Am I just a figment of your information
Rolling round your head
Until you see me again.

So tell me
Am I in your head?
When I don't materialise,
Does another me fill
The space between your ears?

Has she made a home inside your head
Does she sit at the vanity mirror of your soul
Remembering your every memory with me
Examining every moment of your contact with me
For you?

Does she see
How you feel
Does she clear the clutter on the drawer top
And open the drawers of your mind
To see what you're thinking.
Do you feel
Like she feels
Exactly the way you feel

Does she act out the fantasies
You dream of having with me
Conversations that time cuts out
Tension that can bend hands
Behind backs
Does she kiss you
Like you want me to
But I can't
Because time is always burning
Soon all we'll be left with is ash

Does she tell you how I feel?
Does she crawl into your innermost thoughts,
Turning rationality on its head
Like you do?
Like you do to me?
Like you do?

is not the black hole,
the remnants of something that
once used to shine from
a million light years
above
a sign
that death does not
limit, but empower?

Look inside
the black holes
of his eyes
and find
a nightmare
meeting your gaze.

Look inside
past the crimson
of her lies
and find
a terrible tale
hiding just behind.

Look inside
beneath the flawless skin
that protects the beast within
and find
that cruelty is born
when kindness is not seen.

Look inside
Deep in my eyes
Made of starry skies
and find
that the shadows
are reflected there.

They become names
Like the rims of baked-bean tins
That have to be handled with care

They are a bunch of flowers
Tied to a lamppost
Or a bench with words carved in

They are a Wikipedia page
Or a library shelf
Or a nothing
A nobody

They swell into memories
Wilted and swimming like wax
They seem to be stood there
When the sunlight blusters
Over dust
Because dust is just dead cells
That we all inhale
Exhale
Like we’ll choke them back into existence

They reside in half-empty
Boxes of tissues
Cigarette packets
The bubbles in lemonade

They become a mantelpiece of photographs
And sympathy cards
Broken toys
Empty T-shirts that you’ll try to turn into puppets
Sat in their wardrobe

They fall into certain songs
Certain car journeys
Occasionally they borrow your tongue
To continue voicing certain phrases
Certain people
Certain places
Certain rooms
Certain tastes
Certain seasons
Certain sunsets

Or maybe they just toss and turn
Beneath the church built of handkerchiefs
Like commuters coffined into underground trains
Wondering whether they can still believe
In tunnels
And golden lights.

Sometimes, when I watch the stars
I wonder if they watch us too

I wonder if we, humans, amaze them
Grace the view that they see
Sparkle a light that they admire
Or maybe otherwise
I wonder if we scare them
Upset their lives with our presence
Disgust them with our dark hearts

I wonder if they deem us a splendid beauty
Or a horrible horrible mistake