You remind me of the autumns I spent
walking down through the cemetery as a child,
hands clinging to my mothers shirt as I walked alongside her
before things got sour and the season changed.

You remind me of the one time I fell badly
and scraped my knees and cut open my lip,
and cried for the very first time
in front of a girl who grew up to die
at the age of 12
after getting into the car of a stranger
who promised her affection in the form of
bittersweet niceties.

The sun tends to forget to shine
when you're not around to encourage it
and my coffee cools as I forget about it
and the crumbs on my bed all seem to
congregate and conspire against me
as I toss and turn at night
pleading that maybe this 3am will be different
(each morning)
and that maybe I'll manage to sleep a little
but those crumbs seem to always
get underneath me
and lay under my bare skin and irritate
and annoy and cause me to shift and turn
in probably the exact same way
your words of goodnight and farewells
always seem to do.

You came to me when I was enraptured in
the art of drowning myself,
in half-full ***** bottles
and bathtubs full of bleach.
You became a personal sanctuary,
safer than the four walls of the churches
I was always denied entrance to,
due to misadventures as a young child
and community rumours which I knew not how
to rid myself of.

Yes but really though Darling
what even are these 'angels' that you speak of
I do not understand
why it is my hair that you say is remarkable
or the way I throw myself off of bridges
or smash bottles against the cream walls
or the ways in which I threaten to **** you
whilst in the midst of kissing you.
For if these angels you speak of were
anything like these things
then I can find no difficulty in
realising exactly why Heaven
is precisely where I need to be.