Wrenching.

A blink, a gasp, a tilt.

"We cannot do such violence to our hearts and minds"
                                                       (Brief Encounter, 1946)

In the beginning.

If i wander, lonely as a cloud, do my footsteps make a sound?

If i can be characterised, it is by inaction, 

the requiste moment is resultant of aeons of tensed nerves

and bated breath.

The twirling fantasies behind my glassy stare 

are the wealth and depth of my experience

of love and life,

death and terror,

eloquence and longing,

(not necessarily in one another's company).

My life behind closed eyelids has been nobody's business,

even less my consious self's.

Those who imprint this world must needs get out of bed in the morning.

But i did not.

Either chained to, or bricked in 

(by my own hands or other's)

my world contained four walls, a carpet, ceiling, window and door.

The door was shut,

the window closed- but yet transparent.

The world still existed through the leadlight panes.

Tree tops and birds had business together,

where only squirrels and sunlight might eavesdrop,

and my eyes,

peering into a denied or forbidden life.

A lived life.

But not for me.

Yoko digs me

I used to lie still like a stone effigy,

like Sleeping Beauty,

a rose clasped to my chest.

What a cruel realisation for a child to bear,

recognising that the truth of this world is

that you will lie there for all eternity.

No one would come.

Think Thoughts

Is it easier to understand yourself as a construct of denials, 

rather than a dilution of indulgences.

I will die...

... of a broken heart,

steely with resolve,

not another beat within my chest,

once my loved one lies cold.

Drawing blues.

What i do.

Death and Destiny

The only full-stop that could have been. Now in this world he shall always be 'scene'.

VIRGIN

In and of myself I have nothing more to say,

than so and therefore,

she was born this way. 

x