I carried the moon until the salt burned, my eyes.

Before placing it at her feet. 

I allowed the Liquid Metal to enter my veins. 

With every mineral and piece of debris, 

I felt a pain, a sudden rush through me. 

Even after, 

She asked me, “Where’s the Sun?”

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Toxicity in human form
Your rage issues are crazy 
No ambition, degenerate bitch
Inconsiderate, ridiculously lazy

I’m sure you can’t stand the fact
I’m describing you with such candor
We lasted for 3 months what can I say
I must have lowered my standards 

Up my ass, go through my things
Nosy and super possessive
A wolf in sheep’s clothing, angry, jealous
A fraud, fake and obsessive

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You my moon light,
Lit my world ablaze.
Spoke truth into my soul.
Pushed me to realise my dreams.
To conquer, my lifes goals.

You my sweet,

The reason to my days.
The purpose to my smiles,
The shelter from hailing rain.
My human form, of many desires.

Where are you now?

You my medusa,
Froze me stone cold.
Unable to move,
Until I had to let you go.

Closure, I never had.
Cl...

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They were the deciding factor

Of a good or bad day

Of whether I was okay

If we were okay

They could change my mood

Stop me in my tracks

Jumble my mind

Blind me from the truth

Like heroin

I was their addict

Ephemeral pleasure

Everlasting poison

By the end

I was weak

Lost

Stripped of all identity

And they appeared

In my dreams

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The snake

It slithers around me

Putting on a show

As if I'm in control

But little do I know

It's charming me

Hypnotized

I give myself over

Allowing the fangs

To pierce my flesh

The venom

Paralyzing me

Smiling proud

At the feat

Begins the retreat

Into the grass

Disappearing

From my vision

I thought this

This was the test

To ...

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On The Slag Heap

Quenching the eternal flame,

the furnaces won’t burn again,

the northern dragons will lay still -

the Government has had its fill.

At its heart a molten core

that will implode and beat no more.

The mill will close, the light will die

and in the dark the ghosts will cry.

The workers will go home to bed

not knowing if their family’s fed

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Last Orders

I come on Thursday, sit on wooden chair
where poets congregate in strange half light,
sharing their thoughts with those who gather there -
the words are spoken, soaring, shining bright,
warming us as we leave to face the night.
The bear pit darkens, but forever hosts
the rhyming, raging, ranting, Tudor ghosts.

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