I lost you a long time ago,
under branches, brick, and stronger wood.
I lost you and I already know,
that giving up is something I should.
I lost you beneath the fatal ocean,
the current initially too strong.
I lost you in the continual motion,
my fight for your hand didn’t last long.
I lost you in the heated blaze,
that took my heart with it too.
I lost you when you built your maze,
my compass unable to find you.
I lost you on a Sunday, when you lied and said I could rest.
I didn’t know I’d fail so heavily, and never pass your test.
I want to learn how to believe in God –
how to believe in trust which doesn’t
break like a mirror showing seven
reflections of you.
I want to learn how to believe in a Savior –
how to believe in truth that
doesn’t wear me like layers of
lies during winter.
I want to learn how to believe in God –
how to believe in peace, in a
world where we trade war
like children switching candy in the playground.
I want to learn how to believe in a Savior –
how to be captivated by honesty,
instead of being stuck in a sticky web
of your misinformed lies.
I want to learn how to believe in God –
how to believe that your love
is much more than a package deal vacation,
over before it has begun.
I want to believe.
I didn’t take the class.
Now, I’m stuck on the sidewalk –
lined up behind 200 more
who can’t formulate the expression-fueled feelings
they have for their best Friend.
Their Straight Best Friend.
I missed the class sign-up.
Initially on purpose –
believing my eyes would pass
over like my feelings, the more
I heard your voice dance around
my drums. With time, I imagined
annoyance to creep inside.
It didn’t.
This was error one.
Error Two was being okay with you
taking my oar of friendship, despite
my continual failures and idiocies.
It’s disgusting to lose yourself in your own
gross version of self-importance.
Why did you take me back?
I don’t do that now, and I wish I could map
the reason why your answer was my head in your hands.
Through care and not remorse.
Error Three was allowing myself to break.
To allow the dam around my heart
to crack under your nails and
let your paint swirl inside me
until all my heart sang of and splashed in was you.
Error Four was my silence.
The silence of a man who is too scared.
Too scared to be what a man is meant to be.
Instead, a man who hides himself under white sheets
like a house under the hands of movers.
A man who attributes his own misgivings and
misfortunes to the fact that his brain was just
Wired Wrong.
It would be safer to love another normally.
But that option has gone.
I am drowning in my errors, while you swim to the shore.
I didn’t take the class and I left the sidewalk.
I left it on purpose.
Should I begin to say that you are like the first fallen snow?
But you fill me with more passion, you are softer to touch:
Spirited winds are in your eyes and make you grow,
there are endless comparisons, meaningless words and such.
I could take graffiti paint and scrawl “fuck me” on a bridge;
Be arrested for showing you how I feel?
Overdose on paracetamol and then throw myself off a ridge.
Take a blade and slit my wrists, blood makes sense: it’s real.
If I harmed myself would you notice me.
Or would you rather tedious metaphors, like how you remind me of the sun?
Burned by its splendor, I fall to my knees and make my plea;
Should I use Shakespeare’s words? (but they are his) I have none!
I’ll throw his words away like garbage; collect mine, I only have a few.
Come through your door with a resounding crash, simply saying: I love you.
Dear 27 year old me,
I flew into the sun for you on a Monday.
Hi all,
Earlier in the year, a physical copy of my short collection of last years work: The Last First Times, went one sale.
The short collection is available to purchase on Kindle Devices in the following countries:
America, UK, France, Germany, Spain, Italy, New Zealand, Japan, Australia, India, Mexico, and Brazil.
Please head over to your store to get a copy to carry in your pocket at all times. Search for: ‘The Last First Times,’ and the book will appear.
I have been working on new material which will be making it’s way to you in the coming weeks.
Thank you all for your support.
Please post your reviews! Thank you!
All I needed was a needle and syringe.
The ability to use them, with skill and grace,
would not be necessary.
A tight belt around my arm, veins rising like
worms from wet soil.
All I needed was a needle and syringe.
Their dual purpose of giver/take of life
is irrelevant.
I had to take one thing and I raised it high.
The angle of my limp arm left me dizzy –
close to black.
But it was too important to stop.
All I needed was a needle and syringe.
It pierced my skin so gently,
as I extracted my want.
I took what I thought would work
inside of you.
I forgot that taking it from me,
would leave me emptier than before.
All I needed was a needle and syringe.
I returned half to me, the rest would be yours.
The most sentimental gift.
You encouraged me to share every part with.
I never expected you to refuse.
Not it sits, an unsung song, unfinished purchase,
and unused gift.
All I needed was a needle and syringe.
All you needed to do was take it all.
Hi all,
I’m sorry for the delay in the new work.
I’ve hit a wall. I guess love and all things which make it so have done this to me.
I’m trying to find it. I feel pretty lost in the silence of being unable to express how I feel.
Please take the time to have a look at my self-published piece The Last First Times.
I’m on the hunt for what it means. Much love. X