Dear one,
the nights
I have spent
bloodying my knees
screaming
Heaven help me
to a God
I do not
believe in,
waiting for
you -
soft as
a psalm -
to pull me
from
my devils.

You turn
your face
skyward,
like
a flower
seeking
the warmth
of the
fading
September sun.
Truly, love,
you are
the most
exquisite
thing
the earth
has ever
grown.

You cannot
remember
my name
or
look me
in the eye,
but you can
take off
my dress
and
right now
that's
good enough.

Sometimes
it is
easier
to let
your
demons
ravage you
from the
inside
than
open
your mouth
and
release them
onto
another.

But
truly,
how
could I
ever have
dared
to dream
that
an angel
like you
could ever
love
a monster
like me?

Maybe
if I turn
my back
you can
see
for yourself
the
******
constellations
you drew
with your
knife.

And so
I sat
in our spot,
his and mine,
and
tried to recall
a time
when I did not love him,
when I did not miss him,
when my body
was not so sick
with the poison
from the
spitting cobra
of his
memory.  

And I found I could not.

I
loved
him.
Sometimes
he
loved
me.

Sometimes,
bravery
can be
as simple
as deciding
to love
again.

And
like
a
fool,
I
waited.

Do not
forget
to hold
your heart
close
and
protect it
against
the savagery
and
careless handling
inflicted
by those
too blind
to see
its beauty.

And so it goes
that you fade
as quickly
as your
colour
shows.

Put simply,
you are
an
adrenaline shot
to
a heart
that
I thought
could never
beat again.

The sunburst
of your
smile,
so casually
dazzling,
holds
a universe
of hopeful
promises.

And so
I let
the constant
icy fear
of his
leaving me
colour my heart
so blue,
he eventually
had little choice
but to do
just that.

Maybe
someday
we'll
be
intoxicated
enough
to talk
about it.

All we
ever did,
he and I,
was
**** up.
Our bodies,
our relationships,
our lives,
each other.
But
in a
strange way,
I guess
thats why
we went
so neatly
together.

You tell me
baby,
I will only
break your
heart.
I tell you
honey,
it's adorable
that you think
I still
have one
left
to break.

Dear one,
do not
wander
too deeply
into the
dark lands
of my heart;
there are
monsters
there.

For some,
life
is simply
an experiment
to see
how many
knives
and
arrows
to the back
one person
can take
and remain
standing.

You and I
are
scar tissue
that
I worry
and pick
and pull
endlessly,
and yet
I still
cry out
in shock
and pain
when
I cause us
to bleed
again.

The
inconstancy
of
others
is
not
your
failing.

Some people
are like
burning buildings;
you will run
into them
time
after
time,
against all
advice,
to salvage
what you
can,
and then
wonder why
you are
always left with
nothing but
ashes.

Perhaps
floating
down river
with flowers
in my hair
is better
than sitting
on the bank
and
watching them
die.

You ask
why
the wanderlust,
why
the love of leaving?
I say
maybe
I am just
trying to find
somewhere
your ghost
cannot
haunt me.

I hope
the miles
of paper
I filled
and
the oceans
of words
I wrote
tell you more
than my
hopelessly
tongue-tied
self
ever could.

I do not
ever
cross your mind.

You occupy
every nerve
in mine.

You didn't know
that I hold
galaxies
in my head
and
oceans
in my chest.
You didn't know
that I would've
died
a thousand times
just to see you smile
for a second.
You didn't know
I would've cut the throats
of tigers
just to keep you safe.
You didn't know
I kept the darkness
hidden
so you only saw the
light.
You didn't know
I would've loved you
as much as
my wasteland of a heart
would allow.
If you had,
you never
would've let me go.

I touch
his skin
with the
reverence
of a
rosary,
as solid
and sure
as
the faith
of a
blessed
saint.

Well darling
I hope you like
the
sad
bad
girls,
with a tale
she'll never tell
and a heartbreak
she'll never show.

In reality
I could not
keep him,
so instead
I wrote him
into every line
and weaved him
into every story
so that
he and I
could live
forever.

The cruelest thing
you did
by far
was make me believe,
for a brief
shining
moment,
that someone
could actually
want me,
and then prove
so conclusively
that
no one
ever
could.

Beware
of nostalgia,
for it is
a liar;
it bends
the past
like a prism,
casting
colours
onto the shadows
of how
it truly was.

His body,
I recall,
was a
smoking gun;
warm
to the touch,
but never knowing
where
or
when
the bullet
would bite.

Even those
with
the iciest blood
and
the bluest hearts
still have
moments
where they wish
there was someone
they could wake
in the middle of the night
and whisper
"This has happened to me
and it is not ok
and I am scared."

And so
I let love
place it's knife
to my throat
and
bleed me
until
my veins
ran dry.

We could run through
deserted streets
in the watery sun
of a Wednesday morning,
my face full
of last night's
make up
and
your mouth full
of last night's
kisses,
and I would
swear
to all who would listen
that
we had never looked
so ******* cool.

And so
I took my
broken heart,
bloodied
and
abused,
in my own hands
and
I promised it:
'Never again'.

The realisation
that nobody
but you
is going
to save your life
is as
liberating
as it is
terrifying.

You would not
let me past
the stone wall
that surrounds
your heart,
but
you let me
climb it,
sit atop it,
and
briefly glimpse
the beautiful tragedy
that lay beyond it.
And maybe
that was enough.

I race blindly
through this life
with the perseverance
of a woman
who knows
her cause
is lost
but
is terrified
of the bleakness
of her world
without it.

And
as I watch
the cigarette
you left
burn away
to nothing,
I cannot help
but wonder
when
you will be back
to torture me
once more.

There are many
words of advice
I could give you:
Trust those who deserve it.
Be honest,
but never cruel.
Do not allow yourself
to be pushed around.
Do not be afraid
to stand for something.
Take time to understand
before rushing to judge.

But above all else,
I would say this;
forgive yourself.
It is not your fault
that the world is harsh,
that lovers leave,
that cold hearts
so often prevail
over the pure.
*Forgive yourself.

With a kiss
I pour
into your mouth
the words
I am too
scared
proud
ashamed
to say aloud.
*I need you to love me
and yet
I am afraid
of what will become of me
when you leave.

We are
the history makers,
the short
sharp
burst
of light
and sound
that cuts through
the mundane
like a knife
through an artery.
So
lace your fingers
through mine,
dear one,
and together
we shall make the world
weep with wonder.

The lines
around
your eyes
and mouth
that
appear
and
disappear
with every
sunburst smile
are the
little maps
of where you have been
and
where I hope
to travel.

Sometimes
the bloodiest battles
with the greatest number
of
casualties
are the ones
fought within
the confines
of our own
warring
souls.

I heard it said
once
that
the definition
of insanity
is to repeat
the same action
again
and
again
and expect
a different result.
Well,
I truly
am certifiable then,
dear love,
for I throw myself
against the steel door
of your apathy
again
and
again
until
my body
bruises and breaks,
and yet still
my hope
remains
unshattered
that one day
you might
leave it
unlocked
for me.

If you
reveal your soul
to me,
you will not be
denied.
You are not
a stranger here,
my sweetest heart;
no,
you will
be greeted
like an old friend.
No matter
what they tell you,
you are wanted,
and
you are loved.
Never doubt
this one
purest truth.

The
three
words
we long to hear
above
all others -
You.
Belong.
Here.