I’ve been wondering if it hurt - feeling your lips leave your last thought in the echos of a mailbox, knowing your fingers were tracing your favorite songs out of your heart for the stars to shine under instead. I’ve been wondering if the clouds knew, if the rain grew veins inwardly to caption your brightest grip. did your pillow inflate with all the branches you could have been? every hue a different piece of lonely tied to your ankles? did the moon fall in love with your laugh the moment it left your eyes? are fingers as easy to let go of as all the sunsets behind you? I don’t know if you can hear me now, but you didn’t have to hold your breath to become the sky, the beauty was always in the mirror.

I want
to take you out
for drinks
and
I want
you to put on
whichever dress
you want
just please
put on that shade
of lipstick that I love
and those heels
that make you
appear
otherworldly
We’ll enter
the bar
which plays
soft jazz
and the men
will stare
and wonder
how I
made you mine
but little do they know
you aren’t mine
you aren’t something
to be had
and I’ll smile
because I’ll know
that for one night
I’ll have the
Universe
in my hands
—  Nicholas A Browne | Prose 20
Tongue-tied – up in spiralling atmospheres,
Breathless, bound; begging to be released
From a void’s slithering salivating shackles
Overgrowing; vine-clad thighs pressed tight,
Trembling in worked-up muscles struggling
To slip and slide out of silken ensnarement;
Wriggling and writhing to stretch this satin
Strap-suit of oblivion; to once more spread
These constrained wings now they are still
More than quivering petals of honeysuckle
Caught in a cobweb of silver painted lining,
Blown by the sighs of forbidden memories;
Flashes of Apocalypse’s horses, straddled
Bareback; unchained and untethered, both
Beast and rider designed to conquer skies;
Sculptured to befit each other’s need to fly
Beyond the cotton pillowed walls of Avalon,
Already closing in; engorged by tears cried
In this desperation of contrived submission.
—  Eden’s Asylum, by M.A. Tempels © 2017

shoot for the stars
burn as bright bones deep
and watch how you explode
in brilliance
in the darkest of the night
oh darling
you are the wish upon a star
a gateway to dreams come true

@misplacednotes

She left cigarette burns on his eyelids when she looked at him like that.
They call that look “smouldering” in Hollywood.
But this wasn’t Hollywood and she’d just told him she didn’t love him anymore and he stood there and wondered if words had ever melted in the heat before.
The room should change once you fire a shot like that but all her confession did was dissipate into smoke and whispers.
Life was meant be more than dead love and dead ends.
—  are my nerve endings dead or was this a long time coming - excerpts from the book I’ll never write
Bar Napkin Draft

minutes slur their words

slamming seconds

from a shot glass

until sentences

become decades,

one long run on sentence

scrawled on a napkin

a draft of humanity

written by an Author

drowning apathy in Whiskey –

it turns out to be

a mediocre story

and the plot sucks

but the metaphors

and irony

are pure genius.

conscious rant of sweet memories

here’s the thing:

she’s the prettiest girl my eyes have ever seen
i can’t get enough of her midnight curls or her
muddy eyes –she’s a disaster but i’d clean her
with my bare hands just to see her brighten up
the place with one toothy grin.

she was the sweetest lover i’ve ever tasted
we glowed with the fireflies outside at 1am
with her hand tangled in mine, we promised
like kids, we’d never stray, we’d always find
a will & a way to love through the good, the
bad & the ugly.. we promised, oh we promised.

she kissed so gently like i was a frail porcelain doll
ready to collapse at any given moment –i appreciated
her caution & i was always falling for her every moment
i stood in her glory. the angel. my angel. she sparkled
& i hid in her shadows. always. she protected me from
my own deceiving heart. she gave me life.

my happiness stemmed from her head to her toes
i counted her fingertips three times each night
with reasons to love her over & over again
she swore i was lying, oh i could never lie to
the holy ghost in my mouth.

i wrapped her in my veins & climbed her vines
to reach the castle in her soul. i kept her warm
while we explored each others’ homes.
we found a place to stay inside.
we were something miraculous.

we were something that will never be spoken again.

I want
to take you out
for drinks
and
I want
you to put on
whichever dress
you want
just please
put on that shade
of lipstick that I love
and those heels
that make you
appear
otherworldly
We’ll enter
the bar
which plays
soft jazz
and the men
will stare
and wonder
how I
made you mine
but little do they know
you aren’t mine
you aren’t something
to be had
and I’ll smile
because I’ll know
that for one night
I’ll have the
Universe
in my hands
—  Nicholas A Browne | Prose 20

“i am capable of healing myself.”

love before winter

chapter 3: realizing we each got our own lives, too.

I constantly remind myself not to swim across an ocean for someone that won’t make the attempt to jump over a puddle for me, still I drown for you. Constantly repressed I hold my breath as the weight of a thousand white lies compress my chest until I can no longer maintain consciousness. So here I am consumed by your vastness as you fill my lungs with the hope that will eventually serve to destroy me. I told myself ‘I chose to be here’ I told myself 'the end justified the means’ despite what the voice of reason whispered into my ear with her hand over my heart, nothing is as it seems. I’ve ultimately expended time, effort and anguish as lactid acid seeps into the fibers of the muscles that fight for survival across such treacherous and unforgiving tides. It wouldn’t be fair to diminish your suffering and to insinuate that you didn’t try to meet me halfway when the task was so daunting and incomprehensible from the begining. My issue is not with the lack of you trying as much as it is with the lack of a fundamental understanding of the sacrifices I make in order to ensure you are comfortable. With every breaststroke and kick I fight the urge to be pulled under by my deep devoted attraction to you. With every gasp of air I enjoy my life with you by my side. It would be all too easy to allow myself to freely and openly love you unequivically with all of my heart, only to sink to the bottom where I would be forgotten. I keep swimming, I keep swimming because I’m half way there and its too late to fucking go back the way I came, I don’t have the fuel, I don’t have the drive, I can’t even say I honestly fucking want to. What I want I cant have, what I do have makes me feel guilty, makes me feel ungrateful, my only regret is that I decided to take the challenge in the first place. I may never reach your shore, I may never smell your foreign air or feel your welcoming embrace, at least I can envision the smile on your face, that look in your eye, the answer to my 'why?’ Truth be told your the tie that binds.

“How are you feeling?”

“Actually, I’m a little dizzy.” Dizzy is not the word for what I’m feeling, but it’s a convenient shorthand for a volley of symptoms that I can’t itemize or describe.

महक // dizzy

I was meant for you to experience my essence, but on my own terms. The duration and frequency, was only to be decided by me.
I bet you didn’t know that I was made for you. I was meant to see through the bruises of your heart. I was meant to find the pieces of your soul that you lost along the way attached to empty promises and sweet nothings.
I know you didn’t know this. And I know you still don’t know. But I’m here.
Let me walk with the depths of your spirit, to mend your brokenness.
Allow me, to unravel your thoughts, to help me show you, how to love you better.
Entrust me, to paint a picture in your mind that indeed convinces you that you are beautifully designed, and valued.
Allow me to nurse the wounds of the hurt you carry to restore the warmth of your heart that’s losing its heat.
Let me do what I was meant to do, and that, was to love you.
—  Excerpt from a book about you I’ll never write // 23.10.2017