I’m falling asleep again.
It cost me everything to wake
and now sleep is coming again.
Once my eyes close, will I
remember what I dreamed
while I was awake?


I want to see you
I need to look into your eyes
and know that this is not only
some drunken skype thing
some sweet madness
I need to see your eyes
without wine
or skype
because I want to trust you.
Choose you, like you already chose me
like some corner of your heart
puzzled us both mightily by choosing me
and didn’t we do well?
to honour it
even if we needed wine
to listen to that voice
that most sane delusion
whispering “trust him. trust her”
both crazy enough to listen
even if only at night.
Didn’t we do well? That
voice is life, that madness
is love, that doesn’t need
a reason.
And now my 3am voice is saying
you might be the one
to know.
I don’t know why I care if anyone ever
knows. If I care. But
you might join me here
in this loneliness and this indifference
not to fill it. Just to see it. So
I want to lay it all out for you
because you might take the opportunity
to not hurt me. If you
turn around, walk away, and live;
I will know that somebody saw
and somebody knew. Without needing a reason.


It’s awkward
I hadn’t imagined
I might live
I didn’t know
Some animal part of me
fought against
my unimaginable end
and this is how it goes
I thought
this brute
this encasement
of flesh and pumping
will insist
will continue
and carry me along with it
fainting and weeping
like an unwilling bride
thrown across the pommel
I’ll be stolen
and grow accustomed
to life
I thought.
I thought I knew
that I would live
but I didn’t know
I never imagined it
and now what next?
I want to go back
to my stern father
the guillotine
to what’s known
and true.
Take me back
so I know what’s true


like an old friend
turning up at the door
after years
and nothing had changed
death whispered in my ear
like a lover
I arched my back
in sensual delight
and whispered the words
like I could feel
the knife
sliding in to my heart
and I groaned aloud
at the imagined
pleasure of it.

The question

There was an invisible
line I crossed
somewhere back there
where this game
became real, the stakes
ratcheted up, forfeit no
different to all-in loss.
I crossed that line because
I didn’t know it existed
wouldn’t have believed if I’d known
thought always you can
turn back. You can’t.
I bet my life
didn’t know I had
and lost
didn’t know you could lose,
didn’t know I had lost until
much, much later.
No excuses. Time to pay up.
Disbelief. Anger. Bargaining.
Life wasn’t supposed to be like this.
But who said? It was
always more serious
than I wanted to believe.
Yes. You can lose.
Yes. It can cost you everything.
A bit of fun. I was a
drug-runner’s mule, smuggling
love and hope and free-hearted
love-making into a country where
all of these things carry the death
penalty. A country of trauma
victims and narcissists, sociopaths
and cynics. They’ll take you in
with a smile. Oh, your heart? How
pretty. Thank you, it’s adorable.
You shouldn’t have. Your life belongs to me?
Well, I’ll take you up
on that, don’t mind if I do.
Well, no, sorry, but I mean it:
really; here’s the knife; sorry
but I do insist. You promised.
Your life.
If only I’d known,
that first needle;
chasing a butterfly across
that line. Nothing so pretty
could be anything but innocent,
surely? Or lead me anywhere bad?
And the stories,
the fucking stories. Love
melted the hardest heart. No
sorry, the hardest heart took
that angel and fucked it
up the arse, and was
already bored by the time
the broken pieces of
that cherub slit its own
wrists. Was already annoyed at
the mess, and forgot about
it while picking out a jacket
for tonight’s party before
the blood was dry.
Love is the answer and
the question is, what is the
stupidest thing people will
do of their own free will.
The question is, how much
pain is there? The question is,
how to get the condemned to lay
their necks peacefully
on the block?


It’s a magical incantation
a vital rhythm
the slowest heartbeat in the world
but the most reliable
one hour
each pulse lasts
once a week
and in that rushing
of life’s blood
we soar.
The iron law
forbids three things
that forbidding like
a pentagram drawn
in salt creates
the space for