I have a fear of the wall,
the white sheet of paper.
I'm afraid to touch surfaces
with my fingers, I inch away from
close contact, maintaining
the distance of the dreamer,
until i'm awake,
to grapple with familiarity.

love

love is this.
you and me,
when I call and you call me home,
when you hold my hand
when people are looking.
I feel less alone, when you are
here when you need to be,
like pebbles next to each other
from the millions around,
love is this.

I turn the keys
opening the locks of memory,
searching for something sad,
a twisted type of
misery, that'll make me smile
for a short while,
knowing it exists.

I can't tell if I'm happy or
miserable any more.
what is happiness supposed to look like,when
I see it approaching, I don't recognise it
until it's passed, even then it leaves
no scent, only tire marks.

responsible

are you responsible for me?
responsibility- not a difficult word,
grounded, not dizzyingly airy.
but after all,
you aren't responsible for me.

After a hundred years,
I've decided to write again
because those years were dull.

See, I know you, don't think I don't
those intelligent papers won't fool anyone.
Tie your shoes and run the mile,
after which we will share a drink again.

my head is filled with conversations

it's full.
lets meet later,
i need to tie up the threads together. 

WATER

WATER, WAter, water.
it flows downstream.