“false retribution”

it will be whatever you
make of it,
or perhaps it will be born
from the words you use to
weave this story and its facts
together in the ways you always

when it comes time for you
to let it unravel,
this web of lies you’ve concocted
from the witch’s brew
your mother taught you when
you were young,
just remember:

it will be whatever you make of it

(or perhaps it’s just karma)


“the inevitability of heartache”

he’s read enough stories
to know where this will go
before they open their mouth.

he’ll predict the future only
to be unable to prevent
the slow-coming disaster,
as if it hadn’t been on the horizon
for months now,
and that he’s spent anxiety ridden
evenings wondering how to keep
this small slice of normalcy
he’s managed to temporarily
make his own.

so when that
inevitable rejection comes
from the people he thought he could trust
just this once, just this one forgiving instant,
and as they hand back this
reality with ballroom words that
have the decency to at least have
manners this time
(unlike the last one he loved),
he tells himself that
this is yet another one for the books.

another one he can let go,
even if it does take him longer each time
to heal from loving too hard,
just to fall.

he’ll survive.

(but it doesn’t mean that
it’s stopped hurting)

“running on the trail of fumes”

there is no heartbreak today,
only the melting of a brain
long running on only
twitches of electricity and
jolts of momentary feel good moments
that serve as fuel for only so long.

it’s character development to be
able to handle this without
falling apart quite yet,
although it looks more like
a towering stack of china plates
and a girl whose arms are
shaking a little too much for

(burnout is the bogeyman
I am too afraid to face)

“the spaces in time”

those fractions of instances,
wedged in the spaces of time
and the destinations,
are just places where limbo seems
like a tangible area with
the taste and the name of the word
on the tip of your tongue
waiting to be spilt into the open
silent air.

this is where you can
close your eyes and listen to
the way the minutes fold into
each other until it because a lump
of time and waiting–
always waiting,
for an end to a journey that will
only really come if you choose to
swim through the thick lethargy
that comes in those slow
and viscous moments.

molasses, sweet in coffee,
but oh so sticky when
you try to pull loose of the way
that time likes to drag on you,
weighing heavier than you thought
it ever could.

for an abstract concept,
it sure does feel like the weight of
your shoulders is one you must bear
as you wait for the clock
to keep ticking by.

(it is as though you are
melting away in the
sands of time)

“those the traveller leaves behind”

sometimes I’ll wonder how
you’re doing on the other side
of this small, wide world
and lean into that bittersweet feeling
as much as I can
to remind myself that I was once
graced with your presence
in my life
only to allow you to slip away.

you’ve always been a wanderer,
never content to stay
when your heart called you out
to fall in love with momentary faces
and the scenery becoming the
true love you were looking for.

but still.

if you ever find your way back home,
come find me.

(let’s go out for coffee for one time,
and you can tell me about all
those places you’ve fallen in love with)

“heartbreak weather”

rain is heartbreak weather.

watch those droplets,
pouring torrents in the light
of those ochre streetlamps
(the only colour that hasn’t
completely washed away into the sewage)
and you’ll feel a heaviness in
your soul that hadn’t existed
until you looked up at the sky
as it opened up grey and grey
and more grey.

it’s melancholy distilled from
the sound of the rain hitting glass
like a lullaby that sings
a memory to sleep,
or rousing the ghosts of some
distant past to come dance
in time to these slow
aching heartbeats.

rain strips away the colours
to lay the truth bare

(while it is heartbreak weather
it is also a rebirth
for the sun that waits
on the other side)


a desire for simpler times,
when everything seems so complicated
although perhaps it’s just that lives
have started to unravel and these
stories are intertwining tighter
until it feels as though you’re
choking on the weight of these worlds
that come together to form a universe.

could you wish for a black hole
when you live in a supernova,
or would you only notice the darkness
as you’re stuck in space?

(there will be no simpler times
with the complexity of this chemistry)