Everything sounds strange inside an empty room.

A whisper sounds like snakes hissing inside your ear

a snake hissing sounds like the wind and the wind

sounds like screaming, but there is no wind and

the only screams here come from your head.

I guess this is what it’s like between you and I

and I’m only just finding out that this room’s not

so empty after all. There’s ash stuck beneath

my sole, and my footprints tell me I’ve come from

somewhere so far away, the mountains have

grown smaller and there’s only love songs in the

air because all the birds have gone to sleep.

They’ve been asleep too long, I’m afraid they’re

all dead. The trees are bare, their arms, such

stringy, little things now. If I were a tree,

a couple of tourists about to get married would

come from foreign lands to watch the sun set

in my homeland, they’d take photographs and

pluck our flowers, they’d eat our food and carve

their names upon my flesh, believing this would

turn them immortal. But trees die, and love dies.

And if I were a tree, I’d wrap my roots around

my chest and squeeze and squeeze because

everything sounds strange inside an empty room.


Watch on whatwhiteswillneverknow.com

I only have one request.
You have too many witnesses.
You have evidence.
You have to ease the public.
So what you’re waiting for?

Like the Rock of Gibraltar

Sometimes there are ocean waves that look like dead men’s fingertips, beckoning. That’s probably why he jumped off that cliff last Sunday when he was supposed to be singing at church and smiling and, well, alive. At least that’s what the news reports say.

Because it couldn’t possibly have been the children in his third grade class who called him burnt toast, could it? Oh no, it couldn’t possibly have been when Samantha told him he belonged in the trash or when the school janitor used to come around and they’d tell him to mop away the spilt coffee before it leaves a stain.

You met him in high school and before the other kids could call him grizzly, you gathered up the bear traps and loved him. You swallowed the sea foam before they’d start to lure him with a single gesture, the same way death coaxed that man head first into jagged rocks.

It took you a while to realise he’s strong too. You both have gotten used to the young mothers whispering into their blue-eyed daughters’ ears whenever you passed by hand in hand. You’ve gotten used to the train journey stares with his warm hands on your hips. And when the old park ladies come up to you and ask why, just smile and kiss him long and hard until they go away. They always do.