Tag Archives: immunity

leave.

do you know
what it’s like
to be left;
waiting
in the blue.

i hear the words,
i read your stories;
but every time
the same result:
you leave and i wait.

it’s not your fault.

i have felt
the warmth of your love:
immense and like no other.
no one has ever known me
and loved me like you.

i can’t see the page
that ends with you and i.
but i promise to leave
my love at the end
of every road for you.

i wish i could
give you everything
you’ve ever given me.
[i know it’s not enough]
not until time travel allows.

while i wait
for this one to end.
maybe we’ll find our time
in the next life.

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magnitude of rejection.

it was a stark realisation –
no magnitude of rejection
could outweigh –
not her body,
not her face,
not her laughter,
or intellect,
or humour,
or interests,
or skills;
in fact,
it was her love
they didn’t want.

it was too much,
it wasn’t enough,
it was too late,
it wasn’t the right time.

in fact, they didn’t want
to be loved by her.


innate.

i feel it pulling
[me] in;
is that how it is
for [you]?

not even
begging, but
knowing i will
surrender.

follow it,
feel it,
obsess and
crave the purge.

i can almost
feel the pain
before i embrace it;
almost etched
into my skin
before i collapse
into the sharp
embrace.

i envy
her willpower
and control.
i envy his
distortion.
i envy the complete
surrender
to a distinction
of control.

this innate;
this blood
that tears through me;
this tremor and
insatiable
imagination.


sunburn.

it happens
when you leave
yourself exposed:
one ray of light
– one image –
and then a harsh awakening
to the facts.

inescapable pain
and wounds
you can’t hide.
there is a shame attached –
you should have known
this would happen.

if only
i had taken
earlier advice;
heeded the warnings
and stayed away
from danger.

it happens
when you leave
yourself exposed:
betrayal and sunburn –
just one in the same,
right?


implode.

because
it feels like,
my heart
is still breaking
multiple times
in the day.

because
the pain
and grief
continue
to obliterate
my lungs.

because
every step
outside the shell
is opportunity
for panicked
collapse.

because
i have only
two gears:
self-destruction
or
cowering solitude.

because
why sleep
when the hours
are an anxious monotony
of every terrorising fear
and every disappointing flaw.

because
everything hurts
but “so it goes”:
still my heart beats
still my lungs inflate
still my brain implodes.


flood.

the flood
of memories
always brings with it
a sharp inhale,
and tight, heavy
boulder in his chest.

he misses
the warmth
of her body beside him;
her laugh,
and the depths of her mind
he ran out of time to discover.

his eyes
are full
of the pain and bruises;
careless rejection,
and the pretense of a friendship
that was over long ago.

his lost
his best friend,
and she’d already forgotten him;
like another possession
taken tragically in the flood,
but easily replaceable.


cup.

another one
for the cup:
cup of sugar,
cup of tea,
cup of soup.

another one
for the cup:
cup of dust,
cup of glass,
cup of blades.

another one
for the cup:
cup of blood,
cup of salt,
cup of hair.

another one
for the cup:
cup of nails,
cup of grass,
cup of pain.


[okay]?

what happened?
it’s okay.

where did you go?
it’s okay.

how’s your heart?
it’s okay.

is it dark?
it’s okay.

are you alone?
it’s okay.

when will it stop?
it’s okay.

why not?
it’s okay.

it’s okay.
it’s okay.
it’s okay.
it’s okay.
it’s okay.


organ donor.

slice me open,
take my lungs:
they have overcome asthma;
broken the limits of anxiety; and
suffered the deepest grief and pain.
still i breathe.
take my lungs.

slice me open,
take my liver:
it was once clean and pure,
until annihilated in a moment;
but time and time over, proof of natural restoration.
still i heal.
take my liver.

slice me open,
take my heart:
it is cool to touch;
ice-like and made of broken stone;
simultaneously rough and fragile.
still i live.
take my heart.

slice me open,
take my [life].


downgrade.

like a couple who grows old,
the children leave home,
and the family dwelling
is too big, too unweldy
to maintain.
nostalgia and grief:
downgrade.

like the unwilling assessment
of credit risk and consumer confidence.
black marks and a world renowned
rating scale.
disappointment and reluctance:
downgrade.

like two lovers.
entrenched in expectations
that became too big; unweldy.
a growing risk profile.
nostalgia.
disappointment.
reluctance.
grief.

downgrade.