[i] nkwell

sometimes we leave our words
abandon them
in worn out notebooks
with dog-eared pages,
and in the drying ink
of once favourite pens.

sometimes we leave our worlds
those places built from
dust and childhood memories
because something else,
something tangible,
catches our attention
and manages to hold it
in a vice like grip
that leaves bruises and marks
like fingerprints
on your hips.

sometimes we leave our words
walk away from the things
we created,
that created us,
for things that will destroy us.
if only because we wish
oh we wish
that ‘once upon a time’,
in our minds and our
hearts,
to be built back up again,
with words and world
and to be made new again
stronger with our armour
of notebooks and ink

[b] loodhounds

you wake up at
four am
to see the silhouette of
your love

the one with the stars
on his skin
and hell in his eyes

pulling the bits and
pieces of you
the memories that you had
so perfectly placed
(like artwork
a psalm
a prayer)
all over his body
just hours before
and throwing them carelessly
to the shadowy wolves
of doubt that always seem
to be waiting
at the foot of your
bed
just outside your door

(and god who you have
tried to out run them
tried to elude their snarling
the snapping of their teeth
at your heels
tried to lead them astray
with false trails
of apathy
but you always fall asleep
to their howls)

he laughs as he drops
your reverent
‘ i love you’
(the one you repeated
like a mantra
a blessing
into the curve of his spine,
pressing it into each
and every
vertebrae)
into the blood thirsty fray
and looks distantly amused
as they tear it apart

dares to look intrigued
at the flecks of bone and
bits of your heart
splattered at his feet

and when you try
not to scream at
the monster that now
sleeps in your bed
he just smiles at you
like the moon
(a reflection of something else)
and reminds you
that you are supposed
to be a soldier
that love is a war
love is a bloodsport
and the battleground
is no place for a heart

he’s doing you a favour

(he told you a long
time ago
that love was war
but he also told you
as he walked away
through the carcasses
that you piled high for him
that he was never fighting

at least not for you.)

[n]ow i lay me down to sleep

i had a dream about you
last week
you were dressed in red
all teeth and snarls
snapping like a wild hound
at those tho would dare
feed you love
you would take their hearts
sink your teeth into still beating flesh
crack open ribcages and break bone
but wanted nothing
of the softness that lay beneath

i had a dream about you
the other night
you came back to be
all smiles and soft words
reminded me that i was not
the sum of all those sins
that we committed between the hours
where memories could easily be dreams
but rather
i was just a faint scar on your left wrist
so easily covered up
so easily forgotten

i had a dream about you
i dream about you
i saw you
last night, every night
before i go to bed

you’re the monster under the bed
the monster in the bed
the one that i pay homage to every
time i slide between the sheets
every time i
drop to my knees in prayer
asking for safe passage through the night

[ d ] epression

depression is a quiet thing
a  hungry voice in your ear
a shadow on your shoulder

it starts out small
small and hungry and
asking for the little things

asks for the flip of your stomach
when you do something new

asks for the glean of fondness
found in your favourite memories

asks for the bright hope
found only in the future

and you feed it

you feed that little quiet thing on your shoulder
the demon in your ear
the shadow hanging
onto the edge of your smile
you feed it and hope that, maybe
just maybe,
that will be enough

it will go away

and you can ignore it

go back to ‘normal’.

but then— it asks for more

asks you for the nerve to try new things
to go out of the comfort zone

asks you for the determination
to get up a little bit earlier to see the sun rise

it asks for a few hours of your sleep
a few more of your sweet dreams

asks for your memory and your time
asks you to listen to it more

it asks for the brightness of your smile
when you see your loved ones

asks for that extra edge of joy
when you find a moment of happiness

asks for that bounce in your step
when you make your way to the job you love

asks for the fondness in the curve of your mouth
when you hear your song on the radio

hisses in your ear that
‘you don’t need them’ but
what you hear is
‘they don’t want you’

depression is a quiet thing
a giant thing
sitting on your shoulder and

hissing in your ear
with a voice that
only you can hear

depression is a hungry thing
ravenous and wanting and empty

it starts asking for the things that
once upon a time
were safe from the emptiness
that was opening up inside you

asks for your will to greet another day
for the feel of pavement
under your feet
instead of the familiar comfort
(prison)
of your blankets

asks for your love of finding
new worlds
tucked between the lines
and words
on a page

and you feed it
you just. keep. feeding. it.

hoping that it goes away and doesn’t come back
and takes this sinking, sickening, emptiness with it
will take this weight that is growing
settling into the curve of your spine
when it’s done
hope that maybe now, maybe after all this,
it will have had it’s fill and will GO

but depression is a monster

it sits on your shoulder
wraps its fingers around your throat
and reminds you that it
that it is the only thing that wants you

reminds you that you are alone and
it is the only thing that will be here
if anyone finds out

depression is a monster

your monster

youre monster

you are a monster

you keep feeding it
it keeps asking
demanding

more

more

more

and soon enough…

it’s asking for your confidence
for your ability to look in the mirror
and smile

it’s demanding your self worth
telling you that
no
no one cares, they have better
more important things
to deal with

it’s devouring the light and the laughter
the love and joy
until you are left
choking
drowing,
in the guilt because

because you fed it

you gave this monster claws
teeth
weapons with which it was able
to consume you
and it will remind you

you are a monster too

you are not worth it

you are not worth it

you are not—

depression is a quiet thing.
it doesn’t let you speak about it
stitches your mouth closed with
guilt
sadness
fear

tells you that you deserve this
you fed that little voice
you did,
you are the monster now

even as it sucks the marrow from your bones
you don’t get to scream
don’t deserve it, don’t—

tells you to quiet down,
don’t bother people with lives
with important things
(because you, you are not
important)

tells you to deal with it
smile
give it more to eat
give it more to consume
give it more to suck dry
give it—

well,

give it everything you’ve got.

depression is a quiet thing.

[ w ] ar

these bruises are a history
battlelines
drawn in the flesh of
our bodies
with teeth and tongues and
fingers
bits and pieces of you
pressed into my skin
like shrapnel

theres a memorial
to you
a white cross for valour
for things i’ll never have
in the shape of
your teeth like
diamonds
around my neck

these memories are
fading
dotted lines of where
you have walked with
your words
sharper than knives
barely lingering in the
curve of my collarbones

these bruises are
battle scars
drawn in the flesh
of my body
with teeth and claws
kisses tougher and
faster than bullets

[ p ]romise

i will feel
your bones break
between my teeth

i will feel
your still beating heart
with its familiar rhythm
slowly come to rest
beneath my lips

i will tear into
your flesh
with my fingers
just to leave those little

reminders

pieces

imprints

of me behind

i will
taste you
as i carve a home
a place of rest
a memorial
into your marrow
with my tongue

“i will always love you”

bruised into your
thighs and
hips and
the exposed line
of your spine

“i will always be yours”

circling your
neck
like an expensive
jewel

remember
i promise…
i promise…
i promise…

i will never leave you

                          alive

[ i ] will not love you

i will not say
“i love you”
and it is not because i will not
do such a stupid thing
because
heaven knows

      i will

it is because it will never be true
i will not love you

i will love only what i know of you
i will love the degrees of a smile
the whorl of a curl
and the #15697C blue of your iris

i will love the angles of your jaw
and the equations of time that line up
that stack up around your eyes

i will love the timber of your voice
the slope and curve of your spine
the way laughter hides behind an eyelash

i will love the lines of your fingers
the steady beating of your heart
that does not differ from any other

i will love your sense of humour
the poorly timed jokes
and the hard angle of a shoulder

i will not love the person you used to be
that darkened figure of the past
that i will never be able to meet

i will not love the person you might be
one day in the future yet to come
still swirling and unknowable

i will not love the nooks and crannies
the hidden places in your mind that
without a map, i will never find

i will not love your memories
things and places and people
whom i will never meet

i will not love your secrets
your lies or nightmares or childhood friends
even if i wanted to

because

i cannot love those things

things i cannot know, and it would

well it would be a lie if i ever said
“i love you”
because i cannot
you cannot love what you do not know
those who say otherwise are fools
and liars
and dreamers

i will not say

“i love you”

but i will love what i know of you