[cannulatedencores]

i

she crosses my doorstep

like a renaissance painting.

in a dress of flowing ivory

and embroidered gold.

a snow-dusted pink shawl

held against bare shoulders.

honey-soaked strawberry hair

pinned up and pearl dotted.

I long to kiss the apples

of her flushed cheeks,

the dips of every dimple.

she smiles at me,

her face a sunrise.

and I never want

the dawn to end.

ii

blood dripping

on a dance floor,

deoxygenated

by disco lights.

they surrounded

us, a sky swells

over forest fires.

smoke-thickened eyes

and molten mouthfuls.

humiliation is

white-hot, our

skin blisters.

later, two girls will shatter

beneath a ceiling of stars.

moonlight makes art of

their fractured-edges.

later, she will wash the

alphabet from my face.

some letters tear

skin from bone,

we are bleeding

on the shoreline.

her lips press to my forehead

and I trace circles at her hip.

we let the ocean

tumble over us

until sea glass falls

from our broken

bottle littered skin.

later, we will open

her sketchbook,

draw a constellation

and name it Prom.

there is a life we lived

under different stars.

in it this night

ends beautifully.

iii

we kiss under an open sky,

six colours on our cheeks.

birds fly from our chests

with kaleidoscope wings.

June holds out her hands,

in her arms we find peace.

iv

darling, we live

in a rusted age.

lethe runs in the valley

of our collarbones.

justice sleeps in a

hip bone’s curve.

with star shavings

and marrow lace

we stitch our scars.

the gaps of our spines

hold streams of light.

we are the children

of Astraea.

when the world is not gentle,

hold the skies close to you.

—l.j.h

[cannulatedencores]

i

always, I am carried

here while sleeping.

green vines tumble

from a ceiling latticed

in smoky shades.

an orchid’s vase picks

the sun’s pockets,

her diamonds scatter

over pastel tables.

beyond the window

are alder branches,

peace is the colour

of woodland fawns.

projected on the far wall

is a worn-out film reel.

my favourite scene

in scratched infinity.

the ocean rocks against

a velvet, spilled sugar sky.

she and I silhouetted

in the carnival lights.

her head on my shoulder.

‘sweetheart’ spilling from

a jaw borrowing the stars.

the ferris wheel cart

swayed by stubborn

November gales but

golden strands laid

behind her wrists &

we were wrapped in

August-soaked heat.

if I could touch

eternity,

if a second could

be everlasting

I would have stayed

here, with her, forever.

but one day I watched

as the sun came apart.

ii

maybe this never

ending eclipse grew

the shape of you.

always, you trespass here.

moonlight across your lips,

those winter-bitten palms.

are fragments of my skin still

buried beneath your nails?

frost’s white lace creeps

over the orchid’s petals.

and I am back

at that night.

pinned, like butterfly

to cutting board

your razor carving

‘almost’ between

my shoulder blades

because you’re an artist’s

abandoned brushstrokes.

after, sobbing into

sanguine sheets.

your face, blurred

in diamond light.

I was under ice,

carried in a current

of silver ribbon.

loving you was a fatal footstep

on the river at winter’s dawn.

iii

cold tea spilled

over tabletops.

disaster written

on porcelain.

and my heart was

not cut out for this.

to sit, fragile

in your hands.

every beat,

a wing flutter.

my chest, a cage

sawed at, gaping.

I am glass birds

flying back to you.

you’re a head full

of wasted copper.

nostalgic for

happiness.

your voice is a glacier,

every word a rose thorn.

there’s a softness

at your throat

that could end this.

iv

I filled the lines of

peace with indigo

until your hands

stained my thighs

like the evening sky.

now somewhere

there is a forest

cloaking the

bones of the girl

I once was.

v

somedays my reflection

is nothing but puckered silver

spelling out your name.

but one day you’ll fall from

me like the rain of summer.

and I will bind our memory,

pulling salt from the

oceans I have cried for you.

—l.j.h

[cannulatedencores]

You only hear it in the silence,

words caught in silver gossamer;

shimmering, intricate threads

flowing from plum peel lips.

They think you are a miracle,

an unraveling of their despair,

a God weaving gold, shining,

brighter than a supernova.

But the branches they take

shelter under hold the last

scene in the torn page

manuscript of my memory.

And the roots grown here

are the stenosed veins of

a heart you let be drained.

They will never learn of

the day I was anointed

in crushed oat and

rhythmic rivers of honey.

Branches of ancient yew

struck against waspish nests,

swarms hummed beyond

your stoppered ears,

barbs imbedded sugared flesh.

Webs of dark crawled up

from the dirt, entwining

with you at a funeral pace.

Sunshine gleamed against

your split tooth blade

as you carved in me

a macabre grin —

my throat bubbled crimson

until our hearts ran dry.

Afterwards,

the valley was still

and no rain ever fell.

Your sin fed the soil.

And I laid in that

coagulating pool

for aeons, as

muddy maroon

faded to the

grey of our irises.

Mother Earth could not bear

the violence she had witnessed,

but she could only cradle me.

Now moss

mimics the shape of a girl,

wisteria bound;

held fast to the mournful land.

One hand thrown out;

left to an eternity of

reaching for another’s.

I am blanketed by roasted daisies.

And bitter berries, red as blood.

You come often to gather pailfuls,

simmer them down with lemon

rind and pan blackened sweetness.

You instruct your flock to devour

the clots while still scorching,

feasting until the jars are empty

and your throats are acid-kissed.

Burnt sugar atonement.

Penance paid in rough tongue

and bubbling scar tissue.

As though that could be enough.

Lately, you can’t deny that

in everything you have built,

there are fragments of me.

My laughter mingles with the breeze,

my name (the only part of me you

cared to bury) echoes in their litany.

You saw me in the stream,

my fingertips brushed the

shoulder of your reflection.

Your agony flared so bright,

the waters became molten.

In those moments you admit

that Divinity is much heavier

than you wished it would be.

And, always, you are sorry; so sorry.

But I still lay here,

in the dust of my

crumbling bones,

as they sculpt

your face in gold.

— l.j.h

[cannulatedencores]

Winter once birthed an angel.

So perfect, but cold and still.

On bitter lake, with tired heart,

Frost refused to bend his will.

The angel floats there, sleeping,

frozen in eternal peace.

Lies in her mind now silenced;

they said the pain would not cease.

She was tired of breaking, her

dreams dissolved like summer snow.

She was loved and wanted, our

hearts ache to think she didn’t know.

This life, it took two angels,

tore fragile wings apart.

Spring will try hard to heal her,

but December stole their heart.

— l.j.h

[cannulatedencores]

I am so tired of writing about all the people who have cratered me.

every poem an elegy for the hearts that left mine behind.

each goodbye circling back to the fact that I am a weight they just can’t bear.

I am a drop of whiskey on an addict’s tongue.

both too much and never enough.

—l.j.h

[cannulatedencores]

i

gun metal sky and pounding skull;

she said let’s watch the lightning.

we laid beneath

a skylight window,

hands entwined;

warm-whiskey waves

and strands of

browning autumn leaves

tangling together.

differing shades of sunshine

peered at through a honey jar.

the sky was a one-man battlefield;

bolts, thrown by phantom hands,

arcing fire throughout the clouds.

indigo and gold dusted eyes

glazed, like pearls

captured in a moonbeam.

her hungry stare only saw the stars.

ii

a spiral of fractioned picture frames,

she nested in its crescent centre.

fragile wrists curved anti-clockwise,

stirring a pailful of fatal atoms;

molten wax shimmering like mercury.

I wished to wrap knots around her,

a spiderweb of string and honey.

the old myth was a drum

beating repeatedly

between my temples.

(two winged shadows fly

far above the spray of sea.

one is drifting high, higher,

wax dripping, turned syrupy.

a boy plunges, swallowed by

the crashing, ravenous waves.

feathers float after him, for centuries.

the Icarian sea is born.)

she laughed, a flush of Irish flute

and fizzing champagne bubbles.

people call Icarus a fool, but you

say his name and all I see is gold.

don’t fret, my soul’s half.

I am a daughter of the sky,

to fly is to breathe.

she spun us to the garden,

I watched as she knelt

before her glittering sisters,

eyes shut, arms raised,

offering both love and longing;

a recipe for miracles.

we waltzed as feathers

rained from the sky.

iii

we leant against the lighthouse railing.

a tower, looming in monochrome,

dappled over the years by brine;

paint like lacquer picked off fingernails.

the wind coiled a song around us.

the ocean pooled in murky shades,

half-muted from so far below,

its chaos danced for miles.

my stomach churned like the tides.

she drew me against her.

I committed to memory the

angles of her cosmic bones,

her scorched breath momentarily

melted the fear from my own,

constellations swept my tongue.

my love, I am made of stars

and I have burned,

for a thousand lifetimes.

but until you I did not shine.

the gods will never part us.

we whispered sweetness

against each other’s skin.

embroidered our love into

every fibre that made us,

forever threading

our beings together.

our hands entwined once more,

as her bare feet found balance

on the Fates’ narrow silver line

iv

light, white-hot and blinding,

burned the sight of her distant,

ever-shrinking form from my irises.

a shove between shoulder blades,

I lurched halfway over the railing.

my racing heart plummeted,

expecting the rest of me to follow.

below, the ocean slammed

against rocks and cliffside,

as if it longed to move them.

I saw, with sickening clarity,

how much easier it would find

scattering my shattered shards.

there was a heaviness at my wrists,

and a roaring in my ears that

could not have belonged to the sea.

as I was dragged to the shoreline,

they spat the words of her elegy.

tossed me to the frothing waves,

called their crime a cleansing;

I was insignificant, unworthy.

the remnants of a Goddess’ heart

could not be left unwashed from

the ruined cloak of my skeleton.

I think I floated,

for a moment.

the first of dawn’s rays broke

over the bleak horizon.

the sky was

a watercolour canvas.

warmed sherbet,

spilled by phantom hands,

swirling pink and amber

throughout the clouds.

a winged shadow soared

toward a wall of brilliant gold

as rose gave way to cerulean.

the weight of the tides

drew me down and

the pull of the heavens

welcomed her home.

I knew feathers would still

be making their way to ground

hours after the sun settled.

v

a beach blanketed with

grey and white plumes.

a sand-crusted girl

cradled in the arms

of the sun‘s daughter.

she traced my face with

ichor-stained fingertips.

salt in her lungs,

salt in my eyes.

this well of sorrow

will never run dry.

is this why so much of

the earth holds water,

how much depth

did Daedalus’ grief

add to the abyss

that took his son

in body and name?

the price of

your meddling

knows no peak.

but we cannot be separated.

even silenced,

her heart

calls to mine.

together, we will walk to Atlas,

free him of his burden and

watch as Olympus drowns.

be afraid.

I have bled the divine.

I tasted galaxies

and the gods cried.

—l.j.h

(Inspired by a prompt from @goose-lit)

[cannulatedencores]

for a while, I got so lost inside myself,

thinking thoughts that can’t be said.

(like if there is a God above me,

why aren’t I already dead?)

but then came

the morning I woke

on a bed of crane flowers.

I gathered up handfuls,

clutched them to

my mangled chest,

and their petals flooded

the caverns you’d created.

you had given me bones

compatible with flight.

maybe it was just nature

when the wind claimed me.

stood protected in the calm heart

of a pent-up storm, I watched

walls rattle and windows shatter,

a downpour of glittering fragments.

the voices of the air were powerful;

I finally remembered that I was, too.

sunshine flowed in,

like strands of gold,

healing and radiant;

shining rays turned

devastating wounds

to sparkling mosaics.

I became a work of art, a body

embroidered in constellations.

the chains you

had fused to me,

weighing down

so heavily,

were just shadow,

capable of dissipating.

the language of the breeze

and brilliant, golden light were

streaming through my veins,

and I flew fast from that cage

disguised as every wish I

had once thrown upon a star.

it felt like floating skyward,

to altitudes where you could

not nest and wreak your ruin.

darling, I was so far

from on my knees.

I am imperfect but worth so much

more than you made me believe.

I am beautiful words wrapped

up in half-made metaphors;

a stitched heart in a splintered

ribcage, leaking love freely;

summer rains and falling stars,

hundreds of clouds burning.

(I am purging

your name

from my flesh,

heart, & soul.

you are ash

falling

from the sky.)

I am a girl who will one day

reunite all of her missing pieces.

and on that morning, for a moment,

I was just petals on a meadow floor.

and though you had the arrogance to

throw your brutality against the wind,

you did not have the power to stop its

gales from taking me so far from you.

people say your house is haunted,

a quiet spectre lingers there.

pacing the rooms you caged her in,

she leaves ink on pristine surfaces

and deep cracks in every mirror,

flowers bloom in each dark corner.

In dreams, I revisit the house I fled.

—l.j.h / snapshots from a haunting

[cannulatedencores]

your rule was one of a tyrant king.

your hand an iron collar around

my throat in the early hours.

at your happiest when you had

forced me to my knees because

all things must yield to you.

you made sure to remind me

(often) that a girl is a kingdom,

just waiting to be conquered,

and I would not be the first

to burn to ashes beneath you.

you invaded, again and again.

hammers striking, torches flaring,

against the precious structures

shielded behind blood and bone.

you felled the slanted rooftops

where I would sit and watch

early sunlight paint the world

in the softest hues of honey,

back when swathes of purple

layered over rose-kissed skin

spoke of nothing more than

fern-shaded misadventures.

you left behind a razed city

littered with rubbled pieces,

gut-wrenching sentiments

graffitied over cobblestones.

(worthless has so many synonyms.)

each time, I rebuilt

that shattered debris

into something liveable.

a girl is an architect.

—l.j.h / snapshots from a haunting

[cannulatedencores]

one night I saw a girl

in the mirror, crying.

she was barely a shadow,

betrayed and fading.

I met her half-gone gaze

and I knew that I could not stay.

but then

there you were

and violence was

an endless wave I

could not keep my

lungs from swallowing.

in the aftermath,

the gloom closed in,

there was no light, no escape.

left alone on cold marble

scattered along with

jagged shards of glass.

I figured it would be easy

maybe even beautiful

to create a river

richer in colour than

ruby or pomegranate.

I could picture it so clearly,

coursing through the rooms

forgotten by hope and tenderness.

staining every too-white surface,

thawing the grip of Winter’s hold.

the world and I,

we had grown so tired of

harbouring one another,

and I thought

freedom could only be reached

by a vein, punctured too deeply.

for what felt like forever I held

tightly to a briar-edged fragment,

watching fractions of my own

haunted face cry out, through

smears of red and searing heat,

for just one small bite of sanctuary.

but I did not have it in me

to give myself to the earth.

(because there is hope in breath and

there are times when miracles spill

from ancient pages into waking life.

darling, I will always believe in

the possibility of better things

and you will not be the end of me.)

I grappled with the impossible task

of piecing back together the puzzle

you had made of my hollow bones.

kept company by a hundred reflections,

not one version of us left whole.

—l.j.h / snapshots from a haunting

[cannulatedencores]

you tore away tirelessly at

everything I was, so intent

on carving me into a person

good enough to fit beside you.

“look at you, just born to break,

uneven seams forever frayed.”

repeatedly crooning your

favourite, off-tune lilt while you

reset the shape of my stubborn jaw,

to make my mouth soft and pliable.

scooped the marrow from my bones,

just to leave an aching emptiness

I was bird-like.

as easy to shatter as

all of the mirrors

holding a reflection

too painful to

recognise as my own.

all days were made up of

sharp notes and bruises.

—l.j.h / snapshots from a haunting

[cannulatedencores]

I think your voice was made of

diamond shards, it dazzled;

while slicing through flesh,

burrowing deep into muscle,

causing wounds that would

never not be raw.

you managed to mar my skin

before I ever realised I was bleeding.

with unsure hands

I’d sweep up the words

(weapons) you threw,

hoping to weave them

into prettier tapestries.

in our darkest moments

I found comfort in

writing poetry

bright as the midday sun.

—l.j.h / snapshots from a haunting

[cannulatedencores]

you came to me, weighted down

with hundreds of bouquets,

lined them up against our windows

obscuring the world from inside out.

at first, I thought it romantic.

how could I not have?

you smiled with such tenderness

—eyes fevered, cheeks flushed,

enraptured by the scent of roses—

as you sculpted the riot in every vase.

gentle flares or pops of rich colour

all were a reminder,

an offering;

my heart held (captive) in your hands.

but Spring could no longer

tend her cut down children

and Summer’s heat would not

draw near our red-walled home.

the blooms, the wilted swiftly;

you grew cruel at an equal pace.

I found kindness had

the shortest lifespan

dying out long before

the last petals fell to ruin.

we were left in constant dimness.

Frost inevitably seeped in.

his nimble hands coated everything,

tightening to fists at the heart of us.

each night I prayed for fresh flowers.

—l.j.h / snapshots from a haunting

[cannulatedencores]

I do not regret the day I met you,

can’t imagine the hands of a clock

reversing so far back to before the

moment I noticed your irises were

perfect replicas of the fullest moon.

I will forever regret the day I lost you,

would sacrifice 42 million heartbeats

over and over again just for a chance

to strike out the last words we shared.

there are ten swords left lying on

the strand at the lake we sat beside

the first time you called me baby.

I watch a ghost there, wandering.

with her back of open wounds

and her soles of scarlet ribbon,

I long to call out to her, but I am

torn between two names lodged in

my throat. even the simplest words

get caught within this scar tissue.

I tried to ignore the burning of my

tongue when your name was upon

it, until the night my mouth was

consumed. tracing patterns against

your skin, your fingertips dipped into

the hollow space beneath my bones,

a last taste of salted air and candied

lemon, your name continuously falling

off my tongue before it turned to ash.

we did not start as a deception,

it just took too long to realise the

veins of my heart were branches

blocking out the rays of sunshine

needed to fill your eyes with light.

perhaps if you ever look back far

enough all the signs will be there,

but I swear I did - I do - love you.

it is just the sum of my parts

still always add up to her.

It’s an equation I can’t unsolve.

these days I have grown so

familiar with the taste of ash,

left with a cindered tongue and

lungs erupting with stolen stars

once painted on a bedroom sky,

it’s like living the fairytale pages

we abandon for happier endings.

it is clear now, while sat in this

echo of what once was home,

you are every lie I ever told myself.

.

— l.j.h

[cannulatedencores]

I have held your heartbeat

beneath my palms,

hummed absently to

its gentle rhythm,

pressed my lips against

every inch of you.

when your lunar eyes

reach into mine and your

smile becomes sugar spun,

darling, it’s so clear to see

we were just meant

to hold each other.

to those who declare

our hearts to be sinful,

I can say only that

you are the sweetest

paradise I have known.

.

— l.j.h

[cannulatedencores]

lately I have the

same dream

again, again,

again —

once we

were falling

from the

summer sky

protected by

neither flesh

nor feather,

just two,

too-fragile

skeletons

who shatter

as they land.

now we are

two ghosts

forced apart,

captured by

the unforgiving

earth,

each with

hands reaching

out, out, out

trying to

grasp

the other.

the breath

stolen from

our deflated

lungs howls,

swirling

desperately,

furiously

until we are

closer, closer,

closer, our

fingertips brush

and it is like

awakening from

aurora’s curse.

the bones of us

s c a t t e r

together

we are

carried far

on a breeze

they later

deemed

mistakenly

gentle.

— l.j.h

[cannulatedencores]

you told me of the day

you first spoke her name,

how she looked up

and instantly

your heart knew,

the shade of her eyes

had always been

your favourite colour.

you told me of the times

your horizon would darken

with heavy storm clouds,

how the gloom was

relentless, the wind

screamed out curses,

every shadow

grew teeth and claws,

how you almost dissolved,

almost perished within it.

you said on those days

she loved you still,

and it was like her hands

were cradling the sun,

palms melding with

its white-hot heat,

she reached her arms

up to the vicious sky,

stood at your side

for hours, just to

bring back the light.

you told me of the season

she grew tired and pale,

how her face only

contorted with pain

if she thought you

had looked away,

not realising that since

the day she first

looked up, your eyes

had never truly left hers.

you told me of the hour

everything changed,

how the lips that

always reminded you

of cherry blossom

faded to white,

how her final breath

warmed your face,

and quietly

your heart knew,

you had been

kissed by the sun

for the last time.

now I wish I could

tell you of the night

every angel weeped,

how their tears

became an ocean

to carry you,

how I stood behind

the shoreline

and watched as

the sunlight

captured the tide.

.

—l.j.h

[cannulatedencores]

palms pressed against

a flower littered ground,

she pulls her muscles taut,

trying to shake off the

silky, tempting urge to

claw herself far beneath it.

*

her soul knows that

she could dig,

and scratch,

then dig some more,

and still, she would not

find the solace she craves,

or reach the heart that found

a quiet place inside her own

so many springs ago.

*

she breathes life into more flowers,

they bloom beneath her feet,

bright colours reflect in her irises.

she smiles, content with knowing

one day soon, they will wither and die.

*

she contemplates the rich soil,

wondering if her lungs breathed in

enough of its darkness,

these lush fields she has roamed

since childhood, would they

start to feel more like home?

*

head pounding,

she storms back

to her garnished cage,

heart raging, crying out

a prison is still a prison,

even when filled with

the prettiest things;

behind her, she leaves a

trail of trampled anemones.

*

they offer her

sweet strawberries

on golden platters,

not caring to acknowledge

that her mouth waters for

fruit of darker shades.

biting once, twice, into

disappointing flesh,

sighing when the juice

fails to stain her skin.

*

the cornucopia placed clumsily

against her curls grows heavier,

she wills frost to raise his head.

*

*

she stands again on

a littered ground,

heart lighter now than

at the start of spring.

with lips stained darker

than cherry skin, she laughs.

joyful to feel a bite in the air,

see the wilted flowers fallen

beneath her feet,

she breathes in the

scent of decaying things.

*

the wind picks up, growing wild,

it shakes the last stubborn petals

off the remaining hyacinths.

a storm in creation,

she is a queen,

standing at the heart of it.

*

the ground opens up and finally

she is home, back in the halls

she had wandered, and loved,

and claimed as her own.

.

l.j.h