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Choking On This Breath

Let me tell you
that this isn’t the first
time that I’ve choked myself
through broken mirrors;
reeling shards through
wisdom teeth.

Feeding reflections to
my lungs is the only
way I can focus
on breathing,
when you’ve shoved
so many words
down my throat.

This isn’t the first
time that I’ve drowned
in liquid stares;
trying to swim in your
uncertainty, in knowing
that it’s final.

Let me tell you.


Retail

She's been cut from the cloth
of one life that's been littered
with insolence and second glances,
and another that's shadowed by
slack shoulders and
crackjaw antics.
Mother loves to put up borders,
father loves to grind his teeth.
Brother is always the exception
getting everything he needs.

In her neo-suburban fantasy
she's sold her own ashes
for better company, a tighter bind,
red shirts and a new place
to lose sleep.
By her third excuse
I'm counting my losses,
licking my wounds and
planning the next fix.

I guess that explains
how she can extend best wishes
and ignore my presence
both at the same time.



Untitled

imagine, if you will,
a lightbulb that flickers
bright then black
bright then nothing,
like blinking into
the sun

it snaps open and shut
over and over.
replacing the bulb
doesn't help and
electricians just charge
far too much nowadays.

and then you sit there,
on the armchair in the corner
and stare
and stare
and stare
until you find a use for the
dodgy connection;

and you continue to look into it,
watching every move you make.


Untitled

She claims she’d feel safe
even in a cube made of glass,
but we all know she’d smoke it;
she always needed a fortress
like those depressive songs
she built her life around,
as they sucked her to the lock-jaw,
leaving the remains on the ground
of the bathroom floor:
The one she adores, and lays, as her bed;
the pillow of tears that were once and always shed;
as she requests a Gillette to be her gravedigger.
A bitter end of a bittersweet soul...