i told you we would marry next september which would be nice if the sun was out and the bees didnt sting and die and rot and lie and i need you to know i think i could love you properly if i understood myself. you jade are perfect and so far away from me.

i want to love you in that crazy way i knew i could if it didnt make me want to throw up and drown in my silence because i dont know how to connect any more only run away and i cant rely on myself any more than you can.

i cant take much more failure.
i cant take your kisses if i dont return them properly.
but i want to.

i want to.

all suited up
she saw me real as i get
i saw her
mine,
our proud eyes echoing
the other's gaze.
-------------------------
i wish she would see herself as i do.

my princess jade :)

i wish i would show her how i see myself.

------------------------

rent is painful, wonderful, draining. i am too self involved to just skate through it- i can feel every tiring moment stabbing me in the stomach. maybe i am crying for myself.

and i keep thinking, i'll just buy a point or two for the after party. no one will know. i deserve it. after screaming for it, crying for it for a week non stop, i deserve some numb.

but i won't. if not for my sake, then for hers.

my favourite toy would smash against a brick wall and splinter my cells. hello one, taking each day as my first, treating kisses as my last. it could take a while to get used to this, but i take what i can get which is much more than i had before.

living with living with living with living with living with not dying from disease...
im about to be in a production of rent.
i have a family friend who has lived with this for years. things are not the same. they are just terrifying.

some secrets to be swallowed;
they seep through
your veins like vines
that weed to a
strangle hold tight
around your delicate throat,
entwined with your finespun hands
holding to your silence
while i reach mine in a soft echo
to hold-
when you're ready.

in the future

we'll be wading through
landscapes of landfills
wondering what's become of
our home among the gum trees
and all the children's
plasma screen tvs and
wii willy winkys
will be a rotten mess around
our ankles, ash creeping
up and under
our tapping finger nails
trying to turn wine
to water.

my non-love
i want you to hold me
with out touch.

there's a full blown rain storm
matting down my hair
in drips like spit
and thoughts,
there i sit.
crouched over
in her shower
with the handles i can't turn
finding i love
her bathroom,
her towel,
her touch.

a beautiful woman wraps her arms tight around me and through me in licks and twist to bleed if we can help it. she over-indulges my vanity, my nakedness wet and crying is met with praise and compliments and comfort food of mashed potatoes with the skins left on.

edited...

I count. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. I count one to eight. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. I say, count. I tell myself to count to eight. I count one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. I tell myself I am counting too fast. I count one to eight, one to eight with each breath and if I was counting out loud I think only the dogs would hear me. If I was counting out loud, I’d probably be counting too fast for even them to hear me and I’d be running fast away from animals of any kind. I watch the ceiling be much larger than I am and try and make myself blank like it is. I pretend I am outside with my girlfriend in that big, white, waiting room that is made of ceilings like this. I pretend I'm in her bed and she's the one touching me. I am sobbing and tears are filling my ears, but I am in her bed.

I repeat my girlfriend’s name in my head and I hope she will hear me crying for her. I hope she is holding my hand out in the waiting room, or her room, or anywhere. I hope I am anywhere else.

Stay there, or hold on, there can't be too many one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eights left.

I feel his body brush against my right foot and I listen for him to flinch away or be embarrassed or say sorry. Should I say sorry? My foot is tingling and rotting and I'm not sure if I should move so I don't. I lay still like the metal frame of the hospital bed I'm on and I might be counting still, but it doesn't feel like I'm breathing any more.

I turn my head, and away from the safe, blank ceiling he is reaching under the sheet, between my legs and his wiry doctor-dressed arm is moving like I'm sure mine does when I'm touching my girlfriend's cunt. His face is blank turned away from mine, but his arm keeps reaching and his shoulder keeps jerking like he thinks he could be doing more and if he keeps clutching around between my legs he'll find whatever that is. I try and see if he can feel my eyes searching his, but I can’t stop looking at his shoulder moving, so I look back to the ceiling where I can't see anything moving at all.

I wish he would hurry up and find whatever is wrong with me so he can stop touching me and I can go home and not be sick any more.

Wet and slimy slides away from me, out from between my legs and when I turn my head again I see his index finger glossed in something wet and I am embarrassed. He puts a box of tissues on the table next to my head and I think they are to wipe the wet away from my cunt, which I'm sure I can smell because I'm sweating so much. Then I realise I am crying and maybe they are to wipe the tears from my face so no one knows I was crying over this. I am too scared to ask because I think he will think I am stupid, or a whore.

I pull on my underwear quickly. I want to go have a shower in Dettol and change my underwear because they are the same pair I was wearing yesterday. I think he will tell me to go to the bathroom again. If he does I might be able to wipe my cunt and put folded toilet paper in my underwear so I don't feel so close to myself, like I am a walking, sobbing, vagina.

Instead he asks if I would like a blanket. I must look cold. Am I shivering? Am I cold? I don't think I am. I mumble 'errrriuum okay' which comes out 'I'm okay' and 'um okay' all at once which seems to be the right thing to say because he puts a blanket on me. He doesn't want me to get cold. Am I shivering? I am shaking.

I am wheeled out to the waiting room and I watch my girlfriend from when I turn the corner, until I get to her and I cry. I am two years old and I have grazed my knee and I know I'm making a scene but it just hurts so much and I don't know why and I don't know how to say it.

my cuticles are raw
and ripping red,
because i pull
at any loose thread i find
and hide
men
in matchboxes
in a carefully tuned line,
placed in order
of deeds done
and the ones i don't deal with.

i feel like i should fuck this up-it's too intimate to cum so loudly
you're too
close.

your sad eyes go way back
from my little eyes of lying
and we wouldnt trust
the words
that leave our lips
for each other.

saying i love
i think of everyone
i have hurt
and loved
and wanted
and i think of destroying
and making it work.

---jade and i have said the i love you

i hope so---

hiding in
blanket times,
cheeks damp and
shaking to a sudden halt

i find my stomach overlaps
my thoughts
and it's nothing
but time
evolving,
body remolding.

i took away
nothing
and now im filling
the room to the brim
spilling water words
anywhere's a good start,
a fresh and fragile
and beating heart.

new love is frightening and little question marks up my spine, as the way we kiss is too new for the both of us. we are fresh and uncomplicated and i try to be honest, and over share but id rather her leave hating who i really am than stay around to lies. i am ice-free and happy and fat. i am trying not to echo past relationships and trying to make this one last. if i get hurt this time i think i wont come back.

old love, recent lies+lost friendship, new-like-something-nice....

any time now would be fine, to let go.
i spoke to mel on the phone and all this SHIT jitters on through me over me up my spine like someone screaming too loudly, only that's me screaming that's my voice and my hand slamming hard against the door. i try and shake it out of my head with sudden movements but my brain is buzzing and my scalp is crawling and it's her, it's her that makes me feel like this.
if i wanted to i could just not reply to her messages. 'IT'S HARD HEARING YOUR VOICE TOO' but she calls me keth and says she dreams of me. i know it's lies but i lived by those lies. i wanted her to love me right and she didn't, we didn't and i still think it was my fault despite what i say to everyone. she didn't know me but she owned me and she still does and I WANT TO SHAKE IT OFF ME.

maybe it isn't real it's just me drawn to the drama we create and the safe feeling of rotting and worthlessness that she brings me.

---andrew didn't know he came too soon couldn't see i couldn't love him enough when i was amazed the real world wanted me when i still wanted to crawl as far back as i could from it/it was too loud and bright for me/and so am i/wanting for him to gently rescue me, coax me out from myself and my wicked thoughts and ways. andrew i needed to hold my hand/if we'd only fit properly/but i was scared of the masculine shape of it all/i couldn't get over mel and my detachment from men/i couldnt commit to him/so we never got anything, only half friendship and half promises i made on wings/wanting for us to fly together and shoot up wished love somewhere maybe behind the eyes so only we could see it----
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i am seeing a wonderful woman now. she is gentle and caring and says all the right things and is a perfect projection of everything i look for in a person and i am trying to say the right things but i am scared/of a lot/i am too shut off with too much misplaced love-maybe not love-just the past, just emotion, still looming. but i will do this right, and slowly. and i will not need anyone else-and the great thing is, even though she has gone away for a few weeks, I haven't needed anyone else. I'm just waiting for her to come back and we can take things slow and gentle like her kisses that leave me feeling dizzy and unbalanced, in a good way for once.

spear yielding savages
with streaks of war
above their cheeks
coloured a natural blush
from spilt blood
eager as captive
as release.

only treebeats and rain
fall and the clammering of
feet to run.

the pleasured howl
of torn
flesh in dirt.

our eyelashes touching
so i could crawl in
to the back
in the safe
sound crack
behind your ribs.

cagy from the start of it,
i offered preemptive apologies
to our friendship
and saw in you
relentless
saviour
to my soon repented ways.

take from me, this,
i chose,
injesting your marrow
sucking at every break
i could find
swearing our veins could survive
each other.

you can live in the air pocket
i fucked in to creation
you can infect me
fearlessly
with our fail proof plan
fast tracked
to disintegration

us living
each lesson through
each other.

Growing time
sings patterns round her
feet to trip
the unalert.

She plays
relaxed in the watchtower
forgetting guards
and the glass chamber
she built to live

a poem for andrew...3 wks til his return.

Dead locked,
their twin eyes
stung of sleepless tears.

He hated her tattooed,
stained of
promises made on wings,
matching in their Fears,
obvious, like her-ha-ha-ha-laugh.

Of potion yielding boogemen
with travelling vans
that make the black of forgetting
and waking madness too murky
for him to feel anything
but hating her easy.

They both cried
winks of glass
and everything she touched
coiled around her tightly
with attentive gifts.

He knew already.

It was a sharp choice
to blame / each other,
quick, torn strokes

they overhear
late in lone thoughts

blankly searching
for their mirror eyes,
shaking heavy off
their picture frame
lies.

that old unrequited chestnut...

i see you by fire
lit in technicolour
and her
by your side
you spend your time
around each other.

[i would merge
as charcoal to the tiles
by your toes
i hate]

you glisten in each other
and it is a satisfying sting
to keenly borrow
of that warmth with
desperate alliance

i make
to weld
to the two of you

child's admiration
[naivity]
that i would take
the one of you
to be my own.

work in progress..

dionysus lurks
at mid-hours
taunting our blood
with flesh:
games not yet done
for small boys to play.

the head of the creature
his mind, animal
as his gift.

he comes
to tear us,
yet marks his own.

his soapy disposition
scratches raw,
his hubris as grimey
as the surface,
his ideals.

he looks
as stale wine
not a red-drop out of place
but a sour taste
that lingers,
desperation.

what of the woman,
more defiant that he;
the lovers that bind;
the child whose innocence he rapes,
waking frightened
in a wall-less room.
the other, both woman
and child
who plays to the game
fueled by anger////////////I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS NEXT BUT I AM VERY VERY HAPPY WITH THIS NEW PIECE :)

i have done a wonderful job at floating through months as my cardboard cut out character in the book/my life/i was avoiding. half-smile-half-life. now, owning up to myself and step by baby step coming in to my own, i can see how i have wasted. and i can see how frightening the person i am with out a smoke stained veneer is. andrew and i used to talk about choice and addiction and i always had that in mind as i started smoking more and taking anything i could get. he went to jail and i chose to remove myself too starting with a massive line of k to trip away for a while-til i got my hand on my own pipe and then a collection; then an obsession, then an illness. i just kinda stumbled through all the months, one hand clutching my stomach in pain the other tightly clinging to my pipe, or a beer if it was over. the sickness is more in the escape than in the decay of my body, i know that. sicker is how i felt nothing sleeping around on andrew, fucking off life for drugs and empty company. nothing's real, i just kept saying, nothing can hurt me, and it wouldn't- i was cold in all sense of the word. ice queen feels nothing, except maybe that pain in my stomach and embarrasment/fear shitting my pants on a main street because i hadn't had ice for a couple of days and my body didn't know how to cope...

i don't know how to finish this blog...it's not finished yet...

i wanted to forget losing andrew to FUCKING BEECHWORTH (now i hear he's fucking muscles/ and he's going to be a junkie WITHOUT ME he had the fucking ordasity to wish me got luck with WWJD admit it WHACKING UP we just wanted it all we thought we were PERFECT i CHOSE another way I LOST MY WAY but i needed US andrew andrew)and i wanted to forget losing mel I LOST ANDREW AND REALITY. i am terrifed of reality and my mind living in capital letters and strange punctuation.

i remember this. i remember why i tried to escape it.

over dramatisation...some times u just write...

everytime
i inhale my stomach turns
it screams as cats on traintracks,
i test myself.

i admit, if only
in the seclude of my room
by smoke and firelight,
i like the illness.

i look interesting
a little off colour,
pale grey thin
and yellow teeth
and hands of ice
and white dotting
my future.

these hands that shake
after too much or too little,
pick at any loose spots i can peel,
nod knowingly to anyone
with homemade pimples,
a gaunt kind of
bittersmile,
caloused thumbs,
shaky hands.

strange obsessions
and word games
learning new things
about the same thing
challenging trusts
with a wavered balance
between paranoia
and selfishness, need,
human nature.

attachments
built at the wrong hour
under the pretence
it is different.


a friend once asked me what ice was like
and i said its like life,
and i believe that.

for nat...

a beautiful friend of mine
who i dont tell
i love enough
you and i both fall in
to unforgiving
self proclamations of
loathing
and waiting, weighting, waiting for this to stop
darling.

i dont think you ever get over it.
like alcoholism i think it is a disease
to carry
in a matching carry on bag
and you do so well.

there is so much more
to
let your many miles a minute mind
rest on something else
that doesnt leave you
over a toilet bowl,
starving for real.

x

crack poems

I am better
crazy
in that red
on cars.

I understand
the path
my mind wanders,
now I am dead

space.

----

sweet kiss,
more than
three-day-wake
breath.
her sour
under tow,
second hand
smoke
in my room.

----

I don't think of him
as my ex
I don't think
of him. He went
to the farm,
plenty of room to run around
and decide
who we are
for each other.
Room to breathe
and embrace
and forget.