sometimes i think i see you
i forget what you did
i forget that i left
i'm still standing on that beach
in those corridors
i'm still asleep on the floor in my room

sometimes i wake up next to you
your hair curls around my wrists
i'm blind but for your blue eyes
and i forget myself
i forget what you did
and i say your name without thinking
and my mother would hiss
“don’t talk about that ***** in my house”
and i remember myself
and where i stand

and i realise i'm sick
of being the one with my feet on the ledge
equidistant over the edge
extending my hand down to you
as if i should be forgiven
and i'm sick of saying sorry
for something i never did

sometimes i think i see you
but i’ve learned to be patient
i sit and wait for you to say something
you never would have said
when i loved you
and you do
like clockwork
and i watch you as you tick over

because this forgiveness
is for my own sake
and what you did will never be forgotten
every time the person i loved and the person you are
overlap, begin to blur
i look away, i count to ten
and you sit there,
ticking.

i am starved of you,
oxygen-deprived, empty cell spaces -
i am deficient of you
i grow sickly, and pale
too weak to defend.
the absence of you
fills in the space of my gut,
so hollow am i
i am antimatter
i am a blackhole
i consume all that is not you
and it is never, never enough.