monsters don't live inside my head
or in my heart, or under my bed
they walk amongst me-- in day,
and at night
they whisper honeycomb sweetness
in my abundant ears whilst
blinding me with pale sunlight.
monsters don't live inside my head
they mask themselves in a façade of
overgrown riverbeds--
deep-rooting themselves within my
oesophagus and i am choking, choking
oh but i cannot get enough of this.
monsters live
in bone marrow
in hair follicles
in overgrown fingernails
burrowed like a perpetual parasite
until they become a part of my DNA;
a mutation, the cancer that causes
paranoia and maybe a little psychosis, psychosis.
i am not crazy
i am not crazy
there are just monsters
there are just monsters.
they grip my hand as i walk down the street
intertwine their fingers into the cracks in
my bones and i do not fight back--
i am tirelessly tired of tiresome tug-of-war.

it was raining outside
i tasted cherry in each kiss
ate you up like candyfloss and
you disappeared just as quick.
tasted lightening as it jolted
from your skin, blinded me
with what i thought was love,
disguised thunderstorms as
butterflies in my stomach;
i was not prepared for this
downpour.
tasted cinnamon as our story
blossomed and you kissed me
under archways, told me it was
romantic and you had never
been here before, never felt
this way before, never connected
with someone's electricity so
spectacularly it created firework
displays you can see from
galaxies away.
tasted your poison disguised
as promises dripping in the
richest honey, tasted the tip of
your fingers as they infected my
skin, left me with a constant
internal itch.
tasted the roots of the trees of
your mind and buried myself
beneath them. i wear my
gravestone as a badge of honour
because i died when you left
but i got to love you once.
i am a ghost circling the same
graveyard looking for archways
to fall asleep in, chasing the scent
of cherry like it is holding a
loaded gun and i am running
towards it with my arms wide
open begging it to **** me again.
i die over and over everyday
because there are reminders of
you everywhere and i am but a
ghost and i hope you think of me,
when your door creaks for no
reason in the middle of the night,
when you feel eyes on you and
your palms begin to sweat and
suddenly your room is deathly cold.
i hope you remember me.

I speak in the heat of the moment; I forgot to tie my mind’s shoelaces and now I’m spluttering in ways I recognise from falling over as a kid. My words fumble over themselves the same way my hands did the first time they tried to find yours. Reaching for something familiar should have come so natural and maybe that’s why I was so shaky, because I had surrounded myself with unfamiliarity and it became all I knew, but then you.

          But then I had seen the walls of your bedroom before.

I had felt your palm.

                                         I had tasted your skin.

I knew your scent, or maybe it just smelt so much like an unspoken promise we made a lifetime ago that it lingered in my mind. I do not know if I was real before I met you. Directionless has never been pretty but I am a wanderer and I have opened fields within myself to plant daffodils in your honour.

I forgot to tie my mind’s shoelaces and now here I am, staggering upon syllables hoping it bows together to form something less loose; something for you to chew on, something to fill you up. I have tasted dirt plenty of times. I sank my teeth into it those times I used to fall over as a kid but I fell for you and all I can taste is honey. I have been pollenated with seeds and I cannot stop blossoming visions of you and our future and they pour out of me on to blank pages and create something worth reading.

I am still directionless, but it can only ever be beautiful with you by my side.

I speak in the heat of the moment and I am ensorcelled by your mind and I try to speak less to listen but you create floods within my throat and it cascades out of me in spoken promises and too many “I love you”’s for someone who agreed to only tell you twice a day – I cannot. I love you, and my heart resides within you.

i am grateful for solitude
i am grateful for every person who says thank you when i'm driving and i let them pass
i am grateful for every opportunity i have been given in my life, although i may not have taken advantage of them;
i am on my own path
i am here to create my own route
and i am not in a hurry
time is fleeting but i have paused all the clocks on the supermarket shelves
i do not rush
i can taste moments
i inhale them like the smell of fresh bed sheets
i am grateful for my body
it is articulate, it is flawless by design; it is bespoke
i learned to love myself when i stopped expecting other people to love me,
and i am grateful for all those who didn't
because now, i am grateful for me
and i travel like a lone wolf so freely under moonlight
my howl is there to invite you,
to show you that you, too, are worthy of loving you

when i was a little girl i didn’t have dreams
of living in a house with a white picket fence,
or marrying a prince who rescued me from
my abysmal reality; i didn’t want to depend
on someone to save me and i never really
liked the colour pink so when my mum painted
my room pink and purple with love hearts all
over the walls i spent my nights scratching at it
with half-bitten nails

as i grew older i asked my mum how you know
when you’re in love and she told me there was
no better way to describe it than: “you just know”
i’d painted my room black and white by this point
because i believed it was an accurate portrayal of
what was going on internally and i remember
getting my knees muddy as a kid and as i got
older and i’d met you, i remember thinking that
you were like the grazes on my knees except
more painful and the one thing i never asked
my mum was what it’s like to fall out of love or
get your heart broken

but i just knew

and it’s weird how as a kid i never wanted to
be saved but i believed you could save me and
now i’m drawing love hearts all over the walls
and scratching them on my skin at night and
i want a white picket fence surrounding a house
built for me and you and you rescued me from
my abysmal reality. you’re not a prince but you’re
the next closest thing and i’ve got grazes on my
knees again and they’re reminding me of you

i've lived for eighteen years
some babies don't make it to eighteen minutes
and it's sad when you wish you were
the baby who didn't
the baby who didn't get to experience
life and what it's like to live
and your feeble attempt at living
is an accurate portrayal of what it means to
exist and it's sad when you wish you were
the baby who didn't make it to four-years-old
so you never experienced the joy
of a park on an early summers morning where
your only worry was how high you could
go and beating your best friend so you
could be "champion" and as you get older
you realise a champion is someone who
suffers but manages to maintain a healthy,
positive mindset and being a champion at
four-years-old means nothing when your
mere existence is an accurate portrait of
failure. people say nightmares scare you,
if so i'd class life as a nightmare. it's sad when
you wish you were the child who didn't make it
to junior school, when you wish that you didn't
make it to the high school prom because then
you'd never have to realise that no one
wants to hold your hand and slow dance with you
no one tells you you look beautiful in a dress
you paid too much for just to feel uncomfortable
for the entire night. it's sad when you get to
eighteen and you realise that there's so much
more to life but you don't want to be alive to
witness it and if a baby who didn't make it to
eighteen minutes can leave the world gracefully,
then so can you.

i want a love that consumes me
fills me up until i'm a punching bag of scattered thoughts
and i keep spluttering and spilling my love in wine glasses
and they're overflowing and i can't stop vomiting your name
i want love to devour me
like the leftover pizza you bought at 4am last night, drunk and lonely and alone
how sad it has become to be drunk and lonely and alone with you
i will become pieces within you because i cannot stop shedding my layers
i want a love that engulfs me
that chews me up like that second stick of bubblegum
and spits me out like mouthwash on an alcoholics tongue, acidic and burning and foreign
your mouth is a gun and my eyes are bloodshot from its metaphors
i have run out of armour
i have run out of armour
i am told love isn't meant to be beautiful and it is romanticised
but all i know is i want to romanticise all night long with you under my bed covers because you are beautiful
i would say i love you but how mundane
how throw-away those words have became
i am told love isn't meant to be beautiful and i have run out of armour
how can something that isn't meant to be beautiful look so good?
like a train wreck decorated in fresh flowers; roses and chrysanthemums
a car crash on the side of the road, nobody wants to see but everybody looks
i said i want a love that consumes me
i said i want it to devour me, engulf me whole and then spit me out
i said i'm running out of armour
and maybe if i convince myself it's what i asked for maybe then maybe it starts to look beautiful
drunk and lonely and alone
and i was atop the hill we sat at the first night you ever told me you love me (how throw-away those words have became)
you were brighter than every night light combined, i thought
"love isn't meant to be beautiful," everyone said
"but how? how is sitting here with you and seeing the silhouette of trees across a skyline, a concrete ocean dotted with street lamp stars and the last hours of a wakened society not ******* beautiful?"
drunk and lonely and alone i got it
i am pouring my thoughts into wine glasses and they're overflowing and i keep vomiting
i keep vomiting
i'm not sure if it was the pizza at 4am or you who made me sick
i am waiting for you to spit me out

i want to hold your hand through all the season changes; autumn to summer, making chains out of daises and i want you to know that love is probably my biggest fear
but you make me love with open arms
and as deep as outstretched oceans, grabbing hold of you with both palms and as violently as nuclear bomb explosions
i'll keep that fruitful heart of yours safe within my clutch because i know that mine is safe with you and your gentle benevolent touch

you make me remember why life is a joy rather than a burden and when my life draws its final curtains,
your face is the last i want to see
and i'm certain one day it'll all get a lot easier, the sky will be bluer and the breeze will be breezier,
and i'm certain until then we'll guide each other through because there's no one i'd rather be in life's ruthless grasp with than you

they say death is the only constant, i disagree

death is no match for you and me

i have never watched a single sunset with you in mind
lie
i have watched one;
the clouds that belonged to the sky had been kissed by the sun itself and they had melted into gold dust, spreading lemon chiffon, papaya whip and apricot; a sunset so beautiful you could taste it
and as vermilion started to seep through, there was all the fire but there was no smoke;
the sky was aflame, enriched and doused in dripping watercolour; i loved it
i loved seeing something so ferociously enticing be so innocent and composed, i questioned
how can this, this that evokes such burning emotion make me feel so at ease?
i stood and i watched the sun set;
there was nothing conceited about the way it moved, slowly;
knowing you'd come back the next day to watch it all over again.
and i did.
but i didn't think of you.

The first girl I ever apologised to
created craters in my veins and filled them with love and she didn’t even know
how beautiful she was, lying next to me face-to-face with nothing but TV reflections and an orchestra of words spoken in silence
I wanted to tell her I love her over and over again but my eyes stole any sentence I could form in my head from my mouth and did nothing but stare
They say a person’s face gets more attractive the more you look at it but I feel this is a lie; if I had only got to glance at her face for a second, she would still be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen
and we fit together like tetris blocks, building a foundation to plant the root of forever
and I want to grow beside her, watching her blossom from a caterpillar into a butterfly, from a star into the sun
and I want to be the steady trees that stand beside her, humble and proud, showing her that I meant it when I said I would never leave because I am rooted deep into our soil of forever
and I couldn’t even if I wanted to and I kept my heart chained to my ribs before I met her but she waltzed in, handed me the keys and I haven’t been the same since.
I felt her come crashing into my life like an asteroid; I am sure I was wiped out and taken to a universe where only good things happen because I can no longer see bad, only flowers where bullets should be
I can no longer only see red, but violet and magenta and mahogany too and she has opened up a world where everything does happen for a reason because it has led me to her
like a sleepwalker looking for home only to find something much better than that
like a sleepwalker waking up to find themselves immersed in golden sands and out of touch with reality but rife with the knowledge that she’s real
and her touch is there to remind me of this,
the world’s biggest mystery gracing the palm of my hand with their own fingertips, two DNA connected and the vibrations of my love for her bouncing back to whatever God introduced me to her to say thank you
and I remember the first time I held her hand. We sat in silence as I traced my fingers over hers and back again, like a visual of tentative attraction on loop.
I didn’t believe in anything until I heard my name on her lips and suddenly angels existed and
Sometimes I feel like I’m hallucinating but I don’t mind when her presence in front of me is tripled and I can see not just one of her but three and each one outstretches their hand as they morph back into one person, as if to show me that in all her various forms, I am safe
and I have never been safer
I can no longer only see red, but hues of cyan and aqua and agate blue and they merge together to form eyes I dive into searching for the very depths of her ocean and I never gasp for air
because I am safe. They merge together to form irises that look at me like I’ve never been seen before, like a rare breed of an extinct animal discovered again; irises that look at me like they could stop time with their intensity
and I want to stop time with her
I want to contort it to wrap around her and I and protect us in the promise of eternity
because the stars will set the sky on fire and everything will melt in embers and ash without her
the planets will misalign
the soil will sink the trees at their roots
and the ocean will swallow the earth it once harmonised with
and I will, simply,
cease to exist.

i'd cut my own heart open and bleed without a sound as you lay next to me to show you that tiny vessels string together within me to spell your name and i would bleed it all out to prove that to you i would cut my lungs out of my body to prove to you i breathe because of you i inhale and exhale for you and i want to cut my tongue out of my mouth to stop myself from talking because it splutters out of me like clouds of baby powder and it's so foggy i can't see light anymore

i feel the wind whistle
through my hollow bones
as they crack gently beneath
the weight of a single shudder -
i am a bird
manifesting free-flight
to find a one-way ticket out
of this brick-box.
i should be grateful
i wake up in sleepy sheets
every morning but all i
can smell is the scent of
another bad night’s sleep -
i tell my soul “i’m sorry”
because it inhabits a body
unsure how to appreciate it
to its fullest, a body content on
harvesting thoughts dark enough
to make life’s flowers wilt.
there’s no sunlight here.
this hollow flesh breeds
hollow veins, keeps a heartbeat
rattling back and forth in
this hollow chest.
tell me how to make a song out of
something that sounds like death -
teach me how to see free-flight as
more than something you do off
the top of a building, or a bridge,
or on to railway tracks when
gravity insists on keeping you down.

i tell myself “i’m sorry,” kiss the
bruises behind my eyes goodnight
hoping i’ll wake up and one day,
they won’t be so heavy.

not every touch is there to scar you,

some are there to hold you

and you cannot shield yourself away out of fear that every touch is going to leave you crawling in your own skin from the itching and itching and burning and burning

because then, then you miss out on the really ******* good touches

the touches that ignite a fire inside of you that you hope keeps burning and burning and ******* burning

because it doesn't itch, somehow it soothes. it burns and it soothes and you've never felt anything like it and there are no scars, just a house on fire and every time a window smashes the exhilaration and adrenaline and exhilaration and adrenaline pours out of you and into you all at the same time.

fireworks do not compare to the explosion of endorphins, ramshackled and rummaging through you.

not every touch is there to scar you,

some are there to hold you.

I see you through fogged glass in a small café, you are sipping apple juice and reading a newspaper even though you get updates to your phone every time a new news story is published. I assume you do it because you’re nervous and your blonde hair looks beautifully unkempt and I smile, inwardly. I stand just long enough to see you take another sip of your apple juice and fumble with your hands slightly before I notice I too am fumbling with my own. We always had a habit of saying and doing things at the same time, as if our subconscious was connected on a level our conscious couldn’t keep up with. I open the café door and the bell chimes, suddenly there is no one else in the room except us and I feel the open air grow thick with excitement and nervous tension.

I would say I could feel your gaze burning the pores of my skin open, but your eyes are too blue that I could do nothing but dive into them, swallowing mouthfuls of unspoken love and all the words you’ve never needed to say as they fill my lungs and I expand. I think this is why I no longer have an appetite; this is why falling in love is so fulfilling because there is too much to chew and so much to swallow and I cannot stop feasting on the thoughts that whirlpool around in your mind. Every day is a three course meal and I am stacking up plates upon plates trying to build something long enough to stretch to the ends of you. I cannot swim but I still continue to dive, filled with mouthfuls of unspoken memories, the parts of you you’re too afraid to give away yet but I was blessed with patience. I am candlelight and you are the flame that allows me to glow, flickering in draughty bedrooms as we sway to a playlist I made especially for us entitled “beginnings” because I believe we will always feel like this. I have been strung out to dry on life’s washing line since I was a child and it wasn’t until you became home that I felt the warmth of candlelight and we become what we love.

I sit down opposite you in a small café, you say “I’ve missed you” and I tell you that I have never stopped missing you. The waitress asks what I’d like to drink and you reply “water” and I smile, inwardly. I stopped fumbling with my hands when they found yours and you persisted I try your apple juice but I was adamant it just wasn’t for me and you smiled, outwardly. I had always been inward but you had taught me that it is okay to be outward and I complimented your smile for what seemed like the hundredth time hoping it would cause you to smile and it did and I told you that you had a face even artists could not create. I told you that there are universes within me and in every single one I have created galleries for you so that no matter where I am, I can always feel like I’m home.

To drown is considered a tragedy but I would anchor myself to the very depths of you and float within the atoms that enable you to be and I would merge myself into the darkness and find comfort within the unknown because part of it resides within me and I would die to be close to you. We become what we love and all I am is a paperback of romantic poetry with brushstrokes underlining the parts that are most important and one day I will whittle to ash in the flame that burns for you in the belly of my stomach and my paperback poetry will shrivel in your whirlpool and the pen will smudge and the writing will smear, but it is ok. Because I am diving into eyes, drowning myself in mouthfuls of the poetry I never sent and choking it back to you with my own eyes so you can see all that I am and all that I ever will be and decide if my candlelight is worth keeping aflame.

i pull her, inches towards me
closer, closer; i don't wanna breathe

and she struggles and her grasp loosens
and she's leaving now, and i'm in the same position

eyes to the floor, head bowed a little
trying not to cry from a heart so fickle
trying to muster a smile, but the tear, it trickles

"i love you" i whisper; she's gone and i'm too late
i hear her voice resound in my head; my shoulders are dead weight
her heart speaks a language only mine can translate

but it's foreign now, and my heart doesn't understand
she's changed and i've changed and i don't know her like the backs of my hands

and it's been three weeks now but the lump in my throat is still apparent
it's been five ******* weeks now but the world is still so transparent

why can i only see beauty when it's oozing out of her skin?
why can i only picture life without her as an odyssey of burden?

this is not an "i miss you" poem, even though i do
it isn't a plea or a beg or a self-piteous bunch of love spew

it's from one soul to the other
to one soul from a broken lover
(just to let you know) there will never be another
because there's no lightening without its thunder

the mid-afternoon breeze caresses her bare skin and goose bumps form as a greeting; she smiles, at nothing and at no one but the oxygen surrounding her.

the blind draped elegantly either side of her window bellows back and forth and she traces her fingertips along the hairs on her arms and she smiles, at nothing and at no one but the sheer fact she’s alive.

it’s enough to make her want to cry, to hear her heart pumping in her ears and feel it in her neck and her wrist and her chest and every pulse chanting a rhythm of approximately 115,200 heartbeats per day and as the breeze gusts in, her eyes flicker to the table beside her and therein a photograph lies your face and her fingertips stop and she swears for a second her heart does, too.

she loses a heartbeat every time she sees your smile.

she remembers the day vividly, you wore that blue checked shirt because she asked you to and you smelled of morning dew and winter fog; she searches for it in every perfume shop she enters but you’re never there.

sometimes she swears you’re sleeping beside her at night, she’d bet her beating heart that you were but she can never tear the difference between reality and fantasy without you.

see, she doesn’t think she’s dreaming but when she wakes up, you aren’t there, but she swears with her beating heart you were right beside her and she raises goose bumps on her arms every morning because you would have caressed them with your own fingertips and she’s not sure if she could almost cry because she’s alive or if she could almost cry because you’re the reason she is.

she wonders, often, too often, if you look out of your window and know she’s staring at the same moon you are and she hopes the shine reminds you of her the way it reminds her of you.

she writes you letters sometimes because for the duration she can hear your voice replying inside her head and you’re right beside her, she swears you’re right beside her but she drops the pen and you’re never there.

sometimes, when she lights candles, she wonders if it’s the fire you caused inside her that lights it and she wonders if you know she’s slowly being burned alive. she wonders if you are, too, if maybe when you’ve both whittled to ashes the breeze that she welcomes every morning will help her to find you again.

the sun exposes its smile for you every morning. it breaks through the gaps in your curtains, it breaks through the gaps in the trees and it rises above every building to find you, to show you light will follow you everywhere you go as long as you let it in.

2. you sip hot chocolate on a park bench and look outwards. you are a tiny dot in the vast space sea and yet you are the whole sea at the same time. you are important.

3. you realise life is made up of moments, and each moment is entirely in your control. you are the tour guide of your own life and you always have the potential to make it one worth viewing.

4. these moments string together to create your journey, and your journey is as grand as space itself, because your entire body is thriving with atoms and molecules that all came from a big bang and you are carrying that energy within you.

5. you came from the stars and they are what made you and you keep them alive just by being here.

6. you have an entire universe within you.

7. you are an entire universe; how you choose to perceive it is entirely up to you.

8. the past and the future are neit
nor there, they are as illusionary as the time we schedule our lives by. all, all that is ever important, is now.

9. and now, i hope you are happy.

i wake up,
drenched in lucid dreaming
trying to hallucinate you in my room
holding buttercups under my chin
to resemble the gold in your eyes
and i’m reminiscent
of a time when peach meant
holding hands in your living room
and the specks of dust would
encircle us as though everything
was trying to show us happiness
and its various forms and so i
held your hand and we danced and
the peach curtains lit up the room.
it was your favourite in the whole
house and i remember how happy
you would get when the sunlight
poured in like flash floods.
i am drenched in lucid dreaming
reminiscent of a time when you took
my hand to hold it;
not to say goodbye.

we call them
glory days
scraped elbows and
too much energy
we were waiting for
someone to crack
the can open and
release us.
drank too much
pop, jumped in
too many muddy
puddles and got
our clothes too *****
to look like anything
but carefree and
happy. we call them
glory days, rope
swings and crushes
that last four days
until we see someone
new who traded us
a pokemon card and
we played back-to-base
and that was our
first experience of
chasing something we
feel we can’t have.
we call them glory
days, as we scribble
hearts on our school
books and make
acrostics out of our
names and imagine
what their surname will
sound like and that
first peck makes you
feel like you’re growing
up but you welcome it
until it happens
but then i met you
and you became my
glory day and suddenly
i was 8 again, seeing
how high i can go
on the swing and
leaning back to let
the wind turn my
stomach
upside
down
you are my glory
day; all the sweetness
of summer; all the
energy i release in
the form of love only
happened because you
cracked me open and
planted flowers within
all my dark spots, all
the hollow crevices,
all the monsters within
me afraid of the light
you shone a torch at
and i have never felt
brighter. you are my
glory day and i
am doodling love hearts
on all my body parts
in all my notebooks
because you are the
freest i have ever felt.

so i've been thinking a lot about death and what happens when we die, not in the sense of what happens to us because i'm pretty convinced my own thesis is what happens just like religious people are convinced of an afterlife (i guess we're both the same that way - we both think we're right) but in the sense of what happens to those around us. what'd happen at my funeral, who would be there, who i'd expect to be there but who wouldn't be, if the people who claim to truly care would follow through with that notion when i was gone and i don't know i'm just finding it difficult to trust.

i want to better myself as a person, i want to be good and do good and be honest and pure but i don't think living a life like that is living truthfully. you gotta do bad and be bad at some point to realise what good is and how to be good and you have to tell a lie in order to understand the beauty of honesty.

i have so many demons in my closet that i'm sure would probably be more than happy to see me when i die.

i'm not planning on dying any time soon but i can't seem to stop thinking about what will happen when i do and if i'll have lived a life i'm proud of, if i'll have been successful in my own mind in everything i wanted to achieve.

if you think about it on a grand scheme, we are born as nothing. we are no one when we are born and who we grow up to become is shaped by family, friends, environment and surroundings and personal growth. we haven't come to realise the structure of society, we haven't yet come to realise that we're little more than a piece of paper and a tax code and when we die we become two pieces of paper - one to say we were born and the other to reconcile our death. but see, no one ever knows what happens during that period between life and death. even babies have things happen to them, some have their first taste of food, their first smile.

one day all of it is gonna be gone and so i wonder what it truly is that we're all living for and as a species so advanced and so knowledgeable, why are we so stupid? it's simple. peace is simple. yet it's the very things that are infused into us when we're born that we grow up with that shape who we become and i wonder who i may have been or how i may have turned out differently with a different upbringing in a different location with a different atmosphere and environment. we're nothing when we're born and we grow up to shape our own future and that's scary. we never, ever stop learning throughout our entire lives and yet we are expected to create a future for ourselves without ever being fully, completely educated.

i just know that when i die, i don't want hundreds of people to feel my death. i would rather be wholeheartedly remembered by few than briefly remembered by many. all i know is i want to live a wholesome life and this is something i keep coming back to. i may not know all there is to know but i want to use what i do know and put it to good use. i might have been a different person had circumstances been different but i am who i am and if i'm not proud of that fact, who else is gonna be?

i'm just so sick and tired of this whole system making human beings put themselves down and always making them feel inadequate so much so that even those who are supposed to care begin doing it to each other. i guess i'm a dreamer and a massive one at that, because i dream of a time where the human race as a whole lives collectively, in harmony and tranquil peace and everyone's death makes an impact no matter who they are - homeless, black, african, gay, caucasian, transgender, muslim, christian, jew, atheist. i don't know.

i would love to be a spectator at my own funeral and come back in a hundred thousand years to see how the world develops and i find it a bit melancholy that i won't be so maybe i'll add it to my list of books to write and keep going.

i've been drinking a lot these days to try and flush out the part of you that's left inside of me

it's not that i don't want you there

it's just that having you there is making my heart itch and no matter how much i try to scratch it, it doesn't go away

i guess i'm hoping that drinking will numb the burning sensation but when it's 3:01am and all i can think of is you, nothing could comfort me quite like your presence

love is as indescribable as your beauty and misery is deep-rooted in your system and like the essence of you pumping through my veins, it just doesn't go away

and i guess i get you because love is hard and if only i could spark and ignite a fire inside your lungs and smoke would convulse out of your mouth in the shape of a heart and you'd never have to say "i love you" because it'd have said it all

if only i could show you that there's no one on this earth who deserves to experience love more than you; i'd paint it in tiny brushstrokes in your eyes so you could see the rawness and fragility

it's a bit like a flower; it grows stronger the more you nurture it but you have to plant it and give it a chance to bud

death is the only thing that lasts, it's the only constant and when time is gone i want you to be my only constant

take everything from me and envelope me with an insanity that feasts off the warmth of your fingertips and the proximity of your lips to mine

you're a leech and you've ****** everything out of me and i feel myself thriving off the thoughts of you floating like sailboats in my mind

i wish there was a tsunami to get rid of you

i wish there was a cure for this sea sickness i feel at the mention of your name

if there was i'm convinced i'd take it but i've never heard a more mellifluous sound

you're a spiral and i'm a circle and we were never meant to fit together but for two shapes so opposite, we've never worked so well

and now i'm drowning again (drinking and drowning)

leave soon,
i can't get used to this itch

her parcel heart was the best gift i had ever received, it was like gold in a world dripping in silver.

sometimes i lose direction and end up in a different dimension,
it is one where cats dance the ballet and riots erupt in the form of kaleidoscopes and all glaciers turn to glitter and dust;
it is one where lasers burn happiness into our skyline and it cascades down as rainfall and we can never be sad;
and it is one where she still loves me.

i remember when our energy fields collided and we become a force greater than gravity itself. we were floating.

and now all i want is simplicity: her rawest form, bare and naked in my bed in this dimension, so we can get lost together.