Sometimes She Burns Me

Sometimes she is in your face
all the blazing color and heat
of a faraway star

Sometimes she burns too exuberantly
I warn her that she will soon fade
as I watch her
give all her heat away

Sometimes she is sleeping ash
pale and fragile and
I dare not disturb her
with a breath of gentle encouragement
lest her pieces scatter

Sometimes she is slow and black as mud
She reaches out like an ancient mammoth in a tar pit
I fear she may pull me into that thick suffocation with her

Sometimes she is next to me
Pale and childlike
needing my ear to steady her

Sometimes months pass of no consequence
I do not worry about her

Sometimes I miss being needed
and scold myself

Sometimes she speaks in rhyme and song
and her jokes go on just a little too long
Her eyes are too wide her lipstick too red
I fear being swallowed by that smile but
she dances just out of reach

Sometimes a shooting star crosses my path
and I wish for her eternal sun

This Candied Cigarette

I clasp scalding amber tea
in a soggy takeaway cup
This candid conversation
holding me captive
His observations
made bold and rancid

Breathing candyfloss smoke
beneath a gobstopper domed sky
Yellow gumballs of light
spill across the lawn

A car’s smiling headlights,
windscreen wipers bent
in worship to me
Passing people in miniature
like statues on a cake
Strobe light leaves
catch my restless eyes
Parakeet fluorescent flashes
a harsh, repetitive trance

Spun sugar threads turn
to sticky cobweb tendrils, catching
tiny vessels in my lungs
A tree trunk stripped
to it’s rotting core, scarlet
sap oozing through opened scars
My attempts to capture the rainbow, futile
clinging as color spins and dissolves

It’s just a grayscale static image
Cold dregs are all that remain

Existence Is Too Loud

I can’t stand this sensation.

Every hair a needle, bugs crawling,
zapping me all over.
Pain in my head like brain freeze, zero to suicide every hour.
Graphic images flashing through my head,
urges that scare me with shocks shooting though my heart.
Jaw aching from biting back anger and tears. Lump in my throat choking me,
a bitter taste burning my mouth.
Pain racing through my hands and feet.
The constant holding back of hateful outbursts
and panic attacks. Disgusted with myself,
the feel of my hair across my face, the clothes against my skin,
repulses me. A desperate cold in my chest.
Flushes of heat have me tearing at my clothes, convinced I am being burnt
or fearing I will pass out. The fear is back, the guilt, the self-loathing.
Faces loom over me, distorted judging stares, whispers behind hands,
people on the wrong end of the binoculars.
Acid trickles down my back
as shadows creep up behind me, frightening forms in the dark.