Wildflower

Baby I’m a wildflower who grew in your garden,
among the orchards and the snowdrops from the winter.
I was your lucky little weed.

A daisy whose petals you could pluck at
to figure out who you loved.
Dreamt with me tangled up in your golden crown.
Kept me on a chain, wrapped around your wrist.

Or maybe I was a dandelion,
you blew out into the wind
longing for something else.

But you wasted your wishes on a dream,
lost your breath on an unwanted thing.

Until I was gone
and then you moved on.

Threw your little wildflower away

to find yourself a rose.

Camelot

‘Don’t let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one brief, shining moment that was known as Camelot’

Once a French man told me in a dream
just before I was about to go to sleep;
that once there was man named Arthur
who sat on a round table
in a place called Camelot.

I asked him
Where this place could be?
Then he whispered in my ear
from a little while away
that it was here
the land where you came to life.

But time turned castles to dust,
magic became a rare thing,
hiding only on the outskirts
of little children’s dreams.
Every little bit
other than the high hills
and the green grass stretching for days
was cut up and sold;
bastardised and colonised.

It may just be a fairy tales,
whispered all over the world.
Forgotten and lost
a fantasy at the top on a mountain.

But one day soon we will
watch a great red dragon fly over
the castles Cymraeg
Break from the shackles of lions who enslaved us
in falsehoods of fairness of unity
and for a shining moment
Camelot will be once more.

You

You are a heartless scoundrel,
an abortion of men,
a sleight of hand card trick
and I was your con of a lifetime.
You are an evil aberration,
A pervasive mistake
inhabiting the body of an angel.

You have ruined nature,
beauty and all that is good –
For your face is fair,
and your eyes are perfect stars
in the black sky of your heart
and I no longer trust the great sea,
wide forests or butterflies on roses
for they remind me of you.

Forgive me my trespasses

In a broken hourglass
with sand falling like rain,
I committed myself to hell;
and only then in that moment
When I knew my soul was condemned
did I finally believe.

Not with some hopeless desire
that to hold him in my heart
would save myself from retribution.
Because I felt in my bones
at the time of the sin
my blood boiling,
my heart breaking
and divinity coming in.

An almost memory

On the eve of an eclipse
I walked alone to an empty beach that had come to me in a dream.
Then, as I almost remembered,
a thousand fragments from a forgotten childhood came to me:

The submarines and mermaids that were once there,
a little girl making dreams in the sand
as the waves watched on, kissing the cliffs
turning broken hearts to cotton candy,
but that was all gone.

At the top of a great mountain
looked on by a finally calm sea
I stared up and up,
to a sky of fractured clouds.

Then I jumped

and as I fell into the sea
the ashes on my skin were washed away,
the words that echoed in my head a thousand years
turned to dust of forgotten days.
My eyes, they dried
my heart, it finally healed.

Then as my lungs filled with water
my clothes ripped off.
So, I took my stolen dagger
and finally choose my way out.
Killed the girl I once was,

once an hour had passed
I dried up on an empty beach
born again.

Only hollow things drown

Oh no, I have died again.

My body is breaking down
inside the hollow ground
I can feel the soil,
clogging up my lungs
and turning my heart to gold.

I don’t know who killed me;
this time.
He was a coward, I imagine.
Who stabbed me in the back
then sent my mind below

Dying is a crime
i’m well versed in.
I fell down and down
and over and over.

I hadn’t yet chosen which way to die
not like before.

I found a bottle filled
like a rattle toy,
I had as a child
it emptied in minutes,

Then He revived me and
like Cain I killed him.

My hands now moving,
my blood is boiling,
my finger prints clawing up,

wasting a life.

Our synapses are hopeful,
pulling me into the air.
I rose up,
saw the trees
covered in blood
And walked away.

Don’t you worry, I will die again.
But that time better
More beautiful and
romantic.
Fall into the water and hopefully
the lonely moon won’t bring me back

again.

It’s all been done before

Coffee and roses beaming through
cracked walls of ivy and stone.

Like wine glasses emptying slowly
bleeding into the floor.

Give me a glass, give me neon.
Give me sultry desire wrapped up in glitter.

Burnt out cars, window tainted sour
driving into the midnight sunset.

Trust me when I say, stay away from the moors,
all that lays there are death and lonely skeletons

Children who won’t grow up,
they lay lost, oh please give me hope.

Smelling coffee and roses,
singing lost stories.

Burn it down

Someone once cried into the dying night.

For candles and wet witches to light
or wait for the wildfires to catch
and save their life

or kill them first.
They would burn in a white fire,
like that of a broken girl’s eyes
waiting for her heart
to be lit up like a cigarette.

Wishes and dreams betrayed them,
the fire took over

but somewhere out in the lost forest
someone else cried out,
over her stolen innocence
and forgotten life,

so, the dying night
became day instead.

Black and White Roses

You spend all your days
writing your stolen stoic soliloquies
on your throne made from white roses;

which should be mine.

Dream you dreams of a better world,
where the fire in the core
of your broken world,
dies out, yet we’re still alive.

The earth is at your feet,
following your stupid rules
of hope and good.
Where altruism follows through
and evil was lost and gone.

I forgot a long time ago,
I was the grim antagonist.

The master deceiver,
the treacherous villain.
I’m the evil witch,
who breaks the worlds hearts
with her whore magic,
concocted from dead flowers
and broken desires.

Don’t Lose

The cynics who sit and smile
were once the dreamers who loved too high,
they got their hearts broken,
fell apart and decided there’s no use trying anymore.

The lost girls who run and dream
want to be in with the cool kids.
They want to kiss the boys who smoke
fairy dust and then take them home,
steal away their pretty innocence,
play with thier hearts and dreaming things.

I sit upon the moors,
waiting for some grandeur cause,
I drink wine till I can’t see,
believing in a fantasy.

Cynical boys and little lost girls.
Let me tell you all I know;
that what’s in your head
those stories playing out,
are the best thing in this broken world.

The drugs taste like broken hearts
and blacking out kills you soul,

and those boys dressed
like James Dean,
will cause
your doe eyes
to bleed.

Bleeding Through

Bury me in ash
while you drain my throat,
water the roses with my blood
and feed the sunflowers with my bones.

Dry me out until the skin is gone
and my heart has turned to stone.
Then rip it out and eat it
while I lay down on my own.

Go far away
swim into the sea.
With my heart in your hand
and my blood in your mouth.

Come back one day
and raise me from hell.
I shall sit up from my shallow grave
a shadow of a girl.

Lost in a state of dead.