With my hand on the telephone
I wait anxiously to hear your
voice again, a voice that
licks my ears like honey,
memories come back
vividly, flooding me with
longing, I used to be
better than this,
better than waiting
like a child for
Christmas, up at the
crack of dawn, awake
all night listening
for sleigh bells,
but you have made me
wild, one of a hundred
sad women living with
their eyes and heart,
sleepwalking, left with nothing
but a longing for a voice
on the telephone
to tell me I'm beautiful
and "please wait
for me" and I know
I would wait endlessly
for you, desperately,
as if you were a cup
of water at the end
of a a hot summer's day,
I am weak and wounded
foolishly hoping you will
heal me. Is this how I die?
waiting with my hand
on the telephone

just remember
what you’re seeing
what you’re feeling
what you’re hearing

it is the beat of love

and I, my steps
quick and frantic
hold all the I see
I feel
I hear

in the palm of my hand
like a bird
temporarily caged
about to be set

free

In the corner of your eye
I see a tear

that takes me to the heart
of the ocean

the roar of the waves
shaking my ears

in a desperate cry
to be heard

darling, I hear you

your head folded into my neck
like a paper aeroplane

our lips meeting
passing nectar that restores

even the frailest, weakest of men
from the brink of

their hollow, lonely death

you are in my arms
and there is nothing left to fear

but the fear
of fearing to love

a candle reflected
in the mirror

echoes of spells
and rituals

conjuring love

overpowering each one
of my senses

the brightest light
glimmering in
my eyes

the softest touch
waking up
my skin

the rustle of tarot
cards being shuffled

a whispered promise

I can almost taste you

It was another dewy morning in  June;

the grass outside the apartment block was damp with promise
in the early morning sun

light streamed through the
***** glass of my bathroom window, highlighting my face as I lay stirring on the floor, my limbs bruised and heavy

an empty pill bottle, a couple of escaped tranquillisers, littered the black/grey slate floor

It was cold to the touch, and I

Frozen

memories came pouring back, before my head had a chance to catch up. My mind racing at the speed of a thousand cheetahs.

last night, my heart had been ripped open, left in ribbons for a child to come and play with. It was bleeding into my chest, I was drowning in my own blood.

Drowning. Drowning.

I had thought of it.

Ophelia had become something of a role model. A beautiful, tragical, wailing girl who had tied flowers in her hair and skipped off into the lake, pockets heavy with rocks

But no, there would be no ceremony for me, no bittersweet beauty.

The bottle was in my hand, like a grenade, and all I had to do was pull the pin

If I could hold everyone
I ever loved
ever kissed
ever touched
ever wanted forever with
in one heart

and let it rest in the palm
of my hand

I would come close to holding
the world

knifes slashing designer shirts
their ribbons scattered across the lawn
so that everyone can see your callous
heart. Your reckless romance with a girl
who you don’t own a house with.

I smash mirrors. They say you will always see a man in the mirror, flickering between the candles. I thought that man was you.

I play her messages on the answerphone as loud as they will go. I want people to hear and know how cruel you have been.

I used to be better than this.

but love makes you weak and petty, when it is taken away.