Why am I still ******* to you?
I hate that you're beautiful.
that I'm too weak to delete this picture.
That the most intimate thing left of you
is your body.
After four years of living out every fantasy.
A home,
baby,
making dinner,
fighting,
making up,
waking up next to you.
All i'm left with
is this carnal desire to possess you again
like you used to belong to me.
And isn't that the worst thing.
Isn't that the whole reason I left in the first place.
Because we both knew that nobody belongs to anyone.
Yet after all my grieving
All my lovers between now and then.
This is the memory I cherrish most.
This last chance to steal you.
When we were already breaking We thought it might save us.
How foolish we were.
See in the picture you can tell we were breaking.
Your eyes begging to forget.
Just like I beg to forget you.

The first time I saw you walk into a room
I deleted all the naked photographs of my ex lover in that instant.
Just in case you checked.
Just in case I flirted with you.

No girl has earned that same memory.

It belongs to you.
See, memories you can claim.
But not people.

The time you refused to accept
blankets between us and the cold ground
of our tent would keep us warmer
than piling them all on top of us.
That we can keep.
That mistake belongs to us.

The night we took this photograph.
The curvature of your hips.
Your arms hung dead like the maronette strings snapped that day.

That's a memory That i've captured.
See, even though you're gone and I don't have you.
I have this picture.

Why is it that i can go every day of my life loving people for who they are.
Seeing their dreams and past lives.

But with you
Blood.
I see this carnal need to devour you
like some delicacy.
Some favorite dish.

I hate that you're still beautiful.
I hate that you turn me into this monster.

One who sees girl as flesh not human.
Bones as shield not structure.

And it's only you.
This one thing i hate.
Who I need to ****.
Who I need to possess again.

I'm so glad I left you.
Glad I killed the monster.
But I can't delete this picture.

Every lonely night That I would cry alone and miss you, I don't.
I crave you instead.
Claw into your flesh
pull out a still regretably beating heart.

I feed it to this beast.
That demands you dehumanized.
pray I never see you in real life again.
fear that may be the last day I'm human.

Words will betray your mouth,
gather clumsily behind your lower
lip before walking away, stumbling on a flat surface.

Words will betray your mouth,
your tongue will trip as it attempts to curl around many syllables and shapes that are hard to form.

Words will betray your mouth,
teeth chattering in anxious continuum, individuality being sworn away

Words will betray your mouth,
even when your thoughts are the burning lava at the mount of the volcano come to known as your throat.

Words will betray your mouth
when you are not using it to convey them.
Mindless scatterings of useless words pushed together into a form or a silent mouth opening and closing around another.

life is on sale
but always paid with flesh
a ship that sinks
in an endless stream of pretty
unforgiving things
play with fire
every chance you get
whoever told you to grow up
were insanely jealous
stare at the sun
wear your lack of a brain as a disguise
forget umbrellas
**** always attacks from below
cross the line
never look back
time machines are called money
you had wings once
but lost them twice
reflections chase mirrors
because they're alone
cradle machine guns like
newborn babies
turn off the TV and
burn the books
even hell has Instagram these days
the only castles worth the candle
are the one you built as a kid
but that doesn't buy any press
or a spot on MTV cribs
followers are up
life is on sale
but always paid with flesh.

I don't know how to write of love,
It's unfamiliar territory,
Like a hand in an oversized glove,
Or a moral with no story.

If I could write about the way
I put all faith in you,
And how you returned that faith to me,
That alone wouldn't do.

I could write about attractiveness-
Of skin as smooth as milk,
Of eyes that heal my sadness,
And a touch as light as silk.

That still doesn't quite do it though,
It doesn't seem enough,
To quote the cannibilistic king-
"This subject is quite tough!"

I could write about the words we share,
When we're together and alone,
Or of holding hands in public,
Or crying on the phone,

Or how we long to hold each other,
Or hear the other's voice,
How just being with each other
Feels like the only choice.

Yes, I could talk all day about the way
Your feelings make me feel
But as fishing-rod designers say;
"It's time to make this reel."

Because real love's not as romantic
As the the love seen on T.V,
Or how it looks in certain books,
And classical poetry.

There's arguements at midnight,
There's anger and despair,
And times when you may feel like
The other doesn't care.

There are times you feel you're talking
And the other doesn't hear,
There's feeling you're not good enough,
Caused by jealousy and fear.

It's giving the other power
To destroy your hopes and dreams,
To tear your heart completely
And sometimes that's how it seems.

No- I don't know how to write of love,
Because the realism shows through,
To quote the cannibal king once more-
"This subject's hard to chew."

So I will not bore you anymore
On things I can't convey
And feelings which I am not sure
You're feeling anyway,

But I'll leave you with some sound advice-
Being in love can be the best,
Or else it turns your heart to ice
(To which many can attest.)

I won't recommend you plunge right in,
Or back off altogether,
But it will not stay as it begins-
Love changes like the weather.

I don't want to be me.
ME.
Miserable
Emptiness.

And these dreams will be the death of me.
Broken sleep &
relentless lethargy.
I'm out of control,
so I'm told.
I've slipped outside of my soul,
or so I'm told.
My nose runs consistently,
Yet I don't have a cold.
Now everything hurts,
and yet I feel so cold.
REM dream sequences;
play me on repeat.
play on repeat,
Everybody hurts too but they carry on,
Won't admit defeat.
Not me,
I bend under the pressure,
Malleable,
& then break what's,
Valuable.
I'm weak at the knees,
alieness in alloness of stress;
Please let me rest,
Stop stealing my shut eye by looking in to mine,
I walked the line,
But crossed it,
No going back now I think,
I shudder each time I blink.
And in dreams I believe I could be happy,
Or at least not so sad,
Wishing to feel those feelings
That I've predominately lacked.
Now in dreams I wait to see a GP
in reality,
So he can endorse these feelings into clarity,
Prescribe me patronisingly with 50mg of setraline;
"I'm sure alls not as bad as it seems"
He says so candidly,
Whilst I'm sat here,
can't even speak,
trapped at the mercy of these endorphinemachines.

incandescent

Only in yellow flames,
was the outline of your body revealed,
In ethereal guise,
Chalk outlines and white lines defined my kaleidoscopic mind state,
at that peculiar time.
We should of seen the signs,
but the stars aligned,
and your nature, nefarious,
exposed the worst of both of us,
combined.
Sometimes aurora came before sleep,
and I was weak at the knees,
the calmest breeze whistled woodwind notes amongst the trees.
So sure, demure,
You asked me what I was waiting for?
And I reacted chemically,
in luminescence.
I asked you if you learnt your lesson?
It was evident that I was just your favourite daydream.
So I stayed in limerence;
exposed like windless nights to the star skies.  
Infatuated by nothing more than candle light.
I knew I was wrong,
You knew you were right.
I knew you were wrong,
You knew I was right.

You were the first tomb I ever knew.

Sweet sixteen,

All tangled up in you.
You carried me like a chariot,
I know now how hard it was,
to bring me up on your own,

Seventeen,

child teething and broken evenings when you could of been day dreaming or on the scene - if it wasn't for your love for me.
Implicitly so pretty,

Eighteen years old as I crawled and drew on the walls with lipstick red,
and painted the toenails of my father - with you, only for you.
There was plenty of places we had lived
in ice cream castles together
and you were only twenty three,
when I was seven.
So many lessons learnt and fingers burnt as I grew up in a fairytale together on fairywell road.
Me and you together, only for you.
Then you got married and I was your baggage but you carried me so strong but I developed bad habits,
by the time you were my age now.

At twenty nine,
I was a teenager.
How did you do what you did for me,
I'll never know.
I just know I couldn't do the same and you maintained your allure, class and dignity and nature of the finest kind,
Only for you, my queen without a crown.
And now you may be forty six and I live miles away,
I'm 29 and been awake for days
I still miss you each day,
And you gave me a new family,
A brother and sister and a role model too,
It was only for me and it was only for you.
Now I hope you're proud and I'm never surprised when you forgive my sins through my puppy dog eyes.

Only for you. Only for you X

Listening to these depressing songs.
It's ironically giving me the will to be strong,
And I don't mind if they're being played for long.
They're making the oceans of my heart rift,
Letting my soul drift in the cold water.

Staring up into the sun,
Ironically it seems fun.

Dipping in my own sorrow,
Urging me to press play,
Again and again,
Making me feel a little bit insane.

I'm enjoying dwelling in my inexplicable pain,
Making me realize,
That maybe,
Sometimes,
One can be happy by just being sad.