In the cold light of day

This ghost girl
weighted down in the mud

caked

struggling to place one foot
in front of the other
to move forward

burdened with familiarity
and substance
and theory

and all of those things
she held in her grasp
when they looked to her
for command

pinned

hemmed in on every side
as her army flail

crushed into
the sodden earth
like it knows each by name
and calls in such
reverence
that they cannot fail
to hear

whilst she is left
to stitch up the wounded

sew together
what little remains

pulling

at threads till they are taut
and grief will be her burden
alone

there amid carnage
a ghost girl
encased by those lost in the
onslaught

laden with defeat

striving to find breath and breathe

sinking
crumbling

calling out to a god
she no longer believes
exists

and all the whilst this fragile frame
precariously balancing
expectation
which sits heavy on her heart.

A new way of living

The world seems that bit smaller,
A missing piece
That can not be replaced
And every room
Some how more empty than before.

But this is how it is.
How it will be
From now on until forever more.

And I will have to get use to it
Accept this new way of living.

Even if I don’t want to.

The Little Things

It is the little things
I will miss.

The unimportant events.

The ones which mean nothing
To anybody else,
Not big
Nor eventful
Or significant.

Just small
And quiet.

Those things that meant nothing
Even to me.

Yet were everything.

It is those moments
I shall miss most
Because they were you.

You and me.

Us.

Whilst you

I am failing
Under weighted skies
Heavy with expectations

And dreams.

Failing
Amongst all that I own
Because I have said so.

Whilst you.

You tell me
They are not real.
Do not exist.
Cannot be.

The voice who should be silent.

Yet screams.

If she fails to thrive
What happens to me?

I am stalling
Failing
Stuttering

But it is me alone
Because she is not real
And I cannot be.

Let us begin

If I do not allow you
To start
Then there can be no end.

But
There can be no laughter,
No delight
In those moments of triumph
Or well timed mishaps.
No commiseration
When lovers let you down
And friends are found lacking.
There will be
No joy in the unexpected,
Nor galleries
To stumble upon.
We can forget the ease of
Long stretching silences
Accompanied by morning
Breakfast bacon butties.

To have all this
I have to let you begin.

To have all this
I have to let you end.

With little sound

Life clings to me.

A beautiful lie
of all she has mastered.
Each belief corrupted
absolutely
as it forms a seal
around this ruin.

And pulls tight.

Maintained
on this parapet
she kept still
the quiet fight for life
until death came
knocking.

Then fought him off
because
I was her prize not his.

And she is free
to do to me
what is her will.

And I am kept buttoned up
by invisible bonds
I have clung to.