Grandma has no grave
In my house.
Ashes are her remains
Underneath the ground.

I saw it, once, a hand-sized metal disk
With holes as big as a one-pence coin
For plastic flowers of various faded colours and dull varieties
By which to shed a tear and moan
That what little she had is now overgrown.

Between you and me, though, she's buried somewhere deep
In Albox, Spain, in a citrus heat
Where her tree grows steady, bearing good fruit
Year after year blooming flowers of white
Strong white, bright white
All the same kind.
Her tree puts forth oranges of sweetness and pride
Not dimmed in all this time since the moment she died,
Though she's been moved, once or twice,
Her flowers still bloom
Sweet, strong, and bright.

Why go for a walk, when i could talk to her all day?
Why go outside, she's got the sky in her mind!
And why go for a swim, she's got a lake in her eyes!
Why stay up singing stupid songs when i can hold her all night long?

Like Persephone, when you're
Gone from me, you
Leave behind the
Wintertime, snow falls
In your wake, and I
Can't help lying awake
Thinking of
You, and the flowers
That you grow
In the cold, dark, earth
Of me.

My fractured dreams,
A kiss, a cry, a greive,
Another relative splinters into moonlight
Another friendship wrought into iron and stone.

It must be bad, if the father weeps-
If the mother screams, if the sister gives, if the brother does not eat.
It must be bad.

Cos when I bite my nails with no light to see,
I wake up in the morning to them screaming at me,
Broken, torn, and fraying at the seams.
And I think
****, why do I do this to me?

I write the same poem, over and over again.
She once said:

It's another song about water and big feelings.

:and I said:

So sing it.

I JUST HAVE TO SING
OH I JUST HAVE TO GET IT OUT-
LET BREAK MY BONES, BURN THE TEETH OUT OF MY MOUTH
AND I JUST HAVE TO   D A N  C   E
CARRIED AWAY ON THE BREEZE
promise me...
That you won't take me from the places I roam-
THAT YOU WON'T TAKE ME
FROM MY. OWN. HOME.
Watch my flowers that in my garden grow..

they can't see, they can't see
that it coats my bones, bulges against my skin;
those little yellow bubbles
that make me want to give in.

WHY ARE YOU LEAVING ME ON ******* READ
im shaking cant type sorry shaky heands shaking breathing shaking ******* bones because you tried to ******* **** YOURSELF AND I SWESR TP GOD AND CHRISY AND MOTHER ******* MARY THAT I ******* TRIED but im **** at trying so all i can do is sit here and sob sob sob sob sob sob sob sob because you tried to do it with PARACtetalmol? and ive told you so many times that its a **** way to killyourself because youll be in days of excrushating pain as you kidneys fail and you can do **** all about uit ecxept for taking something...
for the pain.

come now, little creature, curl up and let me surround you
let me sink warmth into your tired bones.
come now, little creature, let me sing you a lullaby
let my love for you grow.
come now, little creature, sleep now and get some rest
morning will come harshly if you will not lay down your head.
Tomorrow, little creature, it all starts up again
grasp for the small things that bring warmth to shrivelled hearts of men.

she jumps from table to table, dances with me like no other.
dips me, lifts me, whips me round in the most passionate of tangos.
She traces her legs, every movement, with care,
a fall from grace, so perfect and so rare.
she catches me as I leap. And leap I do but still I am there, in her arms, wrapped so tightly and held so dear.
"Do you like that?" she whispers into my ear
I do not. But I cannot seem to drag myself from her, a swirling twister of silver and red, though to be with her is my downfall, and she knows it.
she sees the fear in my eyes and she relishes in it. she sees my inhibitions and she dances all the more, shocking my soul and pleasing my heart. she is a heatwave, frostbite, a tragic death and the first breath. she is my ending and my beginning, killing me softly. and yet I do not stray. try as I might to escape she drags me back screaming and kicking, spinning me round till I cannot see, cannot walk and cannot think. she is ingrained in me, patterns on my skin that burn desperately through my clothes, itching red-hot. they remind me that I am hers.
and what if i liked it?

sometimes when i lie in bed
it's like i've been hit round the head.
I'll try and get up, just to find that i can't,
it's my daily dose of existential dread.