there are lights
lights all around
lights on the tables
lights in the house
lights in their eyes
lights in their smiles
lights in the sky
and also the darkness
the sky is black as well
i sit around and do nothing
i always do nothing
like right now
like yesterday
like tomorrow

i want to leave
the sky lies
it's so far away
that wanting it
is only a forced need
i can never know what it is
i go to it and it is just as far away
the blue sky is always blue
and always just as far away
as it was yesterday
till you go so far that it is black

stupid words
stupid, stupid words
always lying
always wanting
always forcing me
to be

go away
go away
go away
this is ridiculous

exit

smoker (brother)

Lady Wendy

sometimes

Will you stay,
and help me
through this day?
Will you stay,
and help me
go far away?
For there looms
on the horizon,
mottled with purple
streaks of deserted dreams,
a cloud not as gentle
as the one
that caresses me now,
and a flicker of fear
takes the place of home
sometimes
and only you can douse
the flame before it envelops
me and the dying child
that took shelter
from the world
inside the hollow shell
that I am.

Knock before you enter,
please.
Sometimes I’m not me
on my own,
sometimes I lie,
sometimes I lie down
and cry,
sometimes I wish
for dreams that flew away
a long, long time ago,
sometimes I tear this shell apart
to try and look inside,
to see if something
lies within.
Still.

The waters swirl
in a strange way.
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t
a little boy trying to be a warrior.
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t.
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t.

little boy's love song

Voices from another room
float gently through the air
and enter my mind.
I think and nothing happens.

The spaces that lie
between here and there,
this time and that,
you and me,
sometimes, are so
vast.

There is a cloud,
somewhere in a grey sky
that swims away, too.
And sometimes
I feel like that cloud,
trying to get away somewhere,
always knowing
that the sky
is everywhere,
and swim as I might
I’ll always be here.

Where have you gone
that I must talk to you
by talking to myself?

painting stars in the day

In the dead of the night
wakes a sleeping spirit
and quite sudden and painful
is the touch of her cold fingers
on my bare back.

I can see the magical
reflection of the stars
in her distant eyes
as she paints
them grey.

The stars sleep
(though they shimmer)
and shall not know
the beauty of her touch;
the moon looks on, jealous.

To Neverland

Through short wintry days
I sat far from life
and slept
under the shelter of my parents’ wishes,
in my bed,
always looking
for the flickering flame
of home
and I caught a glimpse
of yellow and orange
and as I went looking for it
I will forever remember
how the glow of the candle,
as it sketched out shapes,
beautiful and gentle,
on the mysterious mirrors
of your eyes, spoke
to me, of the flight
to Neverland.