Walking into a sunset

 

It’s like a piece of me dies

every time I put on that smile

and say goodbye.

A graveyard

I’ve come to despise.

When all I want is to say how you

light up my life,

but the words just fail

and I just walk away

into the sunset,

whilst you walk

the other way

into the sunrise.

 

When I’m with you

I feel a tingle inside,

flapping like

those clichéd butterflies

that live within,

but when I walk away

I feel a swarm of wasps

stinging me until I’m blue

and I want to scream

those words,

the truth that I hold in.

For when love climbs inside

I want to smile wide

but I lose control of my lips

and the words become confused.

 

And I never knew that I

was so good at lying.

But every time I say goodbye

it feels like dying,

it feels like

the sun burning itself out

leaving just

a blackhole in the sky.

where all the hope

gets sucked in,

like the way I pull in

the words before they

come tumbling from my lips.

I feel my mind crumbling

until I’m left searching

through the rubble

for the only smile

I have left that fits.

 

I feel like I only

ever want to say hello,

because every welcome

is time spent in your company,

but then goodbye always

comes and slaps me

to wake me from a dream

I was so peacefully embracing.

And when I bite my lip

I taste the blood of every regret.

Every word I never said,

every moment never shared,

Every kiss that could never exist,

because our ships

were never set to sail

on the same waters,

our feet never to stretch

over the same sandy beaches.

Undone

 

Sometimes it all comes undone.

The moment of realisation

always dawns too late,

and the comedown

starts to take hold

when your own love

walks out of the gate

into the realms beyond.

 

When you realise you've spent

more time holding onto hate

than the remnants of hope

that once clung on.

Because what they showed was

just a fiction,

a blurted word of love

a story that was never true.

A story that never included you.

 

Sometimes it’s just too late,

and your own love leaves

in the wake of a bad dream.

No words can save something

that is beyond repair, those words

can’t navigate through the despair

that lives when love never really lived there.

 

Sometimes it all comes undone.

Every strand of twine is left just straggled

across the floor and your

heart pours acid blood

into your now sour stomach.

 

The distance between

breaths

are endless it seems,

The gaping chasms

between minutes

on a clock face.

The gasps as tears are pulled back,

before they have a chance to race down cheeks.

The screams that live in the chest,

bursting to get free

become only a pitiful whimper

when they touch the cold air.

 

Sometimes it all comes undone

and it can feel unfair,

when you've given your whole heart

and they never seemed to care.

between realities

 

We live on the boundary

between two opposing realities.

A rock outcrop, empty bar one lone tree.

On one side fate and destiny.

The other chaos and unpredictability,

and as we wobble precariously

we can see that these

two opposing seas

are joined intrinsically,

violently crashing their waves

to form an ever more 

complicated third reality.

 

Sometimes

sparks get dusted

across the universe,

little strands of future,

tiny nuggets of a plan,

moments that can change a life span.

Like the moment you relive a dream,

or the way a face seen

can feel instantaneously

like someone that will

always be connected.

But conversely sometimes

life has to be chaotic

to set in action a series of events

to which the outcome

is of greater importance.

 

Because sometimes

things are supposed to happen.

But in a world of chaos

the plans can sometimes

unravel when we take

the road less travelled.

I had to nearly die to be reborn,

I had to cry until

my tear ducts ran dry

so that I could see

the world with open eyes.

I’ve had to love those

that caused me such hurt,

to be able to see

my own self-worth,

and I’ve had to feel that pain

to be able to open my heart 

and give every part of me to you.

 

For without the chaos,

I’d be walking a long pathway

with no story,

the chaos creates the branches

of this story tree,

and each leaf is

a moment of chemistry.

The bark worn with

time weathered memories.

 

If my book is already written,

beginning, middle and end,

then some of the pages must stay empty

for those magic moments

that even the universe

can’t fully comprehend.

And if I could read

just a single page ahead of me

I'd decline, for who wants to

read the ending

when the journey is sublime.