4.30am and she is trying to speak to god like she believes he exists.
Bleeds like she is trying to speak to the stars,
when all she wants is to get further lost in herself,
I wish this girl was mine but she's not.
I can see his hands now on the back of her neck, contrasting skin
illuminating
the angle at which she holds her head
like she's dancing,
she's not.
He's not even there.
I have never been jealous like this before
but I can see it in the way she looks at me
that he is not exactly what she wants
like I was.
Maybe I should give her a name:
tree trunks trembling towards the ground like they're trying to get back home;
flowers thriving on the dirt made from your mother's bones;
the song I still sing to myself every time I am terrified of the lights turned out;
my names are too long. I have too many words written about her.
I couldn't even tell you about a reflection in her eyes without writing a ******* poem about it.
I just want her to dance,
to dance with me like I am a ghost and she is the last person left on this earth,
like a storm wrapping itself entirely around a streetlight,
like cracked eggs leaking what could have been into the dust,
her telling me I came on too strong,
too soon
too fast.
I just didn't want to lie to her.
She absorbed all my blood sugar,
left me shaking and sour,
"just let me sleep all night",
I will pretend I'm simply exhausted,
let me try and act like this didn't happen,
let me attempt to act normal around you,
let's pretend you didn't ***** all those lies on me
after you kicked me to the ground.
At least I was honest.
I don't think about you like I used to,
but when the rain is tapping my window like it wants to come inside and make a friend,
it is only masking the glaring silences you forgot to take with you
when you left me that night.
At least I was honest.
But I never told her that she was my church,
my last crumpled cigarette stuffed into my backpack whispering:
"they'll never find you here,"
praying to you that we would be something more,
like midnight movies,
4am ballrooms,
ringing ears after a concert,
ringing
like I heard you,
ringing through telephone lines after you left me,
you only ever called after you forgot it was my birthday.
You only cared when it was convenient,
when we were away from prying eyes,
when he was nowhere to be found,
do not try and deny it,
I am not stupid you know.
I am not blessed with numbers,
I do not know anything about the meaning of life,
or the behaviour of protons,
but I can mix colours and take a good photo
and
sometimes I write,
I still don't know what a poet is though.
I can only see that she moves like these words write themselves,
and she speaks like music bleeding through a closed window,
I swear I am still cracked.
The day that I left she never even said goodbye,
though I still have tattoos left from the tips of her fingers on those heavy handed nights,
I swear,
they didn't even sting.

You were my star amongst the stars, my own solar system inside my eyes.
Hand you the knife and I'll let you cut out my insides,
create the universe from my cells so I can be so absorbed in you
I am no longer myself.
Let me be what you want.
I know that I am faded
but if you let me
I will chain myself to the insides of your ribcage
protect your heart, because we both know all it controls is the rate
at which your blood flows,
and all it has ever known
is to push everything it has ever met away,
so it is a constant but with nothing of its own
I guess that's the biggest break.
Show me importance the same way I used to see it
I wanna know every single one of your secrets,
watch your eyes flicker on the train
as you lose yourself to back gardens and brick built barriers,
letting yourself inside the subtleties of a strangers life.
Leave your bad days on my pillow love
and I will never make the effort to wake up.
I will swallow your pictures whole
with no attempt to understand your charity shop bags
full of yesterday's thrown out dreams.
Punch me with your closed fist
and I will pretend it is your beating heart
they are the same shape, someone told me once,
I can think of nothing better than the embrace of your vitals and veins,
staple them to my chest so I can store the pain inside myself for future reference.
I can still remember the way your voice tasted those nights,
I counted each one of your heartbeats against my chest every evening we slept
to check you were still breathing,
that's how bad I wanted you to stay,
my hands lying inside your make believe
that you were feeding me,
I never knew what it was what I wanted from you,
and I never understood the languages you spoke in,
But I used to wish on those nights
that I was deep and dark and mysterious like the oceans
we both know you'd love to swim in
and I'd never have the courage to join you in.
Maybe if the things you had told me hadn't have been
as vast as that same ocean,
I wouldn't be trying to pick between pieces of broken glass,
trying to slice out the things which beat around inside my pulse
whenever I think about you.

You talk to me like I am stupid.
And somedays I worry that I am.
And sometimes I wish that my brain
would stop being over active
and simply let me concentrate
on important things
like the future,
and exams,
instead of convincing myself that you
are the only thing I have ever worked towards,
as I sit and trace over the lines
which form the curve of your lips
and work out exactly what light I would use
to suit the colour of your skin
and think about all the words I could use in
imaginary conversations
with you.
Maybe I am as clueless
as you make me out to be.

My brain is divided into two:
the left and the right
And
while part of me wants to
cling to you and beg
for you to come back,
what's left
wants to cut you out,
clean and precise
until all that's left of you
are the changing pieces of my skin
where our cells once rested.
All of me knows
that I would never have the courage to do either.