headlines and the mirror

cats howl for love beyond the window through the witching hour and dreams. their pleas are unsuccessful, underscoring parties trashing mansions in my head. my fingers trace the pathways down your forearms for a moment. you laugh with someone else against the doorframe, watch me move their furniture. violet velvet armchairs, ugly lamps. the bed frame feels too light and your smile isn't enough to drown the questions I can't ask. are you even there? do you want to leave with me?

sun and birdsong. the buffer lasts longer with summer in the wings. time and effort stretched through webcams and corridors of other people's words. screams from video games make more sense than the current state of things. I dwarf my own potential with more headlines and the mirror. 

'use by' stamp

I keep paying people to listen. they ask questions and I talk my way around answers. what must we do when we run out of fuel? the woman on my screen says she found me at the bottom of a well. things can and have been worse. at the very least I sound a little lighter than before.

'performance requires high-level processing'. the stage isn't a tram ride. I confess I expected more from my body and brain. she adjusts her tone to teach: when deprived the body dictates where the fuel is needed to keep running. the body never hopes to change - hope is for the heart and disappointment. the body does not want to change, and will only renovate with consistent fuel.

I take notes to work on later. you need to make it as easy as possible (there is nothing easy about it). why am I so scared of the only way back? the cure is a nightmare in the fridge (without a 'use by' stamp). she says I should make it about maths.

I skipped the vigil

and I whinge and I whinge and I whinge. to be silent is to be left with myself or the world, and I cannot seem to stomach either. I breathe with my eyes closed to wait for sleep again. when it comes it ends and all I want is more.

privilege poisons everything. I watch the credits run and loath the day that's soon to come. knowing what I know I sleep and dream. in the morning I fold and wash myself through gritted teeth. when I sit to read the news it's for myself, to test the pulse and what's still working. I've watched children dying on my phone every morning for two years now. still the ego persists: my own trials and simulations colonise the first and final thoughts of every day. a year ago I wept on the steps of town hall for the loss of human conscience. tonight I skipped the vigil for a bedtime I won't make.

words don't mean much anymore. I listen to people who still know how to use them. sometimes I think about the thoughts they choose not to say. more often I think of myself. when prodded for attention I feel my own words spill out in uncertain breaths. they do so without meaning. I don't recognise the voice. the words are stolen from places I can't remember. I don't know what I'm saying and don't really care. words don't mean much anymore. how much can they matter in an age of apathy?

my taxes have been killing kids since the first time I claimed pay. I’ve known better for two years now and I still wake up for more.

my openness

words are fickle homes for thoughts and feelings. they're heavy and too tight and my frame can't hold them all. I want to leave them somewhere else. wash my hands, make room for something more that matters. I remember my heart. when we were kids I couldn't pass the people on the street begging for food. now I see them in the city and turn the other way. what happened to my openness?

I cried in the bath under the water last week. not for the world I wake to lose faith in, or the children I watch limping in and out of death on loop. my tears spoiled the bathwater for myself alone. the boy in the mirror can't hear his heart. he'll sooner watch the world burn than turn on the lights. I wish I lay there longer.

rainbow fish

I sleep through the alarm into the afternoon. by time I wake the rally's running through the streets, too far forward for my catching up to headlines in a rush. I dream of wasting time with someone beautiful. science says we can't draw new faces asleep but I can't place yours. we sneak out of our dorms into the library past curfew, finding secret spots to kiss. you show me rooms I've never thought to open. I relish the feeling of your smile against mine. it's been a while now. we spin through the night like kids, kissing through hallways and scheming dreams to treasure til I wake. when I do I think of where I've been and what I've spoiled. I know joy can strike like missiles and some footprints last forever. you hang over every thought until the winds change and you don't.

we drove an hour over tramlines just to buy a vacuum cleaner. the pot plants wait another week. I listen to the rain outside and draw the rainbow fish.

eyes that can't see

vanity makes nomads of the masses. exceptions hide their faces from their phones. watch the currents of the rest of us chase attention through the bardo in and out of dreams to death. waiting in every hall, holding out for breath to wrangle audience from shadows. please witness me. scream louder at mirrors than bombs with peace enough to only fear the former. lost in ourselves in spite of funeral pyres of children. what good are eyes that can't see? 

graduation cap

I see your face on my phone for the first time in months

graduation cap and gown

a smile and glasses like mine

you look tired

and a moment omits the worlds between us

if I could forget

I remember my name on your voice in the dark

not wanting to sleep

to keep the dream safe from the sun

logic

and decay

like it meant more than chance

a string of tears and chemical reactions

like it mattered in the face of today

who we were and left behind

misremembered circumstance

adored in absence

through the screen

did we mean what we said?

do you want to forget? 

mourned in silence

on my phone

until you haunt my dreams again.