I wonder if life will implode one day,
And I will find myself lost in a forest,
or firmly placed,
in a garden of iridescent skies.

In this trance of realisation,
I will a supernova,
For we have been nascent,
(Or is morbid more befitting?)
Long enough!

Set in motion,
an attack of experience,
So if death was to come or not,
It would all be the same.

They were dark times. With everything I did, I was more and more hesitant. Unsure of myself and of all that around me. In conundrums, and strangled with confusion.  Wary of the past, and unaware of the future.

There was so much I had left behind, a myriad of my happiest memories. Only to now be surrounded by thickets of black. And as I curled up around it (the black) , lungs corrupted and eyes sore, it took a turn. And lo, it wrapped itself around me.

I was, at first surprised. At the comfort this monster bestowed upon me. For it was beyond my comprehension, it’s will to parent me. Only as I let out my first cry, did it all become clear. What had seemed as protection, transformed into an awesome attack. It gnawed into me, strengthening itself at every scream.

Amongst heavy cries, I struggled to find my breadth. I was victim to bouts of unrestricted rage. Clenched fists, furious stares.  It devoured my every moment of weakness.

 It took a while for me to figure out that I was the fuel to its fire. With this realization however, I quieted down.  And it, in return was kind enough to let go and return to its former state as the selfless provider.

Hello? Are you out there? I don't feel you. I don't hear you, I don't see you. So how do I know? You're that tingling at the end of my fingers, the tingle that knows magic. You're the rage in my clenched fists. You're the warmth of my embrace. At least you were. 

Of all the things I've lost, I have lost you the most. Hi. Let's start over. I'm sorry, okay? Perhaps I came on strong before. Now I breathe, unhurried. Clenched fists open up, and now I am. I am..

I am a body. I have emotions. I can think. But do you know what? Fuck this. All I want to do is jump on you and hold your head and stare into your eyes. The angry stare. And then scream like a mad man. And then laugh. And put this all behind us. And, and. 

Or maybe I want to watch you, crinkle up your nose and make a stupid face. And then I want to hold your hand. Walk with you down that road, take a left, stop you from crossing the road. And stop that car that hit you. So we could have taken that other left, and been lost in each other.

Why are we not moving any more?

On this road,
I'm without reason for pace or morbidity,
For the end of all is ubiquitous.

I stare upon the soil,
Which may be my friend,
And will it to partner with the wind,
And so, live on.

In awesome form,
For what good is life,
If it is masked in fear,
Inhibitions and etcetera?

Stop for the rose,
before it is swallowed by
The monster
Which is death.

I find a wall, painted black.  And buried within these five hundred shades,  a yellow.  So, if I asked, could you imagine? Could you imagine my amazement, as I speculated upon this yellow?

Of the thousand eyes that have stood here. I wonder if they too, knew this yellow?  Or is it my secret? And lo, amazement once more!  A yellow, for me to see, and mine to keep!

Maybe you are amused by the size of this yellow. It is miniscule of course, a mere spec upon a massive structure. But may I, if you let me, just say. It is the sole warmth on so many seasons of winter.

I could drown myself in black, and find myself gasping for breath on the surface of this yellow. I wish to wander deeper into it. And as I go, will I find a reason for this contrast in colour? Is there a wonderland beneath the surface and the yellow, its invitation?

I have, over the past month frequented this wall. Not much has changed. It is as uninviting as it was yesterday. Just as harsh, just as cold. But to me, there are, upon five hundred yellows, a black.

For beyond the surface, I found you.

A summer romance, under the oak. The sun cuts through the leaves, finding it's way down. Trickling onto the tips of my hair, down my arm to the top of my fingers. Caressing me like a first love, cajoling me into happiness. Iram.

An hour? Damn, that monster of yours knows how to run. Our heads turn to the rover parked out front. Men and your toys, she says. I swear to god, that thing in between your legs and your cars. I forget what she says after that. Shy, timind, Iram. Her reference takes me by surprise.

She, with her tied back hair. Her big round eyes that eat me up. Her eyes and ears and knees and toes. Oh, head, knees and toes, knees and toes! And so once again, I flex the muscle within, ready it for another pounding and plunge back in to it. Right back into love.

And all is swell, all is sweet. There are pancakes for breakfast, walks on the beach. On rainy days, there's coffee by the window. Games of scrabble, games in bed. Books are torn through. And now I sleep, and now I wake. Dum di da dum, let's have those banana pancakes. Dum di dum, mhm, hmmm, ha! Irr, ir, irr, irru, ram pam, iram.

And, then: Breakfast is a quiet affair. Toast and tea. Accompanied by a side of screeching silence, broken only momentarily by could you pass the sugar? Or the butter. Or the knife, I'd like to cut open my veins and be done with it. IRAM!

A vase is broken, flying objects dodged. Iram, my partner in love, my happiness under the oak. Goodbye.

I wish I had facial hair. And I could not shave for a week, and the world would know that something was amiss. The hair on my chin would scream a million words. My crinkled, two button missing shirt, my stained trousers, the stench of caffeine trailing behind me. It's a wonder how far I'd be willing to go. Only to mask the monotony of my life with the bristles of unkemptness. And won't it be beautiful then? All the stares I will invite, the hushes and shushes.

 I sit alone, forcing myself through lunch. Grasping onto a mount of rice, only to crumble each grain. I sit on the bench, trampling on the ants that scurry below me. And I lie in my bed, running the tips of my fingers, across the length of my neck, feeling desperately. Surely there is enough to give away how run down  I feel. This could take a lifetime. I'm miserable, help me. Can I paint that across my forehead? In red. And I'll do it everyday, until someone takes notice. Or till I'm no longer miserable. Whichever is to happen first.

There are planets between the person I was, and have become. Circumstances have hardened me. A beard as long as any man's, adorns the contours of my jaws, running down well into my chest. I'm pleased you think it's something to do with my religion. It always was very foreign to you, wan't it? I'm glad you find it sexy. I'm sorry it get's in the way of our kisses and for the attention it invites.

 I work my way through a sandwich I wasn't hungry for. And I feel so happy, that my lack of appetite is only the result of the heavy breakfast we shared. I smile as I think about what you had said earlier. I would give away the world, to know what you hide under the hairs of your chin, you had managed to mumble as you gobbled on pancakes and maple syrup. I'm excited to show you, I had replied.