, , , , , , , , , ,

An ode to survival stretched between two beings which resonates back and forth. It also doubles as a rope ladder to oneself in the mirror when all seems lost, for there’s more than one of you in there you know? –  *raps a trillion skulls* – and self-preservation can often take us by surprise with its underlying strength.

*Chances are this layout won’t work very well in mobile phone mode – complain to the management. Extra thanks to Mr Pink for access to Classic mode again.


Where First We Met


Fear not.

For should philosophy,
Draped in the soul-battering,
Psyche-shattering sheets
Of existence’ inevitability,
Some day take your hand
In apathetic hinterlands,
As you squat, listless,
Hollowed out;

Should she

— Emanating her tantalising
Potential for true reason,
Raw rational answers —

Lead you

— Eyeing blueprints
as you sync and imprint,
gravely engrave —

To stir and finger foundations,
Loiter along hallways,
Tread worn, wormy boards,
To follow her upwards,
Drifting on through aeons
Of endless shifting attic walls,
Static, shadowy corniced corners
Emitting guttural utterances
Dank with desperation
Paired with soft hisses of defeat,
Onwards to lunge,
To Plunge
Through weathered windows’
Pained panes
With their precipitous ledges
Of temporal absurdity,
Only to find yourself
Walking backwards
Into your cerebellum’s cellar,
Spiralling down ever-darkening
Neural staircases with
Violently-scribbled banisters,
Your eyes mirroring
Their vicious erratic antics’
Double-handed stabs . . .

. . . Hold fast.

For no matter how far you stray
From your here and now
Into reams and sheaves:
The deranged foundations
Of a House of Leaves
Mortared with misinformation

— Your personal hells
Toiling, tolling bells —

You shall never
Be truly trapped
Within that caliginous,
Twisting cerebral darkness,
Turning slowly on a hot spit,
Hope obscured.


No, never lost.

For should your hold
Be relinquished,
Your nexus
Be disconnected,
Let slip its grip on sanity,
Too tired for future final hurdles
Which always appear
Higher than the last,
Then I will find you,
Catch you
As you blink,


Into the unavoidable

Void . . .

. . . And bring you back to heal.

For between the two of us
Sits a knotted thread,
Intricate and fast,
Tied from one élan vital’s wrist
To another’s ankle:
Hand over hand
Herculean as Heracles.
A back-breaking successful Sisyphus
Seeped in pure patient passion
Shall I be,
Reeling you back,
Winding you in and up,
To clamber out.

I will cover you
As you flee the dome
To a dominion of freedom.
For I shall never forget nor regret
The Devil and the wild blue seas
Where first we met.