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Grace Eccleson Feb 2013
It doesn't matter does it
No matter how hard you try the rain will still seep into your shoes
on the cold Febuary mornings that are too short and so long
No one cares the time it took to learn the tricks
and how you sat there, staring at the wall and the back of a red head
until your feet were numb and your eyes began to doubt

If i had a child I would tell them to never go down the path I wanted
It is too bumpy and full of old trees like the path that beauty looked down before choosing to ride.
I would ask them to keep dreams small and feelings smaller
and fill their big eyes with present not hope.
But I would have lied, and in lying only woken to want to dream again

I want so much.
And it feels too big for one body to take the knocks that rein down.
and its only the second one.
Grace Eccleson Dec 2012
It doesn't stop does it?
The falling.
If you never knew when it started.
Or never accepted it.
I guess then you wouldn't know when you'd hit the bottom

I don't know how to stop it
Reaching for his hand with all of me
But knowing there is too much of him
Or IT.
Whatever it, is.

Like watching a small child stumble and **** on their mothers arm.
But I can't be his mother
Lover.

And seeing the slow motion lurch open
in glorious high definition high spec
The tug on the tendons and thunk of sockets
ricochet and ripple uncontrolled.
So uncontrolable.

When did he trip?
Why can't I tell?
Or was the not telling the making as well?

I refuse to watch the rabbit hole swallow
If he goes down
I will always follow.
Grace Eccleson Dec 2011
Cursing the crap cluttered coats hanging in their rigor-mortis regiments
only to fall to the floor again
and again.
I cannot speak to insufferable sirens but suffer alone instead
Crying into the soft white bread and texting tormentedly
Lost is everything insignificant that I desperately require
Gone is the fear of Sugared words: 'you're fired'
Leaving for more clustered, flustering days
that fade to an unreachable haze
I sit inside time, it taunts my heart
flashing past in joy and in bordem refusing to part
Decisions must be decided and lessons must be learnt
as I shall push myself, but this should hurt more,
More shoved into my core
which trembles flabbily inches from the floor.
Do not question me
Do not inquire
Just provide me with the life i desire.
Forgive my childishness and ranting scrawl.
But i'm tired, and I only see days before a fall
Grace Eccleson Dec 2011
The tea on my table sits drained
and has done for some time.
A cold ring lying in the china cradle.
My back hurts.
I feel the soft pink leather on my fingers
and it reminds me of my time to count.
I worry there is too little to fill so much.
I ask for a refill
Something soothing in ritual pouring
filling my air with curls of steam
Glance at the watch again.
Suddenly I think of him.
Hope he's doing ok.
I write questions to pass time and stop the slight shaking
i wish someone would close that door
and hope someone will accept me.
Grace Eccleson Dec 2011
I want to show you the stars on my wall at night
How my skin looks in the pale green light
We'd lie there side by side
And i'd show you those stars

I want to show you Painswick fields in the sun
Where me and my friend often run
to hide away from the world
And we'd hide in those fields

I want to show you the house by the sea
From a time before you and me
I'd feel your hand in mine
And we'd look out beyond

I want to show you something most of all
That makes all those places seem small
I'd use all the words I can
And I'd show you just how happy I am
Grace Eccleson Dec 2011
Tell me...
are you...
am I part of the mad?
Reading the thoughts that you had.
Not so unlike mine
well...
lies.
My thought process...
So similar to your narrative.
Will I too bend
Under the stress?
Gas
So suitible for your end
Not clogging or burning
but watching the air bend
drifting into emptiness...
where you felt trapped.
A fitting closure.
Tell me
Was it your mind that finished you?
Your own self
Drove your self-taking?
Please
I need to know if i'll be my end too.
Grace Eccleson Dec 2011
What a strange sensation is adoration.
Totally consumed by thoughts of him.
taken, but given in utter frustration
Myself, my love, infatuation.
Consused, yet careless and
yet so full of care!
Wanting to weep, only if you're there.
Wanting pain
for the pleasure of consuming comfort.
Wanting you
Yet deliberately avoiding
So I don't lose you.
Knowing you understand
but never can
Hoping you know
but never will
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