Autobiography

As close to death as to love
I lived with demons under my skin,
my swollen eyes leached stinging tears
into a void I would never fill.

© D. Archer. August 2015

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Why must we cut down a tree to count the years it lived

I write to stave off the reality
that somewhere between sex and death
what prevails is the un-erased;

I exist as an orphan to time served
and as ironic as the bird
that has come to love its cage.

© D. Archer. January 2013.

Learning how to forget

Rain falls like my expectations,
black crow in the clearing waits
to feed on hope
that dare raise its head;
all the coloured birds are gone
and another day slips out reach
just as yesterday met its end.

We never talk about the silence,
the uninvited distance,
the clinging pain that taunts me to
“learn how to forget”;
bitter nicotine leaves my cold split lips
as I stand alone
staring at the stars
outnumbered only by the tears I shed.

© D. Archer. January 2013

Asylum

I stand in the shadow of a towering goodbye
with a sin in my head I cultivated a fire;
the pills, dated for convenience
in the cabinet holed for a heart
stretch out in their foil covered graves,
all the days of the week,
all the dose the same.

In the frost reflected glass
I see your fragile outline fading,
I sit in a circle of one
and to yesterdays same crowd
announce my faults and failings;
I listen to the mocking silence,
the phone reluctant to ring and
in the pennyless minute
I’ll hold my own hand
for as long as I can
until I slip into the calming black
that comes to cover
all remembered things.

© D. Archer. December 2012

Word shaped wounds

After the words come the wounds,
some deeper than others,
some visceral, some flesh:
the past, still a shallow grave,
thin skimmed with distance
we know why we buried it,
just can’t remember
if its somewhere in the real world,
or deeper, in my head.

© D. Archer. December 2012

Submarine

Last night I wrestled an unsinkable thought,
pushing against the smothering dream
I pulled the blanket
woven from the sum of my fears
short of my feet
where failing to dream, I slept
beneath the clock and the pewter moon
on my bed of cold words,
my mattress uncomfortably full of regrets,
only to wake, to realise,
where yesterday I was nothing,
today I am a little less.

© D. Archer. November 2012

Dark Skies

The moon jealous of your smile
clouds the stars and shines
that only she may hold my gaze
as a slow wave of regret
turns already faded denim and memories
a more melancholic shade.

I add some more salt to the sea,
shuffle my sinking feet
and lament losses both old and new;
while relentless in its pursuit of the shoreline
the ocean smoothes shells and pebbles into submission
under a perfect poachers moon.

© D. Archer June 2012

 

Silent Obligation

Too scared to release all the butterflies
not man enough to deal
with the one that remained;
though no silver tongued serpent I
said nothing to stop her drowning
in the depth of my full fathom five wave.

Now blinding white feathers
line my all consuming cave
and our two diverging Frost strewn paths
lie blocked by boxes labelled unresolved emotions
I never faced nor threw away.

© D. Archer April 2012

My Madness, My Mistress

Once more I pause
paralysed on the edge
of my man-made abyss;
echoes of my past
eager to push me over
with a well-aimed phrase or
to throw me a rope burn
to my still open wounds.

Her words; weight to my descent;
lure me back
into her comfortable fold
between the horizon
and the drowning sea
tempted if I return
to my madness, my mistress
you will slip forever
from my reach.

© D Archer April 2012

Blood in my Alcohol Stream

Last night I had a nightmare
I dreamt I had blood
in my alcohol stream;
it was horribly rainbow coloured
and I was dealing with reality;

I’d shaved my beard!
I’d had a bath!
I was watching “Pop Idol”
not reading Sylvia Plath!

I was riding a white pony
and laughing, chasing fluffy bunny rabbits;
I had finally drunk myself sober,
I had finally lost
my favourite habit!

© Copyright D. Archer October 2011