I woke up with a pain in my chest
I woke up wanting to scream
I woke up with your name on my tongue
I woke up and I couldn't breathe

My tears fall
As I have fallen for you
I don't hate you, not at all
Can't we start anew?

I don't think i ever will
Stop loving you
From late April until
My heart stops aching for the moon

Children get handed things easily,
and they learn
that it's easier to throw away
than to hold on and keep it.

Adults are very different,
they cherish things
and would not objectify others
since humans are not things.

But right there,
throwing you away
like an object,
the man who was no longer a child said;

"I don't want you anymore"

Have you seen me?
I've been gone for a while
I died last week while you were away
Nothing left but my empty body for you to scream at
Have you ever seen you?
I've been piercing the air with my pain
How do you not notice how I feel
Gone without a trace
Were you ever there
Did you ever love me?
I loved you more than my next breath
Did you see me?
When I finally realized who I was and who I am?
It's okay if you didn't
Because it has nothing to do with you anymore

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

The bowl of a glass ashtray
on the night-stand
is brimming with cigarette
butts and burnt tobacco.

This is what wasted
time looks like.

Grey songs
of a caged bird:
*ashes and cigarette butts

Muse hasn’t left my bedside for days:
         she races around
         the garden when I sleep:
                            it’s the only time she leaves,
                            she’s so loyal.
A few days ago, I heard Muse barking
         in the garden;
         I knew she’d seen the woodpecker again.
                       I’ve learnt the differences in her voice:
this is what comes of weeks bedbound.
But when the sedatives wear off
         I can do more than lie there:
                       I can feel the touch from my grandma,
                       I can smell last night’s family supper,
                                    I’m lucid.
Yesterday, the electroconvulsive therapy shocked my brain
                       today, my muscles feel as knotted
                                    as my oesophagus.
I’m on my back now; my only company
         is the ceiling; not even
                        the canopy of stars I once gazed at with joy.
                                      
© Sia Jane