breathe me in with

cigarette smoke

so i can cling

to your dying cells,

           since i cannot

           hold your hand

or heart

Home for moments to gather
self/belongings/thoughts.
Step right up to the ******* edge.
Beneath my form;
one thousand
        foot
              drop.

Tethered by words and
a knock at the door,
step away, breathing-

Just breathing.

Quick flashed smiles and
‘Are you going out tonight?’
With a reply, of course:
in words, ‘of course’.

And breathing,
with a song running under skin
proving opposite of words
they sing.

So step away from edge
and walk down hill
with head held high.
Lead self to memories,
crying dont
        you
              stop

Take time in morning to breathe in ***** fumes,

Enough to assess damage and open new bottles,

Escape from collection of bruises marking paths

Along bodies and pull teeth from ****** lips with

Aching lungs.  Push through it with music blasting in ears,

Rose petals littered with thorns and hate fueled words.

Shaking knees to breathe life to memories of night.

Sleeping forms scattered throughout, curled on floor

Here and there.  Blood trails to burst noses and

yet another break up.  Shivers running under skin,

Commence the search for clothes that is more than

Someone else’s jacket and knickers dangerously close

To ripping.  Piece together fractured moments

Leaving jagged edges on show, mental notes

To write each one down later, and display to all

Your state of mind.

I have been awake for two days

I think

I can see more clearly now

What I thought I could before

As I fight to focus my brain

On the colours in the whitewash

And that – that is a giraffe

With a balloon

And that one person on your mind

Who you have not thought on for at least

A few minutes

I think

And the words are blurred

Clear and concise

Forced together

From a string of consciousness

I lost somewhere Thursday night

As I looked at the back

Of your head

And thought

Of how clear it all was

As my head hit the pillow

And I was up again

To rush about the day

In slow motion

And talk to no one

And not sleep

For two days

In order to create

This

                            *And whatever else

I cannot lie,

That with each word spilled

And spat from bruised and torn lips

The brain feels

So much lighter

And heavier still

                        *And I would be floating

                         If not

                         For you

Attach blossoms to hide;
Framed by wreaths

And breaking hearts

Words have not torn
From thoughts to throat

Will not reach sound
To speak, with feeling

—Of what little I know
Of feelings