for witches with brimstone on their breath, ashes in their hair, and fire in their veins


for faeries with daisy crowns atop their heads, broken sea shells across their necks, and crumbling skulls in their hands


for sirens with sweetness laced with poison in their voices, melancholy hidden in their eyes, and death in their hearts

This whole year felt like a dream.
It was as if I watched myself grow older from behind a silver screen.
A bad movie with an uncertain ending.
I suppose I can't complain too much though.
I did help write the script.

*******.
I'm trying to write and it's all about
You.

I am tired
Of writing about you.
I don't want to remember
Your hand in mine.
I don't want to think about
How you kissed me
Or how you touched my face
Or how you called yourself
Superman.

I'm done
Writing ******, sad poetry
About you
As if you hung the ******* moon.

The things you said
Whether true or not
Made me feel terrible
Shutting me out
Trying to talk to you
Heard but not understood
I too
Was not seeing what I saw
Trying to make it work with you
Was as productive
As banging my head on the wall
A combat veteran
Of a war wished not fought
Creating a family with you
Was something not bought
With money
Love
Patience
Or virtue
Our love was untrue

I had to look up
the word
'dating'
on Urban Dictionary
because I didn't know
what we were,
what we are.

And it said things like
'a socially acceptable
form of prostitution' and
'feelings of
puppy love that usually
dissolve
in a few weeks'.

But this is
not
puppy love.
This is not going to
dissolve or
fizzle out or
whatever,
you're not a
fizzle
you're a *******
fireworks display.

And you turn
everything in my head
into this
multi-coloured
turbulence and
I can't keep up with
how much I
adore you.

But the thing is
I don't know
if your view
is as good as mine.
What if you're
looking at something
a little less
beautiful.

What if I'm your
fizzle.

What if I'm as
temporary
as the flame you use
to light the
cigarettes
you find more
addictive
than my touch.

If that's the case
I'd rather
I left you
craving.

Because
if I'm your flame
you're my
forest fire
and you're burning
it all down until
the only thing left
standing is
you.

And I'll walk for
miles across this
carpet of ashes
just to feel the
softness of your skin
against mine.

And I'll cough
and I'll splutter
on toxic smoke
but you'll just
breathe it in because
you never realised anything
was even
lost.

You don't see me
crawl
you just know that
I'm here,
I'm here
I made it
I'm yours
I'll always be yours
because there's
nothing else
left.

And maybe
I can be
content with that
if only
you will see
that
you could burn down
everything
and I still
wouldn't put you
out.