my jawbone snaps
the fault line drawn
by a toddler with a crayon.
the halves drift through
the veins of my face
and I am disfigured.
a picasso
in technicolor,
I am not used to this much laughter
so my bones squirm and wriggle
pleading me to stop
but my lungs disagree
and my body rattles in its
confused shell
I can't stop
when it feels so good
but so palpably painful.

you summon tears
from the bowls of my pain
in unexpected places
at unexpected times
because it's your face
it  h a u n t s  me

she vomits
flowers
blossoms
petals
rough crystals
that scratch the interior
of her crooked throat
thorns that pierce
but that doesn't matter
because the
immense
beauty
of the roses
they bear
is irreplaceable
and the stems wilt
and her mouth is heavy
from the weight of the garden
she projects
but it's too beautiful
not to.

he vomits
thick
black tar
deceiving honey,
her feet
are stuck
and entangled
with the petals
strewn across the floor
the tar defeats
her rich
chrome spectrum of flowers
and drowns each
and every last
drop of her beauty
and self devotion
until she is nothing
but a mound of
thick
black tar
and a
bloodied
bruised
heart
rolling in his
deceiving honey.

do I engulf your every waking breath
like you do     for me?
you're a salted
     crashing     wave
so quickly filling
  my hollow body,
drowning my bones
with your ocean blue   spit.
cocooning inside my body
  is the foam,
the remnants of
the rage of your wave,
it was so       colossal
my ship was wrecked
and left
delipidated
& crushed,
  rusted
   & sunken,
      moulded
        & worthless
under the force of
the sand.

everything happens for a reason,
right?
but the treacle in my heart,
that means treason
do I fight it, do I light it, do I straight up
ignite it
do I dig it out
of my skin
ignore the hunger from within
and lighten my body
so it floats in the air
do I hold liquorice treacle
in the palms of my hands
and let the stench make me forget
that it's there?

the thing that weighed my muscles down
till my face couldn't carry a smile anymore,
what mentally induced me to a
restless sleep each and every night,
was that I don't think he fought for me at all.
- the moment I learnt to fight for myself

there is nothing more euphoric
than the sky tearing open,
and rain erupting,
pouring out,
bursting from the seams
never ending
a symphony with the grumbling of the sky's stomach
a desperate hunger that challenges even our strongest trees.

when you clawed at my skin
and tore apart my flesh like
an animal,
like your eyes had never manifested in the pores before
you tattooed my skin with a wound.
the truth is
my body is a canvas for the art of the wounds you create
and it's not the blood that scares me
it's the ***** of the needle
to sew me together
again.

in my dreams I danced with
one of those little wooden mannequin men
and guess what?
his touch was more
delicate
than yours.

one day the crack of your voice during a whisper is going to make
the each of the stars melt,
molten honey,
dripping from the sky.
I will catch it in my raw hands
and coat our hearts in it
so that we will become part of the night sky
like we always said we would.
maybe we could float away
or belong there
because if I know one thing for certain
it's that our feet do not belong
on this earth.
you can harness the stars,
without so much as the parting of your lips
and a gentle exhale,
and I hope one day you realise that.