Gold

The world is gold,
There’s never a better way
For this story to be told.
Through raindrops of butter,
And milky ways that taste like honey,
Something of minty flavour
And tangy scent.
I’m just this tangent,
Iridescent,
Purple dust of spectacular
That shines when you’re alive.
And all of this is nothing,
The world is less than rust,
And everything tastes like sorrow,
But if you kiss me like there’s no tomorrow,
The world is gold again,
And there’s no better way.

Dense

And listen to me beg and cry,

While words can’t listen,

And I can’t die,

And all I have inside is a faint try

Of doing this

As if

It has a sense.

And yet I’m not surprised,

As I beg, and as I cry,

That words don’t listen,

And yet I die.

In me there’s do, but there’s no don’t,

And there’s no try.

Doing this

As if it has a sense

Makes me feel a bit dense.

Michael

For all the times when my body wasn’t mine,
Please remember
I was just a vessel,
A pathway to something better.
I had room to grow,
I was still this cookie dough
That legends talk about.
All I could do was
Resist and pout.
Now I’m not better,
And I’m not worse either.
I’m the same vessel,
With a little more stuff in me.
I still have room to grow,
And will probably do so
Until there’s no more room left.
Then this vessel won’t be as deft,
And things will spill,
And that’ll no longer be a skill.
Spillage becomes louder,
Spillage becomes death.
Spillage becomes chowder,
That’s when I’ll lose my breath.

Siren

I am the song,
And sometimes I am the siren,
And sometimes I bring the fire
And your whole house down.
There’s good and bad in me,
There’s bad and good in you,
And in the middle of the night,
In your dreams
You only see nightmares of me
And taste the dreams you could have with me.
Sometimes I cut, bring on the harsh truths,
And sometimes you cut me,
Indifferent and apathetic.
Someday we’ll switch the roles,
The pain will stay the same.
I am the siren,
And sometimes I am the song.
But most of the times I am that poor fisherman
Drawn out by waves and sounds and voices.

Time

And I always thought life was hard,

Demanding,

Tiring,

Upsetting even.

Some mornings were definitely difficult,

And some nights were sleepless,

My body was not my own,

My thoughts were not the best,

And yet I’ve powered through.

We’ve powered through it all.

We thought there’s going to be more time

To reach to where we want to be,

To go to all the places we want to see,

To feel all of the love we want to feel.

The truth is simple, hard, demanding,

Tiring, even upsetting.

The only time we have left is now.

We can’t go back and change the past,

We can’t go forward and fix what we don’t know.

And day by day, and night by night,

We draw in breath; we draw in life.

There is no dark, there’s only light,

The death is silent, no more strife.

London

And it took me ages to get home,

In a city I would’ve never thought I’d call home.

This is where magic happens,

Where I’m equally invisible and very observable,

Where you could walk without getting anywhere,

Where you could go without getting somewhere,

But where places are home everywhere.

You can walk on the Southbank,

Imagining how it feels to swim down the river,

Or you could go south the Thames, where all the fancy people live.

You can walk through Camden

And taste the wild side,

Or go to the museums and galleries,

And find that life is on the palm of your hand,

Listening to you, feeding you, tasting you…

I know I’m home now; I’ve stopped missing myself.