love you all the time.

I'm sorry.

You got dealt some cards, and I did nothing about it, and thats probably about as low as you can get.

Please be waiting for me when I get home.

I'm so sorry.

I don't know what's worse.

I have always loved you.

I know you can't ever trust me again.

Every good memory I have is of you, you're always in it.

I want to come home to you.

I made mistakes, I know, but I never will again.

(All your letters were the same)

Mary Dreams Mary Adores

2010-02-15T20:31:00.000+10:00

Mary allows the soles of her feet to caress the souls in the sky.
She sees stars in the water, mountains, sand and smiles.

Kiss the salt,
drown in ecstasy,
embrace the fall,
slip into fantasy.

Extricate life from inanimate objects,
spindly fingers trace irregular verbs.

Change the world in one breath does Mary,
marries the moment with touch does Mary.

The Queen of Hearts dusts the sand from her toes
while Mary serves tea in delicate cups.

Wandering through dancing mazes,
Mary takes the utmost care not to offend a single leaf.

Kiss the salt,
drown in ecstasy,
embrace the fall,
slip into fantasy.

This colourful life is hers alone,
She welcomes visitors with open arms.

Valiance.

2010-02-09T00:19:00.000+10:00

To still lose my altitude over the smell of your cologne is abhorrent. To still compare the complimentary words from the mouths of others, to the ones you once whispered in my ear is reprehensible. To still hold your old photographs at night and dream of your face is heinous. To entertain thoughts of feeling your skin passing heat to mine is wretched. To still allow my eyes to search for yours in faceless crowds is atrocious. To long for your voice to explore my name, after all these lifetimes, is damnable.

I miss my heart, that once beat independently in my chest. I want it back.

Hallelujah(Unclean)

2010-02-08T09:12:00.000+10:00

She stands in the hall with her petticoats shred,
torn in purgatory.

She watches as their rotten mouths and grubby hands
lunge at whispered prophecy.

The father,
The bastard son,
The holocaustal spirit.

Covered in weeping wounds,
she is caressed and fingered by razored faith.

She is flayed for theatre;
christian boys perform ungodly acts on her discarded torso.

This is her tormented body,
This is her unholy blood,
Pronounce her sins; she never was/will be worthy.

Through your son, Christ Jesus' name,
Amen.

Lover.

2010-02-06T22:12:00.000+10:00

I heard your name tonight.

I stood in your footprints. My mutilated heart began to beat again.

My body, textured by weighted organs, palpitates with verve. The decadent blood richly pulsing through my veins, hums with consummation.

Until I heard your name.

I was resurrected. I was desecrated.

I yearn to be abused again, I need you to defile my soul once more, I crave the slaughter of perspicacity I suffered at your hands. I thirst for dependency on you.

I would shred my meaty materials and rape the woman I am, to feel the synthetic being you allowed me to be. I want nothing but to become sun bleached bones beneath your tips. I will accept utter annihilation, succumb to fleshly obliteration, if it would bring upon me the impotent wilderness of your world.

My lover, my disgusting eternity.

Nightmare

2010-02-04T12:04:00.000+10:00

Frozen/neon drinks
Hair extensions
$500 singlets
Pre-packaged sex

The Unaware.

2010-02-01T23:02:00.000+10:00

She had allowed herself to be ravaged by sleep while laying in the grass. The dew had begun to soak through her flimsy summer dress. She shivered now, squinting her eyes in an attempt to see through the heavy mist. There was a guiltiness to the pleasure she took is being submerged in this fragile moment, a moment that felt so surreal and dreamlike.

She trod softly, as though any sudden movements or loud noises would break this spell.

As she reached the road the mist had thinned and the dampness of her clothing had completely sapped her body heat. She rubbed at her elbows.

The walk was relatively short, across manicured front lawns and through the golf course where she had stolen her first kiss. She wondered if her mother would awaken and question her whereabouts/how she got home/if she was hungry. She attempted to prepare herself.

She paused at the front door, checking all her bruises were covered.

An hour or two later, wrapped up in bed in her ridiculously large duvet and reveling in the feeling of the ocean breeze on her face, she heard her mothers car drive away.

The guilt was palpable.

She only found comfort within her mothers walls, but never the comfortability she needed to tell.

Thickshake

2010-02-01T11:19:00.000+10:00

Claire's Thickshake Lyrics

(Chorus)
My sexual antics attract all the males,
I get numerous compliments pertaining to its superiority,
And I must agree each time, that indeed it is superior.

I am able to impart some of my knowledge in this area, but I must obtain a fee. (x2)

(Vs 1)
I am aware that you have carnal wishes toward me,
particularly in relation to the aforementioned sexual antics,
Male's behave irrationally,
They appear to lose much of their sense of logic, over the style in which I present my sexuality,
If I keep the boys waiting any longer I may incite date rape....

(Vamp)
(La-la-la-la-la)
Raise the temperature
(La-la-la-la-la)
The males are becoming impatient
(La-la-la-la-la)
Raise the temperature
(La-la-la-la-la)
The males are becoming impatient.

(Chorus)
My sexual antics attract all the males,
I get numerous compliments pertaining to its superiority,
And I must agree each time, that indeed it is superior.
I am able to impart some of my knowledge in this area, but I must obtain a fee. (x2)

(Vs 2)
I am aware that you have picked up on my sexuality,
You have also made your desire known for me to share my,
Sexual techniques that seem to render males irrational,
However they are unable to be transferred in typical monetary transaction,
I beg of you to remain free from incarceration,
If you hold a certain level of intelligence you will simply observe,

(Vamp)
(La-la-la-la-la)
Raise the temperature
(La-la-la-la-la)
The males are becoming impatient
(La-la-la-la-la)
Raise the temperature
(La-la-la-la-la)
The males are becoming impatient.

(Chorus)
My sexual antics attract all the males,
I get numerous compliments pertaining to its superiority,
And I must agree each time, that indeed it is superior.
I am able to impart some of my knowledge in this area, but I must obtain a fee. (x2)

(Bridge)
Immediately after displaying your sexual antics,
The population will be most aware of you,
It is imperative that you retain a level of charm,
Similarly you must put forth a persona of innocence,
Once you have found an equilibrium between 'whore' and 'virgin',
Exaggerate this to a large degree,

(Spoken)
His eyes will narrow like that of a predator,
And he will now pursue you viciously and will not take no for an answer,

(Vamp)
(La-la-la-la-la)
Raise the temperature
(La-la-la-la-la)
The males are becoming impatient
(La-la-la-la-la)
Raise the temperature
(La-la-la-la-la)
The males are becoming impatient.

(Chorus)
My sexual antics attract all the males,
I get numerous compliments pertaining to its superiority,
And I must agree each time, that indeed it is superior.
I am able to impart some of my knowledge in this area, but I must obtain a fee. (x2)

Kelis Milkshake lyrics

Chorus:
My Milkshake brings all the boys to the yard,
And their like "It's better than yours"
Damn right, It's better than yours,
I can teach you, but I have to charge (2x)

Vrs1:
I know you want it...
The thing that makes me,
What the guys go crazy for,
They lose their minds, The way I wind,
I think it's time...

Vamp:
(La-La-La-La-la)
Warm it up,
(La-La-La-La-la)
The boys are waiting,
(La-La-La-La-la)
Warm it up,
(La-La-La-La-la)
The boys are waiting,

Chorus:
My Milkshake brings all the boys to the yard,
And their like "It's better than yours"
Damn right, It's better than yours,
I can teach you, but I have to charge (2x)

Vrs2:
I can see you're on it...
You want me to teach thee,
Technics that freaks these boys,
It can't be bought,
Just don't please get caught,
Watch if you're smart,

Vamp:
(La-La-La-La-la)
Warm it up,
(La-La-La-La-la)
The boys are waiting,
(La-La-La-La-la)
Warm it up,
(La-La-La-La-la)
The boys are waiting,

Chorus:
My Milkshake brings all the boys to the yard,
And their like "It's better than yours"
Damn right, It's better than yours,
I can teach you, but I have to charge (2x)

Bridge:
Oh, Once you get involved,
Everyone will look this way so,
You must maintain your charm,
Sametime maintain your halo,
Just get the perfect lense,
Then switch it up and then,

Spoken:
Then next his eyes are squint,
Then he's picked up your scent,

Vamp:
(La-La-La-La-la)
Warm it up,
(La-La-La-La-la)
The boys are waiting,
(La-La-La-La-la)
Warm it up,
(La-La-La-La-la)
The boys are waiting,

Chorus:
My Milkshake brings all the boys to the yard,
And their like "It's better than yours"
Damn right, It's better than yours,
I can teach you, but I have to charge (2x)

Survival.

2010-01-30T01:36:00.000+10:00

The room was saturated with the smell of gluttony.

The night was filled with hunger instantly. The eyes on her were no longer human, they were beast; examining her flesh, imaging her as a thick cut piece of meat laid out before them. Not once did she flinch.

She was hunted and caught, and it was as she knew it would be; quickly and clumsily.

She was groomed for this and knew the smell she would leave tangled in these anonymous sheets, this wilderness. She still wondered if the scent of her fuelled them to hunt again.

She moved in familiar rhythm with someone unfamiliar; it pounced without grace and she folded with plastic flattery.

She bucked,
arched,
rolled,
writhed.
She screamed in agony.

Satisfied, he rolled onto his back, stroking his distended belly.
He glanced at her defiled carcass and tossed it some scraps.

The first chance she had, she slunk away into the cover of night.
She had managed to guarantee her existence for another day.

You do what you have to, to survive in the wild.

nowordsrequired.

2010-01-24T12:15:00.000+10:00

Get over yourself.

2010-01-24T12:09:00.000+10:00

I opened my eyes.
Submerged in a bathtub of a sleazy hotel in London.
I looked for god in the water.

The cracks in the ceiling grew deeper with every question.
I would play checkers with myself.
I spilled coffee on my sheets, and watched in fascination as the stain told me my future.

I slept in nothing but skin.
I used a found notepad to scribble down thoughts,
which were cliched and drenched in imagery.

My First Time.

2010-01-24T01:14:00.000+10:00

It was an abyss, you and I.
I had hollowed out a space within me that was just your size and shape and colour.

You were my first, my 1 of 2.
I was your first, your second of many.

My hair grew longer, quickly.

I could never drink enough to think you were clever,
You drank enough to make our mistakes.

My eyes, once looking forward, now only saw the ground.
I slipped further into a wooden box that was fully lined with lace.

You told me I was prettier when I cried.

I thought you would use your hands to hold mine
but they dug at me, deepening the hollow, leaving a space for me that grew smaller and smaller.

Along my dresser stood expensive soldiers of indiscretion.
You stopped looking me in the eye when we kissed.

You left us in the inky dark.
I washed my sheets at midnight.

What I wish I said.

2010-01-21T00:24:00.000+10:00

I should have told you this from the start.
It won't be worth it, and you won't be worth more.
You'll lose time and freedom, reality and innocence, sleep, confidence, life.
You're dooming yourself to a life of knowing too much, seeing too little and hiding all the time.
You'll walk shorter, forever, from now on.
Your bones will ache, your face will age and your hands will betray you.
Talent, intelligence and morality will fall by the wayside.
You'll become someone you hate.

You'll hurt for years.

You can't undo this.

Oblivion

2010-01-18T22:48:00.000+10:00

I walk out in front of a car. I stroll onto a busy city street and fail to notice the oncoming stream of traffic until headlights are blinding me whilst I lie on a wet, shiny black bed of bad luck. Im not injured. But whilst the taxi driver is checking the bumper of his car for damage and people are milling around to see the blonde who's parents forgot to teach her the basic rule of looking right then left then right once more, I'm trying to see if I've snapped the heel of my shoe. A pair of hand grabs me around the waist and helps me up, I dont even bother to look who it is, I just start to gather my bags, the contents of which were purchased in an effort to turn this week around. They cushioned my fall after all I guess.
The taxi man has gotten in his car to escape the abuse of an older woman for not learning how to drive properly, and several people are now trying to calm her down. In the midst of embarrassing commotion, I crash and dash.

...

2010-01-13T14:17:00.000+10:00

There is only enough words in this language to skim the surface of what I think of you.

Each adjective is too shallow, without enough dimension to be accurate.

Every dialect lacks the expansion I need for you.

When using these words against you, all meaning changes and somehow they seem irrelevant or powerless.

Tonight.

2010-01-08T01:15:00.000+10:00

The rain falls and the streets quickly become rivers and oceans. The moisture once surrendered by the earth has returned, as if it had never really gone.

Beneath a flickering streetlight the road is black and shiny from rain, and here a man slumps. Dark hair pulled back into the nape of his neck and silver rings on each finger. With each breath his chest staggers as though his heart is breaking more completely with the passing seconds. With water filled boots he rises and begins to walk through the city streets in absolute silence. There are no cars, no planes over head, no drifting music, no voices, no buzz from the neon signs. As the rain begins to fall again, it to is silent. This world, his world, has become empty and hollow; the universe is grieving.
Stopped in front of a convenient store he lights a cigarette, inhaling with hunger. For the first time in a long time, he stands on the street without fear. Not a single shred of it. His back is not against a wall, his eyes are looking downward and his hand only serves to take his hand rolled cigarette to and from his bruised lips.
The sky is starting to turn over, to awaken. He stubs his cigarette butt out and stuffs it into his pocket; there are no bins in sight. His mind calculates the number of hours he has before the sun will rise and his dark cocoon will be stripped from him; three at most. He does not want to waste them on other people, making menial conversation and pretending to listen to their empty and irrelevant words. He cannot though, stomach the thought of heading home yet, no, not yet.
“No matter how far away/I will always love you/No matter the words I say/I will always love you/I will always love you.”
He sings as he starts to slowly move again down the street, The Cure, hoping for one. His voice is piercing the haunting silences that has engulfed the city. He feels an inch of warmth within, and in doing so realises his hair and clothing are heavy with rain and feel icy against his skin. His boots are weighted and his breath is visible in front of his face. He does nothing to change this.
His heavy boots carry him along this city street. His steps are even, unfaltering, without purpose. He is just moving one step at a time. He passes a liquor store that is all but deserted. Further down the street he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the window of a closed book store, but is unable to definitively make out any of his facial features. For the second time tonight, he stops to light a cigarette. The flame from his lighter is strong as draws his first breath. He turns his head to the left and realises he is outside a dimly lit bar. So cliched, so perfect. He pushes the door open with his cigarette between his lips. He immediately notices two things; the first is that the bar is holding only a sparse clientele, and the second is that the padding of silence he had been traveling along the streets in was gone.
It was a red lit bar filled with faint music, the haze from chain smokers and anguished patrons. He takes a stool in a quiet corner of the bar, where he can watch the rain outside. From his haven within a haven he sits silently and watches as the rain starts to ease and then almost instantly, cease. He thinks that maybe he should be blaming God. Or whoever. That perhaps his mind should be filled with raging thoughts of cliched revenged, sadness, fury and depression. Should be filled with some kind of moving emotion, instead of the abyss he feels within. Should be something, but he is nothing. He barely feels the abyss.
Under the buzzing red neon “Bar” sign, he slumps. His head rests in the join of two walls, his eyes stare unflinchingly out to the street. The street is still empty, he is still empty.
The music is louder than it was when he first entered, as if it has been on an undetectable increase since he stepped into the bar. It does not stir him. It becomes a buffer between him and the murmur of others in this place. He lifts the glass to his swollen lips and laps up the last drops of vodka. His vision is not what it was yesterday, or even this morning. Nothing is what it was yesterday. He wishes he had a dog to go home to, even a goldfish, just something that could snap him back into the painstaking routine of life. Something that reminded him he had to do basic things like emptying the bins, paying the gas, defrosting the freezer. Something that would thrust him into the real world where he had to deal with real and raw emotions. He has nothing.
With a fresh drink in his hand and a never ending cigarette in the other, he decides to stay in this spot forever. To live right here, in this place, with these strangers and forget about anything he might have once enjoyed, the people he might have once cared about, the jobs he might have once felt ambition for, the travels he might have once wanted to experience, the love he might have once found, the life he might have once been destined to lead.
His eyes are still locked on the street outside as a mist of rain sweeps down the road. Heavy, fat droplets form and start to fall so hard and violently that world outside becomes nothing more than a faded memory.

Imitating Life.

2010-01-08T01:08:00.000+10:00

Eyes open. She felt a single drop of sweat languidly climb down from her forehead. She felt something, some kind of pull, but was unsure of what it was. She was unable to remember the moment almost identical to this one that she knew had occurred once before.
Without turning her head, she allowed her right arm to sneak around the unknown side of the bed. She was definitely alone.

Goosebumps formed at her ankles as her bare feet touched the dew drenched grass, and sprinted up her legs & torso until they covered her entire body.
There it was.
A small black chasm-like structure placed between two small garden rocks and beneath her Jacaranda tree. She stared at her own private backyard black hole without fear. Curiosity moved her hands over the rocks as she knelt in front of the hole, feeling out its depth and looking for an end, finish or other side to it. As she had expected, it didn’t have one.
She settled back onto her heels facing the hole and was greeted by the appearance of a small vase. She knew it wasn’t there moments before, and calmly deduced that it had materialized from the hole. She was completely unalarmed.
The mysterious vase was quite ornate. It looked to her as if a full sized antique, white porcelain vase had just been shrunk to this miniature size. Her fingers traced over the blue and gold pattern as she walked from the far corner of her back yard and into her kitchen. She sat at her dining room table sipping on a cup of overly sweet, strong black coffee. She stared at the vase, examining every curve. She realized she had seen it before; it was a present from the stranger that was her Oma when she was nine. The first time she had ever met her Oma. She had forgotten the present, and as hard as she tried, she could not ignite the memory of her past to remember what had become of the original vase.
Laying in bed that night, with the vase safely tucked away in a large wooden box beneath her bed, she was flooded with images, sounds, smells, and feelings from her childhood. She felt the texture of her Oma’s flame red hair beneath her finger tips, just had she had done when she was nine. She could smell the fresh cut Gardenias from her mother’s garden that were placed in every room. These memories had long remained dormant within.

The sun had barely pierced the horizon when she left the warmth of her bed for the mysterious black hole in the garden. This time as she crossed the yard she could already see a small object waiting for her at the entrance to the hole. She ran to it.
Drinking her very sweet black coffee she examined the object. This time it was a small jade coloured hand mirror belonging to her older sister. Her sister had accused her of stealing it when she was sixteen, they had fought for weeks over the incident. She peered at herself in the mirror and only saw her young and tear stained face.
That night, with the mirror taking a place beside the vase in her wooden chest, she was again bombarded with vivid memories, this time from her teenage years. She felt the cool of wooden floorboards beneath her feet on a hot summer’s day, the rich sweet taste of her mother’s chocolate pudding that would be left unfinished in the fridge and eaten the next day at breakfast. She cocooned herself in these memories, relishing the fresh yet familiar feelings they invoked. That night her sleep was filled with more colour, sound and movement than it had been in years.

The next morning followed the same pattern; running downstairs to discover what gift had been left for her and then swimming through the memories all day and night. This routine continued for approximately two weeks. Some objects left for her were more abstract and took longer for her to examine and figure out; a half folded Origami crane that was her last attempt at trying to involve herself in her sister’s studies. Other objects left were more direct; her favourite purple dress, a blue clock in the shape of fish given to her by her mother and invitations to old friends birthday parties. Her wooden box quickly began to fill up with inanimate pieces of her life, at the same time her life began to revolve around filling this box.

She woke to the sun in her eyes and high in the sky. It was late. She reached under her bed for her wooden box of treasures and pulled it with ease onto her lap. Her heart dropped. She lifted the lid and found herself staring at the bottom of the box. It was empty.
She rushed from her room and into the backyard, dreading the reason behind her sleep in.
It was gone.
She felt the ground where it had been, it was cold. She felt the cold.

Half Full.

2010-01-08T00:52:00.000+10:00

I made it to the end of the world
I peered over the edge.
I was suspended in time,
With a pure mind.
It was the anti-suicidal ledge.

I swam over water falls
I was surrounded by mer-love
I floated down into the depths,
With a pure mind.
Arms pierced the water above.

I floated through winds of whips and spins
I twisted through the night
I fell out from the sky,
With a pure mind.
I came to rest on the back of a kite.

I awoke upon a bed of flames,
I had rested my head on fire.
I could see through the haze,
With a pure mind.
For my love, I burned with desire.

Listen. And hear it.

2009-11-23T22:10:00.001+10:00

Return of the Mack.

2009-10-04T20:59:00.000+10:00

Hiatus is forcibly over! I am sticking to the man who, through university blogging assignments, had sapped my creative nectar and passion for getting my blog on. No more! Mutiny!!!!A brief summary of the past few days/weeks/months:
Slowly but completely removed myself from the confines of Griffith walls, settled into a space all of my own though obviously someone has stuck a sign on my back reading "This chicks single and wants a root" as the calibre of male I have been attracting is quite high, discovered how low my fuel gauge can go before it starts a-chugging, acquired 48 bruises in under mysterious circumstances, began running again, felt good then bad then wondrous then deep then silly then sleepy then high then numb, read 'Catcher in the Rye' for the first time everrrrrrrrr, kissed my dog, stubbed my toe, made some meals, drew some picture, listened to music, sang at the top of my lungs, became a closet rapper, smoked, drank, fell, felt the familiar pull of the ocean, missed my mum, felt the cold, worked a little, barely slept, felt a little lost without my blog.
Boy that feels good. Definitely never leaving it this long again.

A tear that hangs inside my soul forever..

2009-08-04T20:23:00.000+10:00

I have become completely ensconced in Jeff Buckley the last couple of weeks. I mean entirely, thoroughly, utterly and undeniably consumed by him and his life and works. I have always lauded him as a musician above all others, but I have only just started reading his book and have since been listening exclusively to him, paralleling his journey in 'Dream Brother' with tracks from his albums. It is a haunting process. Even though I know the outcome of the book, where the story physically ends etc, I still can't help reading it with hope that he lives. That another album will come out soon. That this musical gift in the form of a waifish man will continue to evolve and develop and share this with the rest of the world. It almost makes me ashamed the whilst Jeff's most important, and significant relationship is with music, almost everything else falls by the wayside, mine is with people. And don't get me wrong, I love people. I don't want to be a recluse, but I wish my passion took a strong hold on my like music did for Jeff. That was his one focus, ambition, desire, and fuel for life. It gave him energy and fire. Things which I do not possess. And then there is my blatant attraction to him. Oh god he is aaaaaaaaaaamazn. I am in love with a stranger.

Looking For Love.

2009-06-27T23:26:00.000+10:00

Hi. I'm a 24 year old Uni student. I like double entendre's, dimly lit pubs and fancy dress parties. I spent most of my time thinking up creative ways to speak about myself. I am looking for someone who is definitely not stuck in limbo and can similarly morph to suit social situations.If this sounds like you please email me at: wakeup@idontknowwhere.com.fu

This ain't no fucking Disco.

2009-06-21T21:21:00.000+10:00

So. Journeyed to West End last night to see British India: AMAAAAAZING. There were some definite sound issues, not sure Hi Fi has that part down pat yet, but otherwise it rocked my socks off. I love bands that still have the energy to throw themselves around the stage in the name of music, as well as not giving a fuck about what their hair is doing or how sweaty they are getting, as long as they play the shit out of each song. I swear the lead guitarist was shooting sex eyes in our direction as he played his guitar with his teeth. I am really digging on the variety, lyrically, that british India have. I like every one of their songs, even though they range from fuck the man to love. Amaaaazing.

Limitless colour in a colourless world.

2009-06-08T21:21:00.000+10:00

I sometimes wonder about the price people pay for seeing the world in a different light. Van Gough was such an amazing artist, painting pictures so vivid and of beautiful landscapes and yet he could not see them with his eyes as he was being kept in an asylum in Saint Remy, they were purely from his mind. I guess through art and song and dance and poems, its becomes easier to express an altered world view because you have the freedom to express it in an alternative way.

Starry

starry night

paint your palette blue and grey

look out on a summer's day

with eyes that know the

darkness in my soul.

Shadows on the hills

sketch the trees and the daffodils

catch the breeze and the winter chills

in colors on the snowy linen land.

And now I understand what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity

how you tried to set them free.

They would not listen

they did not know how

perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry

starry night

flaming flo'rs that brightly blaze

swirling clouds in violet haze reflect in

Vincent's eyes of China blue.

Colors changing hue

morning fields of amber grain

weathered faces lined in pain

are soothed beneath the artist's

loving hand.

And now I understand what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity

how you tried to set them free.

perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you

but still your love was true

and when no hope was left in sight on that starry

starry night.

You took your life

as lovers often do;

But I could have told you

Vincent

this world was never

meant for one

as beautiful as you.

Starry

starry night

portraits hung in empty halls

frameless heads on nameless walls

with eyes

that watch the world and can't forget.

Like the stranger that you've met

the ragged men in ragged clothes

the silver thorn of bloddy rose

lie crushed and broken

on the virgin snow.

And now I think I know what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity

how you tried to set them free.

They would not listen

they're not

list'ning still

perhaps they never will.

Revolution, Evolution, Deconstruction, Destruction

2009-05-27T14:39:00.000+10:00

Living in a white world with black boys and girls,

Giving freedom in a box with rotten fruit and bugs.

Its rags and dirt and mud and blood,

Its cold and hot and feverish sleep,

Its pain and anger, tears and rape,

Its sin and god and hell and man.

Eating fleshy mandarins,

Juice and sun run down their chins,

Letting dogs lick at their feet,

No scars, no blisters, clean and neat.

Briefcase, mobile, pager, suit

Mortgage, cable, shiny shoes

Harlem, Brooklyn, Alice Springs,

Separation revelations when foreign accents sing.

Living in a white world with black boys and girls,

Hiding freedom in a box with rotten fruit and bugs.

Its judgement, fear and lies and war,

Its bombs and planes and guns and sand,

Its you and me and us and them,

Its sin and god and hell and man.

I miss you.

2009-05-04T19:18:00.000+10:00

I wish you would come back to me. You left me wanting more, but feeling exhausted from all that we'd experienced already. I wake every day with the hope there will be some news of your return. I'll wait for you for years, but know I will see others. You were unexpected and amazing, you changed the way I listened.Ode to Bon Iver.

Cherry Popped

2009-05-04T18:41:00.000+10:00

I think I have had too many of those nights of endless drinking and chain smoking of champion rollies, feeling bored in an overpopulated city, finding nothing in the realm of intellectual stimulation. Having something more than just to sit in a dimly lit drinking hole so I can listen to something resembling music, although I find the butchering of music sickening. I am definitely becoming cynical.
I don't often like the reveal, the exposure of thoughts. I find myself continually putting distance between whats in my head and what I put out for everyone to see. I think I just popped my cherry. Yeehaw.