Consequences

slowly, ever so slowly you kill me

its like I’m messed up on heroin

your my own personal drug

the best crack I’ve ever snorted

so toxic

our love is so toxic

if god could hear me now

my knees dripping with blood,

choking on the fumes of devotion

sick on pills I just took

high on the feeling

stuck in the moment

stuck with you

high as kite

but lower than I’ve ever been.

the consequence of your love

is that it hurts

I tumble

crash

fall

crumble.

if god could see me right now

would he love how much I love love

how much I love loving you

that even the temporary high is worth the underlying pain.

 

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one night stands

I inhale the murderous smoke,

the thought of you always on my mind,

I exhale,

and remember the times when you were mine.

my eyes begin the water,

the memories of you with her flash through my mind like photographs,

I recall the way your lips touched hers,

the way you pulled her in,

the way you looked in her eyes,

the way you smiled.

I remember how your face crumbled,

how you looked at me with shock,

how you ran at the speed of light,

how my face was an emotionless mask,

how all I could hear was roaring and ringing,

how you chased me till I lost the will to fight

how you screamed that she was nothing,

how you screamed that you loved me.

I almost believed you and fell for your compulsive lies,

I looked behind you and I saw her face.

a face full of sorrow heartache and pain

then I recall how you looked in her eyes.

then I knew everything we had was a lie.

so I let him go. to be with her.

cause even though he was a player I knew he loved her

and I know I loved him more,

I loved him so much that I had  to let him go

I never said that it never hurt

it felt like being stabbed from ever corner to know he was never mine but hers.

but who am I to disrupt fate and what the fates have planned

maybe I’m fated to a long list of one night stands.

Lottery Ticket

I would die for you,

take a bullet straight to my brain,

a knife in my chest,

lay down my life,

take my last breath,

venture into the unknown which is life after death,

if theres even a life at all,

let myself fall into the uncertain.

would you do the same for me?

would you take a bullet straight to your lungs,

a knife in your leg,

hoping for a heaven and even a hell.

its crazy.

absolute madness.

how certain I am that I would give everything up for you,

and how unsure I am that you would do the same.

it like buying a lottery ticket,

its like answering a 22 mark question and praying you go it right,

because in the end you either get what you want,

or you fail,

life is a gamble,

and sometimes it always feels like your losing.

 

There was a time,

when I thought I knew how much I meant to you.

Now it just feels like a knife in the back,

and a bullet to heart.

 

even now.

with everything I now know,

with all this knowledge I have acquired,

with a firm grasp on how much I mean to you

If the bullet were to fly in your direction,

if the knife was to pierce your chest,

if the angel of death was knocking on your door,

I’m sure,

that I wouldn’t think twice about my next move.

 

 

Saturday Soup

Eulogy.
For my Grandma.
I miss you.

This isn’t my first goodbye.
Grandma, do you remember when I was 9?
I sat in my room.
I cried.

Grandma, do you remember after school?
Do you remember Saturdays too?
Just me, you, Nicholas and Saturday soup

Saturday soup was like sunshine,
it was like love,
if I even know what love is.
It was the taste of the Caribbean,
The roots you planted and fed.

Now your gone,
Saturday soup no longer taste like sunshine but it tastes like rain.
It’s tastes like your old hat, your smile, your laugh and pain.
It tastes like church on a Sunday morning and you putting us to bed at night.
It’s tastes like missing you and wanting you back and asking him why.

Grandma, do you remember when I was 13?
You picked a grapefruit from the tree,
We spoke,
We laughed,
We hugged.
almost reminded me of when me, you and Nicholas had Saturday soup.

I never knew that would be the last time seeing you,
Did you know grapefruit trees died Grandma?
Not long after you went too.

Now, I’m not a big believer
But for you,
I hope heaven is a garden made specifically for you,
I hope it has loads of grapefruit trees and a kitchen to make soup,
I hope it’s as beautiful as you,
I hope he gave you a warm welcome,
I hope you know that all has been forgiven,
I hope it was all you prayed for and more.
I pray your watching,
I pray you can see how much we miss you already,
I pray you miss us too.

Grandma, do you remember when I was 19?
that’s when we lost you.
and even though its hard to bear
And even though I wish you well up there
I still hope I walk into the kitchen
And I see you there,
with a pot on the fire,
And spoon in your hand,
just like when it was just me, you, Nicholas and Saturday soup.

Rest Easy, we love you.

Once a Home.

a poem.

a breakup leads to a broken home.

where the hurt resides and survives

not matter how hard you try to leave it behind.

I just find it difficult to say goodbye.

 

I know this is the time.

To switch off the lights in the house we once kept alive.

I was the only one still paying for the light.

while you were standing outside,

busy admiring the house on the other side.

No matter how hard you try,

to keep food in the fridge,

the house clean and warm,

the garden full of life.

You can’t stop the power going off,

the food reaching its best before date,

the house collecting cobwebs,

the garden slowing deteriorating.

You can’t stop the love from dying,

even if the love is still there, hiding, inside.

 

I want to destroy the house we built.

Rip it apart, brick by fucking brick.

Set it on fire and watch everything I love and hate burn.

But I decided.

To let the house stand until it falls.

To let the paint strip itself,

to let the cabinets get all dusty.

The house is too valuable to destroy.

I still want to walk around sometimes and reminisce about the good times.

 

But at the end of the day,

I’ll pick up my bag,

put on my hat,

walk away with my head held high, and a smile on my face.

Knowing that one day,

I’ll stop visiting

and never open that door again.

 

Horror Stories

a poem.

Was always so blind.

I didn’t comprehend…I didn’t see

That all I wanted and needed was right in front of me.

Waving, smiling, laughing, shouting , running, reaching

Fingertips nearly touching,

Hearts nearly close enough to perform a synchronise beat.

But eyes looking past,

Eyes wide,

Eyes blind,

All the things I couldn’t see.

I let them just walk right past while I focused on only me,

My dreams,

My aspirations,

Scared.

I can read you horror stories about being scared.

I can swim oceans,

jump off cliffs,

run for miles,

and it still wouldn’t be enough to tell you about the magnitude of fear.

Scared is when you realise your dad has left and your all alone

Scared is the crazy heart wrenching fear of the dark

All the things you don’t want to see, manifest and show themselves in the dark

Scared is blaming everyone but yourself

Scared is letting life pass you by

Scared is severing sacred connections.

Scared is almost saying ‘I do’

Scared is almost crying

Scared is almost showing emotion

Scared is almost saying ‘I like you too’

Scared is never moving

It’s never ending

It’s forever blind.

It’s forever losing.

It’s forever alone.

Writers Disease.

a poem.

recently I lost the will to write.

the words that once flowed like water,

no longer seem to flow from my mind.

I contemplated,

maybe this is the last ever time,

that I will be able to paint beautiful pictures with the words I write.

Is this disease curable, doctor?

Is there anyway to save me?

I feel like I’m going insane,

The words I try to write no longer translate,

my mind a black abyss the words just cant seem to escape

is there anyway to take this pain away?

I remember people asking why I write

In response I wrote a sea full of poems and stories

eyes blazing, pen scratching,

now I can no longer answer that question.

Why didn’t anyone tell me doctor?

this disease is more than my pen being unable to hit the paper

its more than my mind drawing up blanks

its more than the burning desire to rip every piece of paper to shreds

its being stuck in limbo,

its being stripped, naked with no where to hide,

help me. help me. help me.

why wont you help me?

you told me it would only last a week and now its a year and I still can’t seem to move this block.

I can’t seem destroy this block

this mental block

this disease.

I screamed. I screamed. I screamed.

and all he had to say to me and all he ever said was,

time.