Breaking point.

I wrote this a while ago, it is quite...depressing. And dark. Can't really remember why I wrote it, quite possibly I was slightly intoxicated...

Just a fragile shell,
Holding out this pretence,
This cover is too thin,
It clings too tight,

One day, one touch,
I'll shatter,
You'll understand my breaking point,

Breathing and then...not,
The moment focuses and fades,
I'm still holding on,
Desperate to let go,

One moment, one breath,
I'll splinter,
And you'll understand my breaking point,

Lungs are bleeding,
Eyes are closing,
Oh I know my breaking point.

Wine.

A conversation like wine,
Flowing, slipping, dripping,
Rich rich red, yellow, white,
Bittersweet and forgotten,
She murmurs into her glass,
Like that's all there is, isn't there?
Bouncing, breaking, shattering,
Even crystal becomes ugly,
It's naive at this point,
To suggest more than that.

Singing silently.

I dream in a colour undescribed,
Searching for a reason undefined,

Left alone, let them be,
These words, they run the page,
Refining meaning indelicately,

Scrawled in a text that leans to the right,
Too small, too curved for your eyesight,

You plead to know, why write these things,
But you'll never understand,
How my heart sings.

Unexpectedly there.

To my happy summer boy who knows how to make me smile...
Happiness is finally lasting,
Warm from head to toe,
Feel the shivers fading,
It's summer when you're here,

The softness of a breeze,
Waving my cares away,
Did you know you make my day?
My gorgeous summer friend,

By smiling,
Just the way you do,
Caring,
When the world forgot to,
Being,
Exactly where I need you,

The colours of a sunset,
Hot and bright and beautiful,
What scares me is the setting,
When my summer comes to an end.

My winter.

Warm inside, inspired by the rain.

In this imperfect season,

It's you who tells the pain,

Providing all the misery,

With every day of rain,

Like a bloom that needs it,

But greedy, craving more,

Face up, smiling at the clouds,

Drenched by the downpour,

Overhead a dark bright sky,

The colours tell your story,

Through the grey stifling air,

Dance carelessly in your glory.

Move.

"I dare you to move." - Switchfoot

I wonder if he knows that I would be his in a heart beat.

So, move. I dare you.

You were thinking of me, weren't you?

Musing at Matilda Bay...

A breeze whisks around me, curling and stirring,
Shivers skitter briefly across my skin, though the air is warm,
As I imagine you finding me here, thinking of you,
Of course, you will never discover the time I have spent,
The quiet moments lost in memories of you,
I wonder at how much time we all take in the day,
To occupy our minds with the ones who have taken residence there,
And are quite unlikely to leave in any time to come,
As another figure strolls towards me, in a haze of thought,
I think of what it would be to have them on my mind,
For them to come across me here and know and say,
You were thinking of me, weren't you?
To know that then; they were thinking of me too.