Arms and legs in parallel,
To a ground that is shaking.
Inches left, and inches right,
No space for the taking.
Pillow moulded to lonely head,
The dent still left in absence.
Clutched at blankets, solid grip,
Holding out for a presence.
Toss and turn, silent dreamer,
And run from starving wolves,
Tear at your hair, scratch your skin,
Suppress the demons within,
And life will begin.
kiss the sky,
let your knuckles graze the heavens.
submerge yourself in the expanse of the dark.
let light explode from your fingertips,
paint pictures in the blackness,
shatter moons with clenched fists.
caress the curvature of planets; of stars; of rocks and dust.
embrace the silence.
alone in your abyss.
Long are the nights where there is nothing else to ponder but the emptiness of your bed and the craving in your heart.
‘Why do we have to fight?’, she said, as they lay horizontal, holding hands.
This was the calm after the storm. A storm that had been raging for a good half an hour prior to the two laying down and settling the upset.
Noah had exploded in Joanne’s face, his words cut like knives which left Joanne in a flood of tears. Ironically, the rain had stopped, it was now Joanne’s eyes which lead the downpour and Noah’s words which provided the lightning. Illumination, but also danger. Joanne screamed back at him, more than she had ever screamed at anyone. She did not care for the passers by and their voiceless opinions, nor did she focus on the flock of friends she had trailing behind her. It was all about this moment and saying her piece, for she knew she was right, she was completely right, but it hurt to be so. Anything that hurt Noah would instantly wound her, or backfire in some way.
They now lay back at the flat. Stealing minutes upon the bed that was soon to be preoccupied by others. Joanne just wanted to lie with Noah forever. As if the seconds spent in close contact would heal the metaphorical wounds caused in the evening’s fight, and heal those which lay upon Joanne’s skin, her coping mechanism during conflict. No matter how much friction there was, Joanne felt safe, because in Noah’s arms was a place were no-one could harm her.
But there they were. Two broken toys. A boy soldier and a rag-doll awaiting the day when they’d find their match. But for now, Noah and Joanne were stuck with each other until the inevitable passing of time would tear them completely apart.
It’s okay to be afraid, they said,
‘these dreams are only in your head,’
The adults fought the battles for us,
and the monsters underneath the bed.
Wake up dripping sweat from brow,
wide eyes open to reality; now,
The red in cheek of rushed blood flow,
visions left, just a silent echo.
I love your smile. The way the invisible threads pull together to draw your lips up at the corners, and then unravel with a flash of teeth. I love how it’s existence is laced with happiness. I adore how your eyes explode into vast oceans of colour as emotion charges through them. I love your cheeks when they flush red under pressure.
I could watch you all day. You are my secret pleasure.