The silence is getting heavier,
I struggle to breathe under its weight.
My skin holds on tightly to the marks you left when you loved me.
Because these marks are all I'll ever have of you.

My thoughts are filled with 'Eskimo kisses', entwined fingers, the peace of your presence.
But your heart is cold in your bed made of empty promises and false hope...

My notebook is filled with squiggles and lines,
A franctic search for words to define,
The chaos in my head, I scream, I pine,
For a soul to unlock this mental prison of mine.

I've been trying to write you a poem.
But words fail to paint pictures of my vulnerability.
So I pray that you can read between the lines.
Invite you to open Mic sessions under the sheets.
Let you caress the words that are etched on my skin.
The scars of my bare flesh speak more than the songs of angels.
Still, I fear that to you this is just ***, and to me, this is my confession!

You are the lover that I never loved. A possessive, obsessive, controlling type. Your darkness wraps around my body, clawing at the scraps of hope I hold in clenched fists!
Monochromatic grey, your melancholy walls talk to me in my sleep.
The sand of time is carried on their breath, hourglasses shattered all over my skin!

My freedom cowers in the shadows of this cell, my dignity malnourished under the bed.
This isolation is more than I can stand, whilst the devil and god rage within my mind.
Waterfalls cascade down my face into oceans that lay at my feet.
Water levels rise, still salty tears can’t sterilize my eyes from the sins they’ve seen.

I pulled out my rib and carved a dove; through prison bars she flies…    Upon her return, my leaves of green, a letter in her mouth.
Paper with dotted lines and instructions to ‘fold here’
An origami boat of hope, with ores made from words of a friend.

In bold defiance, on the starboard side, words that shimmer in the sun.
Like a pool of water in the dessert or paracetamol to a headache.
I’ll hide in the decks made of paper and let the waves wash over me. Your walls crumble in a Tsunamis rage and my ‘Avoidance of Doubt’ shimmers on…

My reclamations lay in the corner: your old hoodie, a book, my memories  resting upon the shelf of youth, collecting dust.
I paw at them as if this was a game, as if I'm waiting in the jungle until someone rolls a 5 or an eight.  
As if jumangi was more than TV crews and cameras.
I drag my finger over the book, leather bound and gold laced pages.
I etch your name in the dust because it's sweeter than any childhood fantasy.
My pregnant mind bulges with a  love that's more fierce than a thousand fire-breathing dragons.
I created a cottage out of pieces of our history,  hidden memories lurk like dwarves.
I wrap myself inside your clothes, fragrance like poisoned Apple's, I breath you in.
I could dream of you for eternity as I accept my "sleeping death".

Fluorescent lights absorbing.
My glass cage surrounding.
Smart phones and silenced minds.
To strangers WiFi connection binds.
Likes substitutes compliments and comments conversation.
I turn myself inside out for empty validation.
Cyberspace is like a vacuum, they can't hear you scream.
Forced smiles, you lie and hide behind pixelated screens.

"Don’t meet anyone offline”* I say “They're all weirdos”
Though I’ve been a serial dater and frequent Tinderer for some time.
I couldn’t tell you the number of lips mine have pushed up against.
Nor could I tell you the names of the people they were attached too.

There’s been nice guys and bad boys and girlie girls and “show me your *** toys?”
There have been casual hook ups and dates, movie nights and lets be mates.
There have been people who have felt more at home in my skin than I do
There has been a little bit of everything, and a whole lot of nothing at all!