poetry

Just two lovers sitting in the park.

We’re just two lovers sitting in the park,

Waiting for the end of the world.

We do not rush-

No, instead we linger,

In earthy stillness,

Just to see if love never truly ends.

We watch the grass dance with bumble bees,

And the wind play with shadows;

All is quiet, until I lean over and whisper in my lover’s ear:

‘Bury me beneath that tree.

The one covered in green, green ivy’

That way it’s roots can fill my veins

And I, too, will become overgrown,

Filling in the lonely parts of us.

My heart will swell with rainwater,

And my soul can drink in the wind.

poetry

Bury the Hatchet

Bury the hatchet,

Or better yet burn it

And scatter the ashes so far across the sea

We stand no chance of digging it up.

‘Cause I know you,

You’ll get bored and start looking.

At least this way

We can only stand on the beach

And reminisce in what

It used to be.

poetry

Men and Satan

It’s sinful.

But can we tell you a secret?

We don’t care.

I know,

Punish us for feeling

No mourning,

We’ll probably enjoy that too.

Men and Satan mean nothing to us,

We just want a taste-

A sinful taste.

Come, my lover,

Lose control,

Take control,

Be fuelled by desire and

Take a heavy breath;

A heavy drink.

The day is almost over

And I need someone,

Besides me,

To feel like Hell.

poetry

Flushed

Whatever gets you through the night, babe.

Sure, I’ll tell you you’re handsome-

‘I can’t decide if it looks better off or on.’

Yes, I can pretend you’re the only one-

‘The only one for me.’

 

‘…Babe?’

Just don’t expect me there

In the morning-

‘I told you I was destined to leave.’

It’s not you,

It’s just the lights,

They have a habit

Of flushing out the lies.

poetry

Once

Once we shared paradise,
Childlike and wide-eyed,
but your heart paled
and in a hateful fever of lies –
In a storm of sorrow-
You left our love out to
Die-
Dry…
I meant dry.
It’s not dead
Only dormant.
I know because
I still love you.

poetry

Is That Called Love?

You’re turning
Black and white to colour,
Ripping through shreds of paper
To find the truth.
You won’t find it now
It was burned long ago
But the ashes still exist in my chest
If you’d like to rip that open too
And see for yourself.
Go ahead,
Crack each of my ribs
And leave me bare.
I dare you,
Wear me like a glove.
We both know
I’m going to let you.

Is this called love?