Stop the hands

Muffle the muzzle

Pull out the leash from

Under your own feet

Coming home has never tasted

So much like pond weeds

When the only hands of comfort

Are controlled by the last remnant of dream

Stay still

Stay stuck to one singularity

Of no chance

Tie your hands behind

Your back

For balance

Throw away the keyboard

Un send the sentiment

Stay still in a low lit bedroom

And hope no one comes

Calling at the door

Goodbye cruel curls

At the bottom of a neck

Stay there

Stay with sweat

Stuck like meat

Stay still in the fire pit

Burning inside your


Just one more glass

And I can feel your shiver

He promised

He sold the idea of

Absolution in a pair

Of glassy eyes

Looking at glossy lies

Don’t forget

Our tendency towards


He said

Heave the leash back

To the illusion of

Nothing’s death

Stay there

Sit still

And sit pretty

Stop the momentum

And surrender the

Hope of moving

To them

Move the theory

To the limbs instead

Be everything between

The teeth of a needle

Break your ribcage

With internal screams

On symmetrical walls

Break the momentary

Sell of a heart full

Just stay still

And recognise two hands

On a face

Feels as good as two kissed

On a cheek

I see you tiny and strong

Full and meek

Who will inherit our hurt?

Who will close the blinds

On the next phone call

And lash back on the muzzle?

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I don't like boxes but tend to love the analysis they provide for solace. With this in mind, know that I call myself a poet, writer, novelista with a grain of salt, shot of tequila and sliver of lemon