Séance

There's a ghost of you in this house, in this mind.
A ghost of your smile in the kitchen,
Aromatic and bare,
Your laughter a haunting echo.
A ghost of your body on this bed,
Unmade and cold,
The scent of your skin tumble dried.
A ghost of your lips on my skin,
Split and silken,
Kept secret by the Tricyclic*.
A ghost of your fingerprints on my heart,
Precious and rare,
Fading away with my fragmenting breath.

There is a ghost of us in this house.


*Tricyclic is one of the three main forms of anti-depressants used in New Zealand.

Storm

The sky is grey.
Left unpainted, abandoned
By your hand as you
Coloured my soul
In watercolour radiance. 

Flying Cars

There is something romantic
About self-destruction,
You once said.
That should have been my first warning.
So I shouldn't drop diamonds against my skin,
In penance for your departure.
For birds aren't meant to be caged,
And reality is a gilded.

Modern Mentality: Three

To Do List:

-Inhale
-Exhale
-Repeat

A Series of Poetic Statements.

My eyes are sleep-blurry, but I can still see the pores of your skin breathing under the moonlight.

*

The night us dark, scattered with clouds of violet smog and frozen lanterns that hang from streetsides.
My breath stinks of your disappointment, again.

*

A hail of bullets splatter down, frozen capsules that drum relentlessly against my ungiving skin, a beat to my pulsing rage.

*

I'm all messed up, someone help me, my distorted eyes see nothing but my fading edges of perception.

*

Like and amputated acrobat, I am uncomfortable in my own skin,

*

In the loneliest of nights, you are the soft draught that ghosts over my skin.

Happiness

At the edge,
of the abyss. I stand.
No blood, only terror.
Should I venture
into it's bottomless depths,
I shall be wrenched from reality,
and upon me, thrust, shall be
the unattainable.

Modern Mentality: Two

Useless things:

-Phone charms.

-Game shows.

-Telemarketers.

-Reality.