Wake Up.

Like a star she had wished on, she kept her eyes on it, leaning every so slightly forward, reaching ever so slightly upward, never letting it out of her sight.

''Dreams are for beggars.''

''So what do I do?''

''Wake up and make it true.''

Fear or Truth?

And he begs you to share, to open up... ''I want to know everything about you'' he breathes into you late at night, when you are too tired and too comfortable in his arms to keep up your defences anyway.

''I want to know everything.'' And so day by day the bricks disintegrate, crumbling into pieces and falling from the sky in a way that makes you have to bend, and weave, and dodge them. In a way you never thought possible.

So you start to show the 'real' you. The one you thought you had murdered (Were a thousand stabbings not enough? A thousand scars, thousand pills, thousand fatal [they MUST have been fatal] gunshots?) But she has somehow been resurrected, like a crazy version of the past you almost forgot existed.

And you start to show your anxieties, the ones you pretended to him (and to yourself) did not exist.

And he starts to back away
slowly.
One foot behind the other,
slowly.
As if to avoid awakening a sleeping beast.

But is this the fear or the truth talking?
You have no proof.
Only that that is how you feel about your own emotions

The ones you deem
So
Damn
Pathetic.

Language of Lovers.

I'm falling deeper in love with words every day... They have this ability to build or break, caress or cloy... devour or destroy. They can show you what a thousand broken smiles, a million tears cannot. They are so easy to use, empty promises so easy to deliver. But they fill the holes in my pores, explain what my heart beat and dry mouth cannot. They have the ability to mend, those words that fit into the folds of your skin, like a lullaby a mother who actually cares would sing her child to sleep. Some words have the ability to change your life, to change the language you use to see the world through.

You fix me daily.

Wanted.

You make me smile sneakily to myself, like I have a secret no one knows but me. You make me feel special in a way I haven't in so long. Safe, Wanted. And your arms around me are my favourite haven right now. And your lips my favourite black hole, which I tumble so lightning fast through.

And you make me not want to roll my eyes at the couples clinging desperately to each other in the streets. And you've found my heart from the depths of the icicles I buried it in. And maybe you're making me believe in thing's I told myself did not exist.

But every other thought is you. And I feel out of control in a way I haven't in so long. I've almost gotten out from under my wall, but I don't know how long I'll last without it. Every second hour I tell myself to run. And when you are not in front of me, reminding me of why and how, I tense my haunches almost ready to sprint for my life.

Because that's what it feels like. It feels like my life at stake.

Wipe Me Clean.

''Learn from your mistakes''
The voice wanes but never fades,

She had been told this
every
day
since she could remember.

But perhaps mistakes dont remain mistakes forever
Perhaps the circumstances surrounding them make all the difference.

But these words that have become habit
are getting in your way.
What use are these mantra's
that only function to slow you down
and make you doubt yourself?

Let's start again
Wipe me clean
Let's start again.

Hello, Welcome In..

''Hello, welcome in. Please leave your baggage at the door.''
And the words furl and unfurl before her like a yard of thread she twists herself in,
and around,
in and around.
''Leave your baggage at the door.'
Echoing.

She tries,
She tries so hard.
She doesn't need anything in them after all...

But her hands curl and uncurl around them,
Unable to let go she just shakes her head in dismay
''Its all I've got'' she whispers
''These lessons that I've learnt... they are all I have left''

So she grips to the past as if they are the keys to her future.
As if she can't make her own path.
As if the same baggage can be used for every trip.
As if she can't start a new journey.

The Quest For Truth

The quest for truth can drive a sane man into the darkest recesses of his mind
And trap him there.
How can you find what has no definition?
My truth is not yours.
The same language may not apply.
And yet we keep talking, trying to make the vocabulary match up.
Perhaps if we substitute the words, the emotions will fit together like a puzzle.
I am the final piece,
But I cant find it.

And the truth traps you there,
Somewhere between itself, and the lies you create
In the language of your life.