Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

At Christmas, You Tell The Truth

Alone at my desk,

with an empty frame,

that feels destined to be dressed in a picture of a perfect day.

I write you a letter,

letting out just enough,

so that you’ll know that I care,

but holding back enough,

that you’ll never know how much.

To me, you are perfect,

and my wasted heart will want you,

until it is brave enough to say other words,

that she sings quietly to herself,

as she stares at the empty frame,

imagining me,

melting into you,

our lips,

pressed and passionate,

on a backdrop of some special day,

far in the future,

where I find the words so easily.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Empty Chairs

Empty chairs,

kept in the cupboard under the stairs,

far away from me,

and my solitary celebration.

Don’t cry for me,

because this ship can’t stand any more tears,

dearly departed plans,

that never had a chance of staying above icy depths.

You know I’m going to drink too much,

neat and neurotic,

fading from fine to finality,

back again,

then forwards.