I know some people
like to pour salt in the wound
but I'd never met anyone
who'd so carefully cut open old scars
just to clean them with saline
and delight so wildly in my pain
before you

they just don't die
and now neither can you

I don't know how to explain
that your confetti looks like ash
and that I would rather be looking
at nineteen through glassy eyes
locked in a permanent stasis
than eating cardboard flavoured cake

you were there to dry my tears
but your words held no water
which is fine for a packet of tissues
but less good for a friend

'love lasts forever'
yeah, she probably meant it
at the time

my ribs look like fingers pressing against fine silk
I should not be okay with this
I should not be okay with this
I should not be okay with this

how am I supposed to trust myself
when you have made me question
everything

winning doesn't taste quite right
when it's all you've eaten in days

don't look at me like that
as I rise on shaking legs
and begin to push my chair up a steep hill.

I am far too tired to put my body through the hell
that self-propulsion would inflict upon me here,
and far too tired to tell you anything more than to
b a c k   o f f
as you raise a judgemental eyebrow,
or make a pointed remark to your friend
about how lazy the youth these days are.

if I could summon the energy, I would say
'forgive me; every cell in my body is giving up on me
and it is almost more than I can bear to be awake right now.'

if I could summon the energy, I might even give
a brief overview of chronic illness, before realizing
that I owe the details of my medical history to nobody.

if I could summon the energy,
I wouldn't be in this ****** chair in the first place
ducking your glares and stares and *******.

so don't you dare look at me like that,
or I'll run my wheels over your foot.

"why do you love her more now than
when I was tomorrow?"
I sat down and looked at the old tomorrow,
taking in his wrinkled eyes
and the day's memories
painted across his skin.
("call me yesterday," he had said earlier
and I had yet to pinpoint why I couldn't quite do that.)

"because," I explained,
"when you were tomorrow,
I loved her with everything I had,
and she gave me a little bit of new love
every day, so I had more.
today I loved her with everything I had,
and when you go,
a new old tomorrow will come
and ask me why I love her more every day
and I'll tell him what I told you:
every day, she teaches me a little bit more
about how to love well
and every day she gives me a little bit more love
so I'll tell her I'll love her tomorrow every night for the rest of my life
and I'll talk to tomorrow every night for the rest of my life
and then I'll tell her all about it in the morning,
and watch the smile spread across her face,
and really, that's all forever is"

tomorrow looked at me with weary eyes,
and then, satisfied, drifted away
to the banks of yesterday
like a leaf on the wind.

sometimes                                   will never
it feels like                                      be even
i am hiding                                         again
so so much                               s
underneath                          e
the surface                      l
and keeping               a
so so much            c       oh
inside that          s          god
t       h       e                help me

do not leave me with what could have been
with all of your
almost-maybe-somedays.

do not tell me that you’re sorry
and that you love me
and that you wish it didn’t have to be like this.

do not make me live in a world without you
do not make me have to drink coffee on my own.

put those pills down and pick up the phone.

by 14, the boy had realised that
home is not a sanctuary
that nothing comes for free
and that some fathers don't know how to love

by 16, he had decided that
even if answers couldn't be found
at the bottom of a bottle
he was **** well going to look there anyway

at 18, he was free;
his life was his own.
now he just had to work out what that meant.

and at 21 he realised that
his life was a little girl
with freckles on her face and stars in her eyes
who picked him flowers to make him smile
and made the chaos of his life a little busier.

she saved that prince
from the dragons
from the fire
and perhaps
from himself.

break me into the tiniest pieces;
i am born from you,
born for you
and your sick sense of self-appreciation.

who are you to lock the doors,
to shut me out? to cut me off?
to build walls where we had empty space,
where once we could communicate?

and yet i am loath to spill my thoughts
as i drink from this bitter cup;
after all, you and i are
masters in the field of repression -
it's an art form, don't you know?

oh, you can break my broken heart
until there's nothing left
but the dust will remember what you did.

crowns you with kisses
and kisses your tears,
names all your freckles
and dispels your fears,
who would walk half an hour
alone in the dark
just to hold you together
as you're falling apart

she stands
on the edge of the forest,
looking out over the cliffs
at the lights littering the skyline
stretching further beyond than she'll ever know
out, out, out into the darkness;
tiny people in tiny houses,
with such tiny lives so full of love.
she is exposed, but so very alone
that it doesn't really matter right now.

amber fur rustles gently in the evening wind,
battle scars scattered across her skin
from every wild animal that ever dared challenge her;
they dare no more.
behind her, things are moving deep within the forest
but she is happy to leave them be -
she knows they will grant her the same courtesy.

there's a cliff somewhere,
on the edge of a forest,
on the edge of the world;
heart torn and beating,
she stands,
ever watchful and guarding.
nightmares in her sleep
and monsters when she wakes,
and still
she stands.

i'd never seen anything more ordinary than a scrap of tinfoil
until you twined it around my finger
and asked me to marry you

oh i know that i'll die
in the warmth of your
a r m s

trembling hands and parted lips
wandering fingers find your hips
hold me close and hold me fast
let this waking daydream last
blushing cheeks and flushing skin
in crumpled sheets we hide our sin
it's over and it's just begun;
you touch me and I come undone

i have had these bedsheets for a solid four years
turquoise butterflies flit across a sky of white cotton
embroidering trails in their wake

i knew them well - the loose thread
that i definitely needed to fix
(that i was never going to fix),
the ink stain from a late night art project
that, in hindsight,
i probably should have been a bit more careful with

but now there’s you
lying sprawled across them
a new addition to this map that - until now - i knew so well
and suddenly everything changes
i am in uncharted, unfamiliar territory

but then again, i’ve always loved exploring

oh i know that i’ll die with
your name on my
l i p s

i do not want you.

i do not want your touch;
your hands skimming my hips, my sides
delicate fingers stroking black lace
reverently

i do not want your lips
on my jaw, my collarbone
my neck, my anywhere...
supposedly

i do not want your voice;
a soft whisper in the lamplit glow
that, even after you go, still hangs in the air
wistfully

i do not want you.
i do not want you.
(a mantra chanted under my breath, somewhat
doubtfully)

face alight with
springtime evening glow,
you gaze down at me.
what must I look like to you -
lying in the grass,
a mess of lace and leather
and eyes that scream love
with a volume my lips could never match?

our interlocked hands twitch
and my thumb brushes your knuckles:
a question and a small reassurance,
is this okay? this is okay

lips curl into a smile.
sunlit, sun-kissed cheeks
are rose in this light
and the yellowing sky above you
seems to blush pink back -
it knows the taste of your skin too

I could live in this moment;
to me, forever is a thursday evening in march
lying on a school field
discussing small nothings
endlessly

and if I can't do that,
I will live off this moment;
drinking in the sun
and the sky
and the love in your eyes
and that, my dear,
is food enough for me