did you.

did you die;
and i’m still
in denial?

did you die;
and all i’m seeing
is your ghost?

did you die;
or did i just
dream you?


loose.

i wish away
this life
so often;
in favour
of the one
where my hands
are warm,
and my skin
is clear.
and your shoulder
never gets tired
of cradling
my head.

my fingertips
so trained
in the art
of sculpting
your scalp;
your eyes
imprinted with
my tiny face.

my eyes
are aching, boy.
my hands
are cold and cracked.
i am trying.


initial.

it was a different man,
but the same initials.

and i had this,
overwhelming wave
of melancholy and loneliness.

and an overwhelming urge
to say thank you
for giving me
the space i asked for.

and i love you.

and i miss
the part of my life
i’ve always wondered about
if only it was full of you.


safe.

now i understand
why my wrists
have been aching –
it’s where you
held me
while i struggled.
as you spat
at me,
and i begged you
to go.
as you raged
at my riddled body,
and i begged you
to go.

i know
it’s always my fault;
i know
there’s no point arguing.
i am reduced
to the pathetic doll
once again.
another christmas
and another year
pretending.

i thought
you knew.
and i thought
i could be loved
by you.
turns out,
it’s all
just the same.
but now i understand
why my wrists
have been aching.

you might
as well
compare notes.


everything.

never felt
more alone,
more misunderstood,
than this day
where i have
everything.

and you know
the pills
mean something,
but they can’t
dull the lonely;
everything but nothing.

and you know
you can keep
repeating;
lying to her and yourself.
but you don’t want me.
just stop.


list.

it wasn’t long
ago;
the whiteboard
was heavy
with ink
and ideals,
scrawling passion.

is it all
that surprising,
the maddening lust
has been replaced:
just give me sunshine,
and your hands –
i’ll be happy forever.


lately.

it’s just that
lately when you’re
around me,
you’re either
overwhelmingly tired
or bored;
completely restless
or just snoring.

even when you’re here
your heart is somewhere
else.
your eyes are trance-like
and addicted to the robot
inside the screen.

somehow, while i
practice patience,
the inevitable
is all my faults
laid out;
there’s something wrong with me,
there’s everything wrong with me,
obviously.

you don’t need
to say it;
please save me
from the lies.
just leave quietly
and don’t look me in the eye.


heart.

​i’m doing
it all wrong
again.
every moment
is a chance
for betrayal.
every moment
is a chance
to lose.

in my mind
it is not
a chance:
it is certain.
he will leave,
and you
will fall,
every knife pointed
at my own bloody heart. 


could.

​she remembers
when he
used to love
her;
now it is
a resentful
need.
he wouldn’t
if he could;
she wouldn’t
if she could.

she remembers
when she
used to love
him;
now it is
a painful
memory.
she wouldn’t
if she could;
he wouldn’t
if he could.


disparate.

and then reality
broke through
her skin
with the fierceness
of a blade;
and waves upon waves
of self-loathing
and the impracticalities,
the burden
of this depressed life.
her head falls
to the caress
of her sweaty,
oily palms.

how to destroy
this feeling?

these days,
her fingers only
stop shaking
when sleep
engulfs her
bleak, diseased body.
she’s seen
the despair before,
but somehow
this entrapment
is different.
she is a fool
faking the light,
before it attacks again.