it's past four am
and i bet you're sleeping
peacefully
in the next room
but everybody in here is snoring
if only i could hear you snoring
because i'm sure it will still be soothing
if it's coming from you.

but today
you touched my hand
and it was such a simple movement
but i couldn't breathe
but i couldn't focus
and i laughed when you laughed
because i wasn't listening
to the conversation
Just communicating with your hands

today
i could smell you
raw and pure
As you pressed my head
into your chest

and, oh lord, i swear i can smell him through these walls

(or maybe it's your smell clinging to my t-shirt liKe i'm clinging so desperately to the thought of you)

and i'm on this cold sofa
and your warm arms are so close
but not close Enough

and it's past four am
and i want you
so innocently
to just hold me
let me listen to your heartbeat
to steady mine

and it's past four am
and i still think you're beautiful
when you're tired
and your sleepy eyes are my favourite
in their darkened shade of blue

i woke up around four am
and looked instantly to where you were
before
and it's shock
because you're gone
because i couldn't watch you sleep
and you couldn't steady my thoughts with your very presence

and it's past four am
and i'd love you to walk back in here
and take me by the hand
and just hold me close to you
and let me sleep away the nightmares.

because i would treasure every **** second


it's five am
and i'm still awake
and you're still beautiful and
endlessly fascinating
(i'm begging for sleep so i can see you sooner)
and you're way out of my league
and it's all just pointless daydreams

but you touched my hand.

I like you in the backseat of the car.

The first time
I took long (stabilising) breaths
because you were so close
that I could taste your aftershave
in the
            limited
                          amounts
                                            of
                                                  air.

I could only focus on your close proximity
and I bit my lips to stop myself from smiling
stop...
pretend to enjoy the scenery

even though your face
is a perfect landscape
that not even Monet
could create.

I fell asleep in the backseat
that night
The driver guided by the
headlights
street lights
moonlight

but I was guided by you
as you put your head on my shoulder first
saying it was okay
no-one knows us here
in the confined space

except the pair of eyes occasionally
flickering to me and you
through the rear view
mirror.

I haven't been able to close my eyes
and sleep next to someone
for so long
because I'm still a little afraid
of the dark

and even more afraid of the darkness
in my own mind
but the possibility of nightmares
jumps the gun on them all
and scares me to death.

But you got me to sleep
peacefully
and let me stay there
even though I murdered your arm
with my head

like I nearly did once to my own body

you
held my head to your shoulder
pulled me a little closer
as we went over the speed bumps
as if you wanted me have me one less disruption in my life
even if it was only for a moment.

I begged time to slow down
let me stay here
let
       the
              tick
                      tock
                               stop

because maybe if the clock hands
stop moving
my hands can move
onto yours
our fingers will become as intertwined
as our complementary minds.

Now,
my head is on the pillow
but it's not as comfortable as your shoulder
nor is it as warm as your arms

because I like you in the backseat of the car.
do you like me in the backseat too?

(i like you in the backseat of the car.
do you like me in the backseat too?)

I like saying your name so much that when I do, I say it slowly and precisely
Enjoy the taste on the tip of my tongue and let it slip, so effortlessly, through my lips.
I don't let myself say it often, so sometimes I sound out the letters in my head and instead,
I dance with them.


The next time I say your name, it overflows with meaning that goes unnoticed by everyone else  
I pretend your name is just another word

It's a secret between your name and I that even you are not aware of

There you are, structure, bones
standing tall in the sunlight
all of the personality drained away.
Oh, goodbye to that twinkle in your eye
Goodbye to that thing we couldn't put our fingers on, that thing that sparked passion
Because all you are now, is a skeleton.

A skeleton with so many ghosts, war veterans, teachers and teenage girls that I used to know,
even me.
That old version of me who skipped, smiled and run her fingers through her hair
she dances through the corridors when no-one else is there.

Along they came. Dress you up, ready for business. That's one thing I learned from this, patch yourself up, make yourself look okay and no-one will realise how broken you are. No.

No, they won't notice the graffiti marks of those who have been,
on your skin.
No, they won't notice those damp patches,
in the corner,
of your eye.
They didn't notice how your ribs creaked as you let out a sigh,
your final goodbye.
They certainly didn't notice when you closed your eyes to die,
my skeleton...

I remember when you comforted me from the world with soft, warm arms and friendly words.
I remembered how you nurtured us and watched us grow.
A loving kiss on the cheek and off we go, but I couldn't let you go.

So here I stayed to watch you drift away with each passing day as they measured your waist,
for the suit.
Pull it in tighter.
A stitch here,
a stitch there.
Tighter.
Iron out the crease.
Tighter.
No room to breathe.

The suit may not cover your face, but it is a mask, covering up mistakes.
The mistake of your missing heart, the drive, the ambition.
The mistake of your missing eyes, seeing goodness in the world, giving beauty to the hopeless.
And the mistake of your missing smile, inspiration for lost souls trying to find their way home.

But you, you were home to me, my skeleton.
Now however much you lose or decay, you will never go away.
You will always be there, a ghost in my memory.

My loving skeleton who is now in a suit.

Growing up on a strict diet of idealism, tiny spoonfuls and a bitter dessert of disappointment.
We weren't fed to be made strong, we were made wrong.
Lying to ourselves, the world, then being lied to in turn.
It's all we knew because when we were new, they sculpted us.
Filled us with fatal dreams and delusions of being indestructible which, ironically, lead to our downfall.
"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me."
That's the dream.
An impermeable barrier on your very being.
Because can you honestly say you've never been cut by a name?
Round and round they go,
you're constantly haunted by the echoes of spiteful venom that was spewed out
and is now mirrored by your uncontrollable hatred for yourself.
This is what we made.
Completely dead within
destroying yourself from the inside, out.
You've got a war in your mind and battle wounds engraved on your skin.
Mental brokenness is just as bad as physical,
Difficult to function but harder to spot instead.

So try it, go on. I dare you, go ahead.

Try not to limp on a broken leg.