Burning

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I wonder if you can feel the way I’ve given up on you?
You were like my second skin: surely you felt me shed you?
Surely you sense the way I prickle when you’re near:
You are a flame that will blister, crack and sear.

There was a time when you were my drug.
Not like caffeine and easy to substitute; not that kind of drug,
But the kind that makes you curl up in need,
Veins flow with fire, incoherent rage an unstoppable bleed.

You have charred me for the last time.
Go and dowse someone else’s bonfire in petrol.
Being near you is like choking on lyme.

 

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Brownies

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A shoreline covered with a skin of rock resembling the surface of brownies.
If I trip and fall, will my pale skin be mistaken for custard, or cream, and served up as a delicacy?
If I slip and stumble, landing in rockpools up to my knees,
Will I be mistaken for bramble jelly or strawberry jam, and served up on scones for afternoon tea?

Blemish

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I want to lose myself in you.
Pretend that the world is a kinder place.
Feel your skin beneath my fingers and your breath upon my face.
Close my eyes momentarily, and make believe
That I know your every curve and crease,
Every blemish of imperfection.
Every single doubt would cease.
To submit to your touch
Would be more than enough
To soothe, and ease this hurt from my mind.
No other could I ever find
Quite like you.

Blemish

Bigger Life

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I wield my mop like I’m preparing an ice sheet for a granite curling stone.
Melting the ice with curling broom tipped fire, to carve the stone a path home.
My lime green washroom brush scours tracks in the shower floor dirt;
I pretend I’m digging dinosaurs, Greek pottery, Celtic axes made of chert.
The pink rubber gloves that come up to my elbows provide protection
From isotopes, nuclear fusion reactor cores, mass spectrometer radiation.
In short, I dream a bigger life, instead of one that swallows me
In tasks achieving nothingness, played to a tune of monotony.

 

Believing

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I believe in evil
But I don’t believe in good.
Take in the world around you
Tell me, how anybody could?
I believe in freedom
But I don’t believe in free.
There’s always going to be a catch
Clauses you didn’t read.
I believe in science
But I don’t believe in faith.
There’s no guidance or comfort
From the fictional hallowed wraith.
I believe in start over
Beginning things anew
Even if to achieve this I must
Stop believing in you.

 

Bearer Of The Sun

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He’s got blood on his hands and death on his soul,
And the only part he’s ever played is a role.

Impaled on his own portcullis. Shield, heavy and worn,
Deflects. Reflects back self-hatred and borrowed scorn.

When dawn comes calling, it is he who has averted perpetual night,
And, like Bearer Of The Sun, he is the spirit that moves the light,

But still. No peace can yet be granted to him,
He, who does not know what it is to have hope within.