How many times do I have to talk to myself before I feel better?
If it is about someone else I will never
That is too many fictional voices, that is not real.
My scream feels like drum beats that are fully formed
and tangible in my hands.
Drum beats unsettle my heart and my taste buds.
Who is coming down the road?
One, two, step and they are closer.
I can't hide in the front garden,
There is no grass, there is a hedge and gate in gravel.
No one is letting me in
And a god's army is flourishing behind me.
Mum and Dad gave me a key but I thought they would be home.
Now I'm grown up and have unreliable dreams.
Flowers and cream,
If only the world could be so nice.
I live in a big house and a little house
And a garden and a beach
As long as I have two baby blankets in my chest.
It is a gloomy day in the smog,
In the rust and the rain and the cold.
It is how I like it.
So it is warm and midday,
Everything outside high and low
is moving all at once
It's flushed.
When I run through it I am nothing like it,
Like anything around me.
I lie in the grass and I feel at one,
I run through and suddenly I am nothing that resembles my love.
I am grown up and I wait at my gate at deep night in April,
Thinking he'll come with his arms and his voice,
He would tell me it didn't happen.
I am older in August as I'm standing under
And I hear another front door open down the street
(My little street with blue and red on cars.)
Is this it or are more coming?
Will we join hands at the gates and sing Auld Lang Syne
Under the full moon?
Sweet boy turns the leaves to the ground
and keeps me alone in the garden.
Stones crunch but I know it is because his light is eating them
And not because someone is here.