I Wish I Could Write I wish I could write about a lot of things. I wish I could write about when the sun shines through the clouds on an overcast day and how the piercing rays are the slides holding glimmering hope that proves life is worth living. I wish I could see the spark in every single thing, from ant, to aardvark and hyena to human that makes our brain click with each and every tick. I wish I could see the miracle of life reflected in every mother’s eyes become the sunrise of the world. I wish when I feel your tongue in my mouth I didn’t feel his and when your hands are running up and down my sides like butterflies warming my skin I could feel something else than his hands wrapped around my throat. I wish I could take every hurtful thing he ever said to me and every stupid thing he made me do and roll into a pebble that I could hand to you. And then you could throw that pebble into the deep black sea. And then that deep black sea would swallow it and grind it down to the dust that it deserves to be. Then maybe I can imagine an eye of that storm, where the water is calm and blue and the dust of our past is just another glittering particle floating past us. And with each breath we would sink deeper into the vastness of the ocean and all we would feel are the bubbles of our hopes and dreams brush our skin as we immerse ourselves into something like eternity.

I Wish I Could Write

I wish I could write about a lot of things.

I wish I could write about when the sun shines through the clouds on an overcast day and how the piercing rays are the slides holding glimmering hope that proves life is worth living.

I wish I could see the spark in every single thing, from ant, to aardvark and hyena to human that makes our brain click with each and every tick. I wish I could see the miracle of life reflected in every mother’s eyes become the sunrise of the world.

I wish when I feel your tongue in my mouth I didn’t feel his and when your hands are running up and down my sides like butterflies warming my skin I could feel something else than his hands wrapped around my throat.

I wish I could take every hurtful thing he ever said to me and every stupid thing he made me do and roll into a pebble that I could hand to you. And then you could throw that pebble into the deep black sea. And then that deep black sea would swallow it and grind it down to the dust that it deserves to be.

Then maybe I can imagine an eye of that storm, where the water is calm and blue and the dust of our past is just another glittering particle floating past us. And with each breath we would sink deeper into the vastness of the ocean and all we would feel are the bubbles of our hopes and dreams brush our skin as we immerse ourselves into something like eternity.

The Aftermath of You

It´s probably too much to write about; to articulate in logic. To make the comparisons and draw up the data and then evaluate with a clinical tongue. I feel damaged though, that´s the aftermath - after the equations: all the subtractions of logical thought and additions of beating hearts and multiplications of your words and ideas and scenarios wrapping around my brain. I guess I´m just a broken formula now.   image

I. You made me happy, more than I ever thought you could. I remember smiling as the sun rose, her burning light seeping through the window engraving the contours of your body upon my skin. The outside didn’t matter, the sun or the sky, nor the ground or the trees. You were the depths of the earth; your voice reverberating through my anatomy; from my toes through to my shoulder blades. I shook with every breath you drew and every whisper you spoke. You’re eyes reflected the sky, the unknown and the beautiful… but also the unreachable. II. You never wore black; it was always white, or green, or yellow or red. You never wore black. You remind me of it though, every tone and every shade, the coolness of slate, the angry embers of charcoal and the comforting cocoon of ebony. You surrounded me with that black; like the night itself. I was your moonlight and you pretended you were my stars, dancing, swirling, twirling, but you were only the backdrop that held it. You wear black now. III. Sometimes I feel like I never knew you. Perhaps I didn’t. And it’s odd to think about a time with sock clad feet kicking comfortably on your bed, lying down, talking, chatting and laughing. It’s surreal to think of the lights out and soft breathing; a peaceful atmosphere as we drifted into our alternate universes within the crevices of our brain. It’s peculiar to look at the photographs of our smiling faces frozen in a time we can never go back to. Memories are odd, life is strange and we were always different. Maybe I’ll never know you again.

I.

You made me happy, more than I ever thought you could. I remember smiling as the sun rose, her burning light seeping through the window engraving the contours of your body upon my skin. The outside didn’t matter, the sun or the sky, nor the ground or the trees. You were the depths of the earth; your voice reverberating through my anatomy; from my toes through to my shoulder blades. I shook with every breath you drew and every whisper you spoke. You’re eyes reflected the sky, the unknown and the beautiful… but also the unreachable.

II.

You never wore black; it was always white, or green, or yellow or red. You never wore black.

You remind me of it though, every tone and every shade, the coolness of slate, the angry embers of charcoal and the comforting cocoon of ebony. You surrounded me with that black; like the night itself. I was your moonlight and you pretended you were my stars, dancing, swirling, twirling, but you were only the backdrop that held it.

You wear black now.

III.

Sometimes I feel like I never knew you. Perhaps I didn’t.

And it’s odd to think about a time with sock clad feet kicking comfortably on your bed, lying down, talking, chatting and laughing. It’s surreal to think of the lights out and soft breathing; a peaceful atmosphere as we drifted into our alternate universes within the crevices of our brain. It’s peculiar to look at the photographs of our smiling faces frozen in a time we can never go back to. Memories are odd, life is strange and we were always different.

Maybe I’ll never know you again.

Letters and Lightbulbs

Dear Mr.You,

I am worth it. I may not be worth every minute you spend talking to me, may not be worth the aeroplane fairs or phone bills. But me - I am worth it. I need you to know that; and here’s why I’m worth it. I am a fighter, I may not seem like it, but I am a fighter. I don’t give up. I won’t give up. Not on you and not on us. And there’s the different between me and them. They gave up on you, maybe you wanted to be given up on, or maybe they wanted to give up on you, but either way they stopped fighting. They didn’t see you’re worth it, not your words, not your eyes, not your face, not your voice, not you. And even if you start screaming at me, raising your voice, screwing up your face, closing your eyes and spurting out bitter words of hate - I wouldn’t give up.

I didn’t want this, to feel this way, to want to fight you, fight for us, fight for something I don’t even understand. But I am a fighter and I just can’t give up yet. I haven’t made plans, I’m not delusional, but I just know I won’t give up. Date your girls and I’ll date mine, light up their lives until the candle burns out, I’ll be around to mop up the molten wax. I don’t mind the burns. Just know I’m a light bulb; my spark takes lot more to extinguish, and if you have me, I’m around for a lot longer.

So I’m sorry if this is too much, if you want to be left alone in the dark, you need to start telling me. Some people prefer that; I understand. But there’s always a demand for light bulbs, from in hanging china lanterns to in delicate intricate chandeliers. I am worth it. And I think you know that. But unless you tell me, there’s an array of lampshades around the corner, from pink and purple and yellow and green, and one day, one month, one year or five, I will have changed and grown and I won’t be the right for fit for you anymore.

So tell me something. Tell me that I’m worth it. Or tell me that you’d prefer to wait for next generation of reliable light source.

Just tell me.

Love,

Something you’re missing.

Please Don’t Look Back

I’ve tried, to turn my back and wish you gone. I’ve wanted nothing more to close the book at half way, but you’re words keep beckoning me to turn the torn yellow pages, please tell me there’s no happy ending, and I can leave it for only the dusts amusement.

I hid you away too, that day, in the bottom drawer, under the piles new books with high promises, so I could get lost in pristine white and printed black and caught between the perfect lives of other people. I begged them to fill your persistent space in my heart with surprise and amuse… but they never lived up, and once they were gone I was alone again, naked to the bone and left surrounded by piles of empty binds.

And in your loneliness, your essence seeped in, you sneaked through the open pores of my skin, you climbed through the tangles of my body avoiding the live wires and swimming against the stiff current. You sifted through my lungs, filling them, so all I could breathe was your version of air. You punched your way into my heart seeking refuge in the newly caused bruises. You finally passed my eyes so now when they are closed, I only see you, you came to rest upon my brain, finding settling easy in the empty corners; this is where you reside.

You need to go back to your book, your place on the bottom of the shelf. There is no space left in me now, not even between ribs or fingernails. And you yourself are bound to the words on each and every page, no room left to go roaming. You need to be gone.

And once you’re gone, I won’t turn back, won’t go hunting for you on a cold winter’s night, won’t seek a refuge of comfort in corrected words and whimsical music. I won’t look for guidance when I’m at a fork in the road, won’t ask you about the magic in this world; won’t ask you about you. I promise I won’t bother you again. 

And please, don’t look back…
and I won’t either.
                                  

Waiting, watching, wishing And I’m doneAnd I’m doneAnd I’m done.I’m done. I’m done walking down the street in the middle of the night, searching for that lighthouse light and shuffling back cold and lost at 2AM in the morning. This ship’s gone to sea and this time it’s not coming back.And I’m done looking for the corners of your heart in the bottom of my sock drawer. It’s time to open the curtains, let the light stream in and eradicate the very lost essence of you, time to banish the thoughts, the pleads and the what if’s away, for good. I’ve started spring cleaning.I’m done, waiting, watching, wishing. I’m done waiting for the next candle to blow out, done watching for the next shooting star, done wasting those wishes.

Waiting, watching, wishing

And I’m done
And I’m done
And I’m done.

I’m done. I’m done walking down the street in the middle of the night, searching for that lighthouse light and shuffling back cold and lost at 2AM in the morning. This ship’s gone to sea and this time it’s not coming back.

And I’m done looking for the corners of your heart in the bottom of my sock drawer. It’s time to open the curtains, let the light stream in and eradicate the very lost essence of you, time to banish the thoughts, the pleads and the what if’s away, for good. I’ve started spring cleaning.

I’m done, waiting, watching, wishing. I’m done waiting for the next candle to blow out, done watching for the next shooting star, done wasting those wishes.

Birthday Candles

I wanted to paint

beauty on your walls,

so every morning

you’d be reminded of

what awaits you outside

your frosted glass windows.

…

I’d write your life in

hues of orange and red,

painted on a bright

yellow canvas,

so you’d never forget

the magic of the sun.

…

Tea candles would

illuminate the path along

your front driveway

to remind you

of the dreams you once paved.

When they flicker:

it’s another star gone out

from the wish

I sent you.

…

And as you look outside

beyond the metaphors

of broken love

in dull city lights.

…

I want you to know,

When the lights go out,

in the ultimate countdown,

It’s because I wished away the galaxy for you.

You’re My Magic (mushroom) You said I’m your drug. I think you’re right. But you’re not the fast paced thrill of ecstasy, not the erratic thump-thumpthump-thump of my heart, not the careening out of control like a race-car flying down the track with a loose wheel destined for disaster. No, you’re the strong and steady beat-beat-beat of my heart that makes me mind drift off into far away places knowing my two feet are firmly planted on the grand. You’re the room spinning at 80mph, you’re the colours and sounds merging as a splatters of pink and purple matter on the ceiling but you’re always the arms wrapped round me holding me tight, grounding me, perfectly.

You’re My Magic (mushroom)

You said I’m your drug.

I think you’re right.

But you’re not the fast paced thrill of ecstasy, not the erratic thump-thumpthump-thump of my heart, not the careening out of control like a race-car flying down the track with a loose wheel destined for disaster. No, you’re the strong and steady beat-beat-beat of my heart that makes me mind drift off into far away places knowing my two feet are firmly planted on the grand. You’re the room spinning at 80mph, you’re the colours and sounds merging as a splatters of pink and purple matter on the ceiling but you’re always the arms wrapped round me holding me tight, grounding me, perfectly.

Wash Me Away. Leave me alone – let me drown my thoughts in the rain, I crave the relentless downpour. I need each drop to wash it away, the thoughts, the feelings and the crumbled dust of my heart. I need the sting of each splat to remind me about the ping and pang, the constant sting of living. I need the rivers to drown my soul in, only to leave a clean and unscathed surface. I begged the rain to let me submerse my mind.

Wash Me Away.

Leave me alone – let me drown my thoughts in the rain, I crave the relentless downpour. I need each drop to wash it away, the thoughts, the feelings and the crumbled dust of my heart. I need the sting of each splat to remind me about the ping and pang, the constant sting of living. I need the rivers to drown my soul in, only to leave a clean and unscathed surface. I begged the rain to let me submerse my mind.

NIGHTNIGHT by DEDDY