We used to sit up and talk
all through the night,
sleeping only when
our mouths ran
dry

at first your voice
was the only bit
of you that I
could stand

but soon,
your eyes
began to shine
bright blue
and wide

and I fell
into their
waves

now I stare
into their sea
and wait
hopeless
for you to
speak again

like a deep
sea diver
running out of
oxygen

I drown
and choke

and wait

for the water
to claim me

The first days of Spring are out,

I run through the woods
weaving in and out
of the trees

kicking up
green leaves
and the heads
of yellow flowers

I like to think that you're
still chasing me

one night you didn't
come home and I knew,
somehow, that you
were gone for good

we used to play
here, before
the winter came,

we'd sit for hours
reading each other

writing love letters
with sticks
and stones

my skirt catches
on a branch
and throws me
back, back
to that night
and I remember
that now it's
just me and
the trees
for company

He pressed a twenty pound note
soaked in whiskey
into my hand

This is for the taxi home

my legs are dead
and bruised

hair ripped out
at the roots

black leather boots
scuffed at the kick

make it look like
an accident

a broken glass
on the floor

a red wine kiss
at midnight

frozen lips that
whisper lustful
moans

and I remember
the first drink
in the park

the innocent brush
of a hand against
a thigh

as I take the money
and run

He asked me how I've changed.

I guess it starts with the little things,
a braid instead of hippy locks,
an inch taken off the heel,
white wine instead of shots

I hold my keys between my fingers
and spread them out like claws,
I keep my back to the traffic
and turn my head to the floor

I practise screaming in my living room,
until my throat turns to sandpaper,
I drag my nails across my skin
until my skin soaks red

I check the doors and windows
once, twice, three times
and then repeat
repeat again

I take sleeping pills when it's daylight
and drink strong coffee when it's dark,
I tell my friends that I'm busy that night
and hope they stop asking me out

I never risk the last train
or stop for a driver with his window down,
I don't approach the homeless
or acknowledge my name

I try not to think about the big things,
the shard of ice that sits where my heart used to be,
a shame that threatens to **** you,
a rage you can barely contain

I tell him that I haven't changed at all.

It was a plague passed
through kisses, I never
thought it would ****
me, but I woke up
one day, dead limbed
and deaf to everything
except the sound
of waves crashing against
the peaks of my heart,
and I couldn't move
without you

Fireworks sent me to you,
red and green, burning
stars and flower
crackers

I try to hold onto that.

I spy
a split back
dress, blanched
skin, from where
I sit

That used to be me,
with your hair
in delicate knots and your
knees creeping out from
under your skirt

When did I stop
shaving my legs?

I let myself
go, drift away in the
same way that cats will
wonder away from
their home to
die

As memories claw
grasping and teasing
with black and white
photographs of a girl,
a butterfly that
reverted back
to a larva