sometimes
some times
i want to die.

my heart turns inside
out and pulses
like
the slowing thump
of a
dying animal on
the
side of the road.

most times
i want to die.

i feel sick with every
gulp and
gasp of
air.

times like these
i want to die.

days like these
i want to die.

hours like these
i want to die.

right this moment
i want to die.

you hold your pen like you hold
a cigarette.
the ink is your smoke; it caresses your
paper (my lungs)
and slowly breaks me down
into the debris of
us.

sock fights across the living room
on a tuesday afternoon
with the whole world ahead of us.

tea cups piled on the bedside table
on a monday morning
with the alarm blaring and your face blurred above me.

late-night movies in the bitter cold
on a friday night
with the promise of take-out noodles and warmth if we could get home without frostbite.

and it's at moments like this that i realise
you are everything to me.
every balled-up sock,
every cup of tea,
every ****** b-side movie
is an extension of our love.

i adore you.