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Ella Gwen Mar 2018
I was sick when we met
and you liked it.

My body was airborne, bones of a feather,
jutting out like a blade for you to
run your fingertips across.

I always left at 4am, half raving mad with
exhaustion, the pinprick bleeding, pale exhaustion,
you closing the door as I fell into the night.

You inevitably commented
on the way my ribs arched, taut rise of bones
leering obscene through lean skin.

They were each a transparent edge,
observed my breath was a desperate pant, I
needed help, not blunt trauma to the lips.
Ella Gwen Mar 2018
and then when it comes to it
I am reminded
of the paltry promise each beat brings

come, take my hand
for I offer it
to any who seeks its pledge

willingly, I demand it
for solitary I see no worth
in what it has to give

please, I desire your attention
the play wreaks havoc with he
who vows his last breath

too sublime, his proffer
golden-gilded, open handed
blinding triumph

yet still I plead for more

and despite this
I retain that which
I do not deserve.
Ella Gwen Jan 2018
and those grays, which chafe at dry skin
between intermittent

bursting, brief songs of sunshine
subtle shifts in the light, faces tipped up,
graced in its presence for too short a time

to lift a smile, although I

Ella Gwen Jan 2018
It is tomorrow as I stray solitary
and walk myself awake, standing
on the grass that grows the greenest
on this here higher side
where the moon sleeps in the shadows
above your mud-cloaked body.

My bare feet ***** down the flora
that grows hopeful from your skin
and up I turn, looking for comfort
in a bare and barren sky

where even the brightest stars,
those thousand sharpened shards
of brittle glass glimmering,
fade too into blackness

as here, cloaked in this shining dark,
I am reminded
that the full fury of the sun rests so still now,
held blind beneath my weary feet.
Ella Gwen Jan 2018
A trickle of freshwater
transparent, streaming down
building until the rampant river rages
frothing ***** underneath this pale skin

I question the worthiness of my water
crashing next to his, his estuaries wander
of new continents and mine falls,
losing weight, losing track, losing direction

to pool, fat and turgid, darkening in the lower light
stagnant waters reeking of incompetence and mud
whilst the estuaries delight in new discoveries and I
lose myself in my reflection.
Ella Gwen Dec 2017
Flying under the sky, over the sea

To the next adventure, you and me.
Is this short poem any good?

I want to write it on my partners present, but I'm slightly worried it's terrible.
Ella Gwen Nov 2017
You whistle at me, here witnessed for the
first time in 589 days. I stop.

You stare. You smile. Your warm eyes still
sicken me. My old friend.

Tell me you miss me, see surprise at such sorrow,
but, still, do not touch my skin.

It's brief; I have to go. You linger and I walk away.

Welcome home, food on the table, a smile a little hesitant,
you're angry I am late.

A message reveals itself unwelcome. I respond, bleak
unrepentant work. I love him, not you.

This time, he does not write back.

Vindictive, I want to add
you were just a lesson
never to be repeated.
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