Temporal Lapse

As my fingers explore the ridges of your smooth back.
Dancing around the water droplets that scamper down your skin. 

My fingers become aquatinted with your yellow soaked hair. 

As I embrace you, the wet fabric flutters to the ground. 

Your lips become a capital, a lure drawing me in.
Only to evaporate in gas, mist, smog in the memory that is you. 


The Last Echo

I can feel the tendrils of disparity

Clawing at the under belly of rage

Spattering the fogged window of clarity

Shattering the frosted exterior of your self

I can smell the fumes of regret

Engulfing the lungs of impurity.

Poisoning the mind to forget,

The repeat of last time.

I can taste your lips on my breath.

The pseudo essence of care

The decrepit and boredom crest

I will close my eyes to the taint.

I know that this was all it was.

A plague of misconception.

I wish it was more than what it was.

I wouldn’t move heaven, I wouldn’t move earth.

But I’d be there for you.

Even if you don’t want me to.


As our fingers brush, bristle against  each other like blades of grass buffeted by harsh breeze. My heart breaks.

I will not let you stop me.

The tendrils of emotion circle my motionless corpse at night, reminding me the noise of my nemesis. Tick, tock, tick, tock.

I will not let you drop me.

The concrete safety nestled in my heart as I watch you sleep turns into a blade, cauterising my thoughts of leaving. I want you.

Should I stay?

My dream of experiencing the world, encountering new and astounding people crumbles before  me, like a castle on the brink of a cliff. Teetering on the cliff of sacrifice.

It’s you I want.

Versus the image of constructing a stable life with you by my side. Your long blonde hair billowing, leaving an essence of your scent lingering on my nose. Pure ecstasy.

I am torn.

Giving up the one I love for the life I want.

Shackled Possessions

I’m a prisoner of my own emotions, not listening to reason or logic, following the traps of guaranteed turmoil.

Its war inside me, a struggle I chose to keep secret with no avenue to express this hurt yet the more I conceal, the more I drown.

My existence is a fish flailing out of water gasping for oxygen caught in a hurricane on the side of a mountain, a comical yet sad scene.

Yet I love the way you look at me, unable to see the vulnerability behind these sad eyes, the facade that is my life.

I know my role, a jester, a fisherman, a leech that feeds on the acknowledgment of others. A child waiting for my being to have value.

If I am not to love then what I am to be? If am not to fight then what should I stand for? If I am not to be then who should I breathe for?

If ignorance is bliss yet inaction is sin. Then I am a sinner living in a dystopian world with the only refuge being your smile.

If you could do it all again, would you? If you could freeze a flowing river, would you? If you could stop the tears from rolling down your cheek, would you?

If fate was led me down this path then I was the one that characterised it. I chose to be the jester, the fisherman, the leech.

It was all worth it to live in that second. For our eyes to reach, your lips to bend and my heart to splinter. To treasure that second, that would be my greatest possession.

Mongolia 790