Doll House

Time remains suspended as you wander through the ghosted hallways within my mind
Leaving opened doorways and rifled curtains in your wake
Content within the peaceful stillness of a slowly settling chaos.

The glass ceilings illuminate your figure, your face turned towards the pouring sunshine
A quiet smile settled upon your lips as your closed eyes watch the world through mine.

Each kiss roots itself into this doll house, breathing life into the rose-coloured walls
Honeysuckle painting the tiles, the mahogany floorboards heaving with each embrace,
A perpetuating story within our own as the music of our souls dances through and fills each room.

Sinking

I feel my heart softly singing to me, lullabies of our tale
Warming our whispered memories, humming within my veins
As I breathe of the air you kissed me with, cradled within my soul.

I desperately consume your shadowed remains
As I fall to a stilled recline
Pausing
Fighting
Falling for nature's design,
And betrayed by an act that denies the power I gave
To love and to hurt
An honour exchanged for my soul
I drown to be blind
Your step in par with mine.

On Fire

The first burn barely registered as I watched the sparks filter seamlessly through the strands, consuming and destroying years of an adherence, a solitude, a stand. Now obsolete. A beautiful irony. A guise.

In contrast, the choking heat left me breathless, the fog refining a clarity that settled my eyes on a fallen dream that lay before me. My face in the sweeping breeze, I wonder whether I was wrong. I take a deep breath and turn away from my dying resolve.

The last burns like no other. It is a desire so deep that once sated, it rises again to the surface. Never fully complete. A rekindled fire of shadows flickering in the light. Fine-tuned on repeat.

Contained

Each upward stroke leaves no trace
Of the effort of a tremorous hand
As layer upon layer, until perfection achieved
Found tracings of softly sought strands
Lay hidden beneath blocked lines.
Lines that are full, plump-mouthed and  fierce
In vibrant colour and sound
Barely held in by the splayed lashes, the brushes
The farce.
The strays leak beyond the masked aligned
In a clamour of crazed vision and voice,
Of a tortured stance that bends, submits
And exhilarates beyond the stretched confines
Spilling, dripping and dancing in a hunger of madness
Of the soul. Off the page, off the canvas
The walls, the rooms destroyed
Barely visible beneath the fire of a sanity devoid.
Spectacular.
Calm.

The slowly dying flames char the remains
Of the clarity to our soul
And all that we retain
Are the layered strokes of perfection
Purposed in a hardened veneer.
And with subdued hues
Of an emptied plane
The strokes are placid and clear.