Another nail through the palm of my hand, another label for you to wrap your ghastly mouth around
The words ‘beautiful’, ‘****’, ‘love’ burn into my skin like I’m caught in an acidic thunderstorm.
You pin them into my fragile flesh like notes pinned to a corkboard of advertisements.
Butchering my body and sedating my soul, objectifying my existence, object of your desire.

You frown at the way I can drink whiskey without flinching. and every time I tell you. honey. I don't drink alcohol for the taste. If I did. I would have the taste of your smile down my throat every night. I would have every memory of us bottled. And I would drink them whenever you were gone. Which lately is a lot. so lately I drink more. the warmth of the whiskey when it hits my insides reminds of the first couple months with you. When you were sure. When we were good. When I was enough. Now I can't drink enough. Now we don't talk enough. Now is different. The only time I feel you. The real you. Is with my clothes on the floor. You get your fix. I'll get mine. I'll **** the stress out of you. And I'll drink the sadness out of me. The sadness you fill me with with how empty you leave me. I'm addicted to this whiskey. And to the way your hands grip my throat.

In my mind there is a secret garden that will never end,
A sea of colour will bloom, petals will open up to enchant you and winter will never lay its bitter frost.
Grand oaks that boast a thousand years and too many stories for one lifetime will offer shade for your weary head.

I will protect you.

There will be a gentle breeze to caress your skin when the beating Sun becomes to much.
You can walk barefoot here, free and beautiful like nature always intended you to be.

I will be your safety.

You can pick my greatest blossoms, crush them and wear them to fragrance your perfect skin.
Wear me and take me everywhere you go.
Drag my liquid body across your chest so I can lay close to your heart, where my pounding head calls home.

I will be yours.

He had the power
To send me spiralling
Back to white powder.
Or keep me steady
With the anchors of his words.
Either way,
I was done for.

i know there have been moments where you pulled yourself down the stairs just to collapse onto the kitchen floor
i know there have been moments where you repeated,
"i will most certainly not make it out of this alive"
and you wake up the next morning and make it an inch further
my dear dramatic girl
there is no fault in loving with all of your heart
you will grow up and know what each word he presses to your chest means
you will have an Oxfords Dictionary for every time he tells you he was just out late
but if you keep putting pieces of you into everyone who runs their finger over your lips
or tells you "forever" as if it hasn't already lost its meaning
you will lose yourself
do not let the world desensitize you to its contents
theres nothing more tragic than watching a romantic become a cynic
you are full of a quality you cannot let every boy that stops loving you when it's convenient take from you
you are truthful and forgiving
you are trusting
and whats left of your heart is safety-pinned onto your sleeve
your heart belongs to you alone and i know its been a while since you heard this, but
you are full without people miles away telling you that they think you'd look pretty without your clothes on
dust it off,
lie on the kitchen floor and remember what it felt like when you said
"i will most certainly not make it out of this alive"
for when you wake up one morning and forget how it sounds
to be despondent in love
do not let the world take you and spread you over people who push you to fill pieces of them they have lost in others
you are prevailing every time you whisper
"i love you, too"