I'm called James and I write a lot.
I like shaking match boxes and the near-silent sound that fingerprints make on guitar strings.
I love people that prove me wrong. I love people's thoughts and emotions, this blog is full of mine.
Your whispered breath
and beating heart
both my cradle and my shelter.
While awake I count
the separate ways
that our bodies fit together.
The way your warmth radiates
and the shape it makes,
tell that we’re meant to be.
At any rate,
we tessellate -
you’re fit to be with me.
Do you remember when
you’d hold me, adore me
we can sit again now
and hold hands just the same
we’ll count eachother’s scars
and laugh at their stories
though some are still stinging
we’ll hold back all our tears
and cry another day
Do you remember when
our parents still knew best
when rules were perfect
and adults told no lies
before the signs of stress
where late nights and strong coffee
both have lovingly painted
those rings around your eyes
Kiss me my love
now weve grown up
just for tonight
we’ll imagine nothing matters
The weight of regret
Breaks me, brings me to my knees
Until my fingers are bloody stumps
Until my pencils are amputees
I’ll keep writing the same line
Forgive me girl, please
the powder thins my blood and means my heart missed a beat
missed a delivery to the skin and it feels no heat
miss the energy and the will to start my feet
it starts at my head’s defeat and the rest will follow
I hear crackles in my head every time I swallow
the pill that makes me hollow but forget the fuss
the taste that decorates my mouth with flags of rust
the taste that reshapes my definitions of lust
it curdles my actions and my body turns sour
but despite all the damage my brain keeps ticking, louder
Dust is settled. Perhaps not still but stuck in the air. My shallow breaths fill up with dirt. There is a pale yellow light trapped under the grey ceiling. And a stale air inside the green box. The rain outside slips through the gaps, sneaking past ny collar, I feel it on my spine. There’s a weight that aches my shoulder, and a wait that aches my time.
I turn with despair as my train is left,
My stubborn reserve lets out not a sigh.
In a pale green box filled with stranger’s breath,
The yellow air hums in a grey topped sky.
Though the weather and weight might slow my journey,
My youthful grit will see through this test.
Nothing short of a hurricane will stop or turn me,
I’ll return to my parents or I’ll catch my death.
Body troubled so, my mind and soul are worn
By an overbearing mother, and father’s scorn
As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.
— Carl Jung
having a small care
is a tentative step
towards obsession
Painkillers at night.
I’m almost fully functional.
When a dancer to me wandered near,
Her image rinsed my tired eyes.
She dared not look straight into them for fear,
She dared not look down for her pride.
I looked at hers and I imagine that,
I burned bright in her peripheries.
