If there are mysteries that traverse the hollows in your cheekbones.
Are there worlds there, that only the bravest can go?
In your life, there was nothing but yourself and your dreams.
Echoing out of the day and swallowing the night.
If there are notes in this world to describe, the feeling of your hand on mine.
Are there songs to carry you into a dreamless sleep?
In your eyes, as red as a forest fire, oxygen sucked away from my lungs.
Echoing into a sharp wave, collapsing the room around us.
If there are lies you are chasing to mold into hollow truths.
Are there words spoken that even you can't hear?
In your heart, that broken shattered core coughing up your words.
Echoing into your chest, a fluttering heartbeat never felt.
FlyIs there anything sacred left?
Is there a single part of me that isn't infected?
Does life have nothing in store for me but circumstance?
Petty affection crowning sordid inperfection.
Another written, balled up and and thrown.
Valediction united on its own.
If you don't exist and I do?
Is that proof that God is a lie?
If I can have nothing inside myself but you,
Life may indeed be worth something.
Affair of the heart, wrapped up alone.
A contender for sunlight and for the throne.
WeddingStale church smell invades my nostrils.
As I kneel beside my actress wife.
There's a boredom in the air.
Leeching into my skin and suddenly,
I see him standing in the corridor.
Two fingers extending in a silent "come here"
Wifey is kittening herself,
Purring around the silent director.
Licking at his exposed ankles.
I stand up before my vows and follow you.
Into the corridor and to the bathroom.
The cracked tiles peeling off the walls.
There's a Russian man standing.
Obviously wanting something from the both of us.
You lick your lips in anticipation.
Twirling and twisting round us.
Obvious intelligence masked by lust.
Playing your game of hide and seek.
Your eyes are made of shapes.
I am reminded of jigsaw pieces.
Is my form even clear in your blindness.
Do you even care?
Sandwiched between you both.
I move to the rhythm of the church organ
A perfect metaphor for what I am feeling
From both sides of my lifeless dream body.
I kiss you and your mouth tastes like dust.
Russian bites my neck from behind.
Suddenly, I am in his mouth, I taste like dust too.
A game for bitter men played on my wedding day.
You sit, crouched cat-like, in that moment, you hold nothing in those beautiful eyes of yours.
I want to live inside them more than I want to survive anymore.
Happy to crawl underneath you and die, if I could spend my final moments.
Swimming in the black empty abyss of your eyes, reaping what I have sown.
Finding what is behind them, seeing your memories, your regrets.
Every inch of the relentless, completely unconditional love you have for your brother.
You survey the area, in the looming darkness, you shine anyway, the clearest, most pure thing.
The shopkeepers closing their doors, people you've known since before you became this monster.
I'm sure you see your own brilliance as a curse upon humanity,
In a way that is all you are because even in death, you broke everything you touched.
The way you acted when you were dragged from your final resting place.
Makes me believe that even in death, you continued on in misery.
I'm sure when your Mother closed her blinds that night and tucked your brother into bed.
She did not expect to be a slowly, decaying stain by the time the sun rose again.
Expectations are always something that are destroyed eventually.
Your ability to adapt to the world around you and wrap it around yourself.
Is what made you terrifying but perfect, destruction incarnate but flawless creation.
Life is not worth you and even in an act of cruelty, nothing but light shone.
As I sit here, in a cold house with nothing but your eyes staring at me from a crack in my vision.
My inability to forget you scares me more than my complete lack of everything my world wants.
Twittering songbirds outside are no more music to me than the crows that follow every step I take.
The movements of feral cats, prowling outside, just another reminder of how you separate and fly.
I beg the real world to show me one thing that can match you, to place that thing in my lap.
But even a poet like I knows, that the impossible is never truly possible and that God's do not live on earth.
A guilty man taking his final steps into an everlasting sleep.
My brothers skin the last thing I ever touched.
Irony drifts within the cracked walls of my conscience.
There was one day in the sun we sat.
Your lips the shade of Summer.
Those small things I have forgotten about you.
This is a letter from one grave to another.
Know me as the boy who bought you.
Who lay beside you in our bed.
The lies I told, were the truth behind me.
Until your wings extended and you flew away.
Did your thoughts drift to me in your final moments?
Or were the floating reeds your partners.
Can you see all that I see?
Have you watched me wind my way through our family?
A sordid submission, when I wanted you.
Wrapped tight in arms I recognise as my own.
The final drop of life drips onto the hard ground.
I can smell the sweet honey of your breath,
And I know you're here to bring me home.