Gunpowder and Whiskey

A crystalized lowball glass sways; 
Jigging the rocks around the whiskey.
Holding the glass is an aged hand, 
Belonging to an aged man 
Just threatening to tell a story. 
The bar listens with tense ears 
And choked breaths.

"She was my first wife; 
June, beautiful, bewitching, bodacious; 
Too much so at times. 
She wore her hair pinned 
At the crook of her neck 
With a single silver barrette. 
It softened her harsh features 
Just a little you see. 
I came home one day 
To discover her on the floor, 
Deceased, 
With a single silver barrette 
Plunged deep in her eye socket. 
But nobody knew a damned thing!"

The lowball swayed mores
And the tavern slouches listened on.

"Next there was my second wife, 
Anna-Marie. 
She was a pious woman, 
And her slight figure would pray 
Before performing any activity 
And i mean any, before the Lord. 
She tied the waist of her dress
With a bright green ribbon; 
it was so tiny that waist of hers. 
Shame I found the ribbon 
Around that pretty porcelain neck. 
And for some reason, 
Everyone thought nothing of it!"

The lowball was empty.
Once the bartender topped it up 
The man continued.

"Finally there is my beloved Jessie. 
Far too pretty and young 
Especially for this old ruffian, 
But she would ignite the fire 
To warm any man's soul. 
Now she's still alive. 
But that there stiff 
That got my gun going 
He's the bastard
Snatched her from me. 
And with God as my witness, 
She remains my wife, 
So she belongs to me."

And with one long final sip,
He left the bar without his gun;
High off of gunpowder and whiskey.

Forever Linked

We Got matching Tattoos
And we laughed when they sketched them.
The needles buzzed,
But we didn't pay them any mind,
We merely enjoyed their sensations.
When the guns were pulled back
Our hearts had matching hourglasses,
But yours was half empty,
And mine almost full.
We assumed an artistic difference
Nothing more
And delighted gleefully,
Content being forever linked.
I didn't see that last grain,
But it fell faster than mine.

The Girl That Could Dance

Outstretched legs that could reach the sky,
And nails long enough to lose an eye.
Curves small and soft, but defined and outlined,
Face tight, flawless, and often kind.
Pointed toes that swept deftly, precise,
And affection that came at a price,
Back tickled with golden hair,
A body most beautiful bare.
Elegant movements, jeté, plié,
Childish as very cliché.
Parents who raised their child right,
With the grace of a mythic sprite.

Shame everyone else had loved her too.

Curiosity Ignited the Fire

Do you still smell the same?
Intoxicating and inviting.
Being wrapped in your arms,
Would leave me drunk off desire,

Do you still taste the same?
​Rich, and melting in my lustful mouth,
Like freshly pressed coffee,
And sweet fragrant vanilla.

Do you still feel the same?
Would your touch leave me trembling again?
Would my hands still know you?
Grip you tight in ecstasy.

The Sequel Child

Images move animatedly across the tv screen,
Sounds are blended into the background noise,
The foreground filled with heavy breathing,
The satiation of pleasure between two,
Summed up by title of ‘Netflix and chill.’

The sequel, a follow up on two series merging,
Finally born, gendered by the pink onsie,
The gentle curves of tassels and bows,
And the growing basket of perfectly painted,
Single expression, pose-able dolls.

Years of playing courting, marriage,
Nuclear house, one ken, one barbie, and baby,
Of traditionalism imposed in playtime, destroyed.
The babe who once played with dolls,
Becomes the doll in the tent playing with her bae.

Within a flash, the two are married,
Both taking and barrelling their surnames,
Living equal in their roles, life, and love,
Until the hourglass is empty,
And the grieving hold their umbrellas in the rain.

You’ll Never Know

You'll never understand his humour.
The way he said hello, without even using a greeting.
His intelligence will never fit with yours
The same way his fingers sit perfectly with mine.

You'll never believe the transparency of his emotions,
But that's because you'll never trust the way he does,
Or care about his opinions the way he does mine,
When he's imagining the house you'll one day share.


You'll find his sarcasm rude or offensive,
But that's because he doesn't tell you he loves you all the time.
You'll never hear the static on the line because he won't hang up,
He never wants to say goodbye, so we talk for even longer.

You'll get a smirk, but never see his smile,
Or the way those baby blue eyes glisten at you,
But that's because you'll never be stood,
Embracing under the falling water together.

You won't hear him try and speak French,
Because, even if he can't say the words correctly,
He knows it will make me smile.
And if that fails, Alan Rickman will save the day.

You'll never get to steal his hoodies,
Because he shares his warmth and his life with me.
He knows being in his arms feels safe,
But also how often the firm hand is craved.

You'll never share that stolen dance before leaving,
And he'll never forgo his comfort for you,
But we'll sleep in the most uncomfortable bed,
Just to hold me close, even if it's selfish of me.

You won't find kisses softer than his,
Nor end a night with such intense love.
He'll never open bottles for you in the morning,
Because he's making sure I'm not thirsty this morning.

You won't see the value in a walking IMDB,
But you don't even know who Lars Von Trier is!
And you'll never get to joke that he's part yeti,
Because I'm the one using his chest as a pillow.

You'll never get a tour from an awful guide,
And still have a fantastic day together,
Because he will share my headphones and music,
And enjoy not having to say anything at all.

You won't be encouraged to chase your dreams,
Because he's too busy making time for me,
Too busy understanding my views and interests,
And keeping his mind open to a new viewpoint.

You'll never know why he's so great to cuddle,
Or why he is willing to tell you everything,
Because he's listening to me sing to random songs,
Even if I'm not putting any effort in.

You'll never understand that he's just him,
Because you'd take him for granted, and he never would.
He's too busy putting all his efforts into
Writing the perfect poem to steal my heart again.


You'll never have someone know what you like
Or someone who's willing to wait quite so long,
Because he knows that you should be serious
Especially when in love.


You will never get, know or have this from him,
Because you don't love him, nor he you.
I have had, know and get this from him,
Because I love him, and he loves me too.

Void

We used to sit and talk,
Until the late hours.
But tonight I sit alone,
A cold void next to me,
My only company,
A cigarette, lit of strawberry,
Like the ones we ate in the summer.

Tonight no laughter,
No giggles at the trivial.
You used to stroke my hair,
And say 'Baby,
'You should get some sleep.'
I'd laugh, I knew,
Really you were tired.

We'd lie on the bed,
Gazing at the ceiling,
As if it was a star lit sky,
Repeatedly say goodnight,
And laugh between.
Perhaps exchange tender kisses.

But no kisses tonight,
No repeated good-nights,
No childish laughter.
Just emptiness, void.

Maybe I'm always looking,
To find you again,
To have those times.
But I won't find you.
I need to relearn love,
It's differences, it's newness.
But I won't open my heart,
Not yet, I'm not ready.

I've loved others,
Made love with others,
But the depth, complexity,
Is missing, empty.

My whole heart buried,
Beneath the grass we led on,
One day I'll let go enough,
To take it back.
But I find solace,
​In the void it leaves.

Internal Anguish

For so long I've formed pain,
Held it within my four walls,
Within the structure of myself.

I learned this to be unhealthy,
Destructive to my personality,
So I believed expression was key,
To let it all flow freely,
Unfiltered, from my lips.

You encouraged me to talk,
I reciprocated such action,
Believing you willing to listen,
And knowing my ears are open.

As I learned to open up,
Began to find release,
I faced judgement, more pain.
You couldn't deal with what I held back.

I'll be no fool again, like this,
All previously thought progression,
Now clearly regression.
So I apologize for my blindness.

I'll not let the world know my pain,
I'll keep my internal anguish,
Even if I crumble inside, then out,
It must be less than external hate.

I'll retreat back to myself,
Keep in my bubble, where I'm safe.
Never to be scolded again,
By a fire that others fuelled.

I'll embrace my internal anguish,
Understand it as my only companion,
Never to be betrayed by tongues,
Relaying information untrue,
Or turned, or twisted, or even honest.
People cannot cope with my pain,
So I'll no longer seek advice.

The End 15-8-15

We enter the room.
Car running in the center,
Fuel tank pierced,
Petrol dripping.
He sits in the driver’s seat,
You sit next to him.
I find a match,
A small piece of wood
And with the first
I light the second.
Wood, unlit end first
Pushed under the car.
I get in the backseat.
I cry, I'm scared.
You look back.
You nod.
Smoke. No flames.
No noise.
No end.


We enter the room.
Car running in the center,
Fuel take pierced,
Petrol dripping.
You take my hand
Comforting my cries.
I nod.
He sits in the driver’s seat.
You sit in the passenger’s seat.
I light a plank of wood,
I place it below the car.
I sit in the backseat.
I wait and wait.
I'm crying and crying.
You reach back.
You give me your hand.
You tell me you're sure,
That you'll be there,
You'll hold my hand to the end.
That you've seen it,
The cruelty of the world,
That it's enough.
We wait.
No smoke, no fire.
No end.


We enter the room.
Car running in the center,
Fuel tank pierced,
Petrol dripping.
You hold me close.
Lead me to the backseat.
I sit, crying and broken.
You sit beside me,
Warm, comforting.
You hold me while the pain
Escapes through the silent,
Distraught, and shattered sobs.
He used the wood,
To trail,
Line,
Trace.
The petrol, his instrument,
The final piece of art.
He lights the end.
He walks to the car.
He sits in the driver’s seat.
You stroke my hair as you watch
Flames dancing in smaller circles
That stop. Too Early.
No continuance.
No End.


We enter the room.
Car running in the center,
Fuel tank pierced.
Petrol dripping.
You tell me it's okay.
I listen.
He takes my hand.
He leads me forward.
He knows what comes after.
You sit in the driver’s seat.
He and I trail the petrol.
One straight line.
We light the end.
He sits in the backseat.
I sit next to him.
Calm, collected.
You say nothing.
You mean nothing.
You show nothing.
He holds me in an embrace.
Kisses the top of my head.
Tightens his grip around me.
I know he loves me.
You mean nothing in your silence.
I look at you,
Silently beg for a word,
A murmur, a mumble.
I ask for your hand.
You move.
​You open the door.
I beg you with my tears.
You put your leg out.
I crumple into him.
You leave the car.
His grip holds me.
I call out your name.
He comforts me.
You walk away.
He wipes every tear.
You pause once.
I look up.
You walk on.
He pulls me closer.
You leave the room.
The fire spreads,
Engulfs - Consumes.
You close the door.
You regret.

The car explodes.
The flames dominate.
He guides me on.
He knows this place.
He tells me he missed me.
I grip his hand.
This is it.
The End.