Oh how I long
to fall asleep soundly.
Turn off the light,
flick the switch
and dream.
I dream alright.
My dreams are so far from reality
I can't bare it.
I know alcohol
can make you weepy,
but the willow with it's reaching branches,
that droops so sadly,
is teetotal.
My pillow
is my confidant.
I silently sob into it's
soggy material,
stuffing corners of duvet in to my mouth
to stifle,
s t i f l e,
the sound.
The taste of salt runs down the creases of my cheeks
and in to my mouth,
taking me back to days at the seaside,
fish and chips.
I finally tumble in to a fitful sleep
thinking of the ocean.
But it swallows me whole.
And I'm drowning.

I think
moss is growing,
webs are forming,
poison ivy is creeping,
weeds are sprouting,
willows are weeping,
inside my chest.
I can hear the echo
of a tiny,
wavering voice,
calling down the
wishing well cavern
inside my rib cage.
"Help me..."
"Don't forget me..."
My shriveled,
weary heart
thumps
and
drums
feebly against my flesh,
crying out for attention,
creating tremors,
earthquakes,
in my overgrown,
suffocating,
internal garden.
The ripples,
in the pools resting on my chest,
tell me
"You're still there."

"Don't give up."

How strange.
The dragon,
which I'd trained so valiantly for,
expected to breathe fire and
spit flames,
turned out to be more like
a cowering puppy.
Hiding behind his hair,
eyes rarely meeting mine,
I could put the sword back in it's case.
I felt more of a beast than you.

How strange.
The struggle I'd imagined,
the whirlwind battle,
where I defeated my demons,
and the dragon,
turned out to be nothing but a mere
pillow fight.
I entered the lair,
to find nobody there.

How strange.
The dragon I thought I'd
fall in love with,
failed to flame the spark.
My heart remained
irritatingly unscorched,
nothing more than the odd
plume of smoke
wafting around us.
And that was mainly your cigarettes.

How strange.
The 'dragon',
with his timid tone
and reserved demeanor,
roared
"F R I E N D."
This knight in
not so shining armour
needs a dragon
who can grip her heart with their claw,
and turn it white hot with desire.
You,
my little 'dragon',
are not that.
But you will make a great
friend
anyway.

"How was your night?"

Drinking,
as usual,
to numb the constant,
dull hum,
of emptiness,
crying by myself,
at the back of the club,
watching my beautiful friends,
with the perfect faces,
find somebody to hold
and love for the night.
Going home by myself,
staring out the smudgy window of the taxi,
wondering if I'll ever make the journey with somebody next to me,
a hand to hold.
Getting into bed as dawn breaks,
just as my heart does the same.

"Fine."

I finally did it.
With a deep breath,
and a little help from my friend Mr Alcohol,
I conquered the dragon.
But now,
despite the heroic gesture,
the sword held high in the air,
it seems the real battle has only just begun.
The day we have decided on
looms
like an execution date.
How do I pretend
that I'm confident?
How will I manage to,
dare I even say it,
flirt?
I feel the raw sensation of panic
creeping up my throat,
a lump that tells me I'll have to choke out my words
to even communicate with you.
I'll be so red you won't be able to tell if I'm embarrassed or sunburnt,
I might shake so that I spill my drink,
it's likely that I won't be able to look you in the eye,
I'll probably keep making frequent toilets breaks,
but if,
if,
you can like me,
even through all that shield I hold up,
I promise you,
I'll wear a suit of armor so strong,
hold a sword so surely,
that no one,
especially me,
will ever hurt you.
I'll slay your dragons.

You've closed in on yourself,
like a butterfly that's gone back in to it's cocoon.
Like somebody whose seen the sickness in the world,
and wants to shut the door.
You've spent the past few weeks scrambling on your hands and knees,
picking up the pieces of your heart that she destroyed.
You've bound them back together with masking tape,
tight as you can with your now
weak
hands.
It's fragile.
You felt it's foundations tremble as I walked through your closed door,
and into your life.

I'm not going to hurt you.

Your skin that's so damp from all the crying,
is the opposite of my thirsty,
yearning body.
Your heart that is so delicate,
balancing on the precipice of
broken
and
fixed,
would fit perfectly inside my own
strong and
empty
one.
I want to show you how I can be your Superwoman,
how I'm ready and waiting to dash into the phone box,
and put on the cape.
I want you to remember how sweet life was when you first left the cocoon.
I'll fix your torn wings.
Step off the edge
and take the leap.
If you fall,
I'm there with my cape to catch you.
Let yourself love again.