The machine gun in your headphonesDrums a palpatation beat-I wonder if your own heart is the same-Tripped until there'sViolence in its runningA beating of a palisadeAnd every thought is like aRock skipped over water-Smacked until you sink
The rowan tree sits as a guardian of a house, It’s usually associated with “paganism” (not that anything that isn’t Christianity is really a label) And he says that the berries poison cats. My dad is called Rowan, He’s 5”11, has grey eyes the colour of winter skies and told me He fought in world war two… Continue reading Taxi Driver
You, Lemon headed, Basking in the sun as if the colour of your skin will change The colours of your bitterness, With your bronze light raw red in the dark, You shine with stolen daylight, But when you no longer hold our sun hostage (for forcing the sky to light up gold is the only… Continue reading You.
He sat across from me, Eyelids drawn over his whirlpool eyes, His skin picked with bright young scars and all the echoes of honey. As I sit comfortable with my sloped spine, Soaking in the blue sky and changing my colours, I wonder at the fabric of the world, That we two meet, Seat to… Continue reading The Clairvoyant