Narrow Margins

I can’t ever get this song out of my head. The words, oh the words, they say my all thoughts. The melody gets me in the pit everytime.

“Narrow Margins”
I can’t live this way

Breaking all my rules again

Choking on my gin

You push ’til I give in

‘Til the loser always wins
Somehow with his beckoning

Bruising with his threads

Confusing what he says

But I won’t live that way

Though I kind of want to anyway

Kind of want to play

With all the pretty and the pure

Well I return to the earth

I return to the dust

No more beauty by the pound

And this I do not trust
‘Cause nothing forgives

Rules and narrow margins

In our lives

It’s rules and narrow margins

But I will slip by
I can’t find the time

I don’t know the future

I couldn’t bring that past back

I waste what little time I have
But I swear I almost touched it

Yet it slipped between my fingers

Sent shivers down my spine

Cut a splinter in my mind
But it wasn’t nothing, again

These rules and narrow margins

But our life

Is rules and narrow margins

But I will slip by
Rules and narrow margins

Rules and narrow margins

But I will slip by
Half Moon Run

A spider in my eye

‘I’ll blow the cobwebs from your eye.’

I reply ‘Please don’t they’re not dry and old,

There’s a spider living there,

In my eye is a spider’.

SHe sees the world and remembers each frame  that flicks by.

SHe feels the same feels as I, right there in my eye.

The web SHe turns is a home and not a cob.

Sometimes I forget SHes there and almost wipe her away.

Sometimes she forgets it’s my eye and her feet leave scratches on my lens,

The world clouds over and it’s hard to see the truth.

SHe sews my eyes closed after a restless night of weaving.

SHe chatters insenently and questions everything.

Sometimes we disagree

But shes welcome, my little killer friend in my eye.

Blink and you’ll miss it.

The sun barely shines in the bright cold sky. The cold creeps in every gap and forgotten tuck-in.

The bonfire burns old whilst the smoke writes the memories across the sky. Warming the sun bleached snow as it melts into clear furrows.

The land sighs as it sleeps, turns over, seeing the Sun isn’t shining she goes back to her dreams. The excitement and magic melts away, the only day you wish the sun took leave.

In a day the stream flows. Playing it’s cool melody on the slowly warming rocks. The pond might be frozen but it’s path is too risky to find out.

With fingers wrapped in gloves that make them too cumbersome. Take off the gloves, use your hands briefly before they freeze and become just as clumsy.

The crow carries the sound of winter on its breath, Its black heart never dies.Only chased away by birds of song, shrill and tinkling, dancing in the fragile sun.

All that’s left of the snow is the snagged fleece in brambles; fake snow that sparkles with dew. My fingers bleed on it’s purity as I snatch it from the branches.

Pines that defy the cold breathe their sent into the warming air. Something is afoot, but blink and you’ll miss it.

 

Disentangle

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You say we were two lives that need to disentangle.

But really some of each other became the other one.

That’s the problem. Where do you stop and I begin?

It’s less un-knotting and more a case of cutting it out.

It’s not like cutting out fat, sugar and carbs for my diet to make myself more attractive.

If I do this then I crave the bad.

Maybe I let a remanent of us remain?

It’s a dangerous game, I binge then purge.

More than that its like something that’s diseased.

You cut the tumour out stop it spreading.

I find rancid places to cut you out.

A surgeon, a butcher, a self-harmer.

I peel the taste buds from my tongue

because they shared a love of flavours,

that only we could understand and create.

A menu bittersweet.

I gauge the black place in my heart.

Like cutting the mould from cheese to preserve the rest.

Yet you always worry there’s some you didn’t remove,

and you’ll end up all bile inside.

I remove objects and reminders from my home.

Like cutting the pieces of a stencil,

to make it make a new pattern.

I like the way it looks better than before.

I cut poisonous people out of my life,

it’s an attempt to make it happier, but really I’m afraid.

Scared of their judgement,

because that’s what I became.

Some cut the story from the paper

in order to remember and celebrate.

But the card from last year which says ‘I’m still glad I’m in love with you’

is better forgotten as a manipulative lie.

I cut the nails from my toes,

to stop gouging out the flash at the sides.

Occasionally I don’t do it straight enough,

those feet that danced together become hot and infected.

I dig at my flesh, open wounds and peel back scabs.

I cut you out of me but I keep forgetting where me ends and you begin.

I bleed a little to prove I’m still alive,

and it’s still possible to hurt.

Maybe I’ll let a small piece stay,

like an inked scar to mark the moment we were one.

Is this violent act self harm self-preservation? Cruel to be kind?

I cut away part of myself to make room for more.

I fell from a mountain.

I climbed higher and higher,

The air grew thinner and thinner,

Head spinning, chest groaning, heart bruised.

 

I tripped once or twice,

I’m sure my keys fell out in the night,

It was the longest day but still it’s dark.

 

We dined on food that looked as though it were made for gods,

It tasted sweet and hollow, we laughed,

The joke was on us, sickly and open.

 

I slept, napped, curled in a ball.

I woke and all the triumph shattered.

I knew once again what the last words were.

 

I practiced words across the bough,

I worked on self restraint.

Underneath I hated myself so much it let me love you.

 

The moon couldn’t wash it away,

My companions stared into my soul,

I’m sorry I whispered, I am.

 

The brass and beat reached the most it ever would,

I ruined the moment chatting about books in a portaloo.

I laughed when you slipped in the mud.

 

I fight the war you started,

I always saved you, you should have gone, I’m too far,

I’ve climbed out of reach and feeling wrong.

 

I am washed raw by the moon,

A storm rages in the morning light,

And I’ve got nobody on my side.

 

One rejection too many,

Why can’t anyone see I’ll never find my way?

From this moment I am lost.

 

Sunday is so far away,

All hammers and cursed mistakes.

I crawl on knees bloodied by moods.

 

I reached up one more precipice,

My hands are weak and cold on their own,

The nails ripped as short as you’d bite yours.

 

I love that hand, perfectly imperfect,

It could comfort when your being dished out pain.

Just scraps of memories, I can’t tell whats real.

 

I lit a candle to shield the shape shifters,

they spit vinegar into my ear,

I watch it burn away, the world long gone.

 

I close my eyes, I see all the mistakes,

I try to be wise, but I’m always learning.

See me at my weakest always.

 

I numb the pain till I cannot see,

Vomit rises in my mouth,

Something rushes in my ears, I cannot hear.

 

Are you feeling better now?

I don’t know, I stumble, I fall,

Over and over the way I came.

 

Sticks and stones break my bones,

Your words rip my skin,

It’s over, and over, it’s over.

 

This bit I can only do alone.

Hawthorn (Maytree)

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She awoke.

It was so dark she didn’t know if she was really there.

She inhaled.

Her face full of the metallic earth, all mud, and rain, and rot.

She twitched.

Her fingers grasped the crisp mulch that seeped into her clothes.

She rose.

It was so dark her eyes could only make out shades of black and blue.

She felt.

Her hand reached up to her matted hair and pulled at a leaf.

She blinked.

The shadows became giants, then trees so tall they scraped the sky.

She noticed.

How much more she could see if she stopped and waited.

She discovered.

The moon shone between the holes in the canopy providing just enough.

She moved.

Clambering to her feet she stretched her damp limbs.

She listened.

Around her the world was slow but more noisy than she ever knew.

She considered.

The path ahead was her way out, why she had come here; to die.

She turned.

The path back from where she came still remained.

She paused.

As she did her eye caught sight of a tree; clusters of flowers as bright as the stars.

She was drawn.

It seemed to become the night sky, full of hope in the dark.

She neared.

And walked with open arms into the mass of branches discovering thorns sharp and true.

She cried.

Each snare snatched at her clothes and tore at her skin, but she pushed forward.

She persisted.

Feeling something ok was on the other side, knowing it was something different.

She emerged.

On the other side of the hawthorn there was a path she hadn’t seen before.

She bravely walked.

With leaves in her hair, the moon in her eyes, and blood on her skin.

She began.

A new life on a path she didn’t know but one that could never be the one she’d trod before.

Labels

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I have eight labels around my neck,

Compartments that you put a piece of me into every time it breaks.

Sometimes you take the label out and look at it with that silent furrowed brow,

You take out your pen and scribble it out.

 

I have eight labels stamped on my being,

Explanations for being not quite right.

I read them so often I forget my own name,

When you doubt them I question my existence and identity.

 

 

I have eight labels stuck to my skin,

You can’t always see them but I feel they’re still there.

Each is an instruction to give me something to swallow,

A licence to brew 14 medicines in one body and see what happens.

 

Sometimes I wear my labels with pride,

Like badges on a lapel and membership to a club.

I want to tell people how heavy they are,

When you question them I feel lost and defensive.

 

There are 8 labels around my neck,

I’m still me.

 

 

 

Fight/ Flight

phlegm-fight-or-flightFight me again and I’ll stand once more,

I’ll see the good in your fist and take it again.

What’s another bruise on something already so broken?

I fight the tears that heave out in an ugly mess,

Bubbling with the mew of an animal in a snare.

Take your aim and I’ll defend you rather than myself,

I’ll help you drive the arrow home.

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Take flight, I won’t blame you,

Soar free on your own ego and tell yourself more lies.

Just don’t fly too high because your wings will burn.

I know, my bloody stumps where they were cut remain.

I fight because its all I know,

Just sometimes I want to glide on an upstream,

Feel the joy of the air and dare to be,

But it scares me so much I give in.

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Unable to focus I want to walk and not stop,

To drive into the night to an unknown destination,

To find my wings again and join the stars.

But I’m still here with the broken pieces,

Most of them are not even my own.

I glue the fragments and pieces, I fill the gaps,

It’s never enough.