Tell her I miss the mother that stole me from school
So we could get surprise Ice cream cones
Just me and her.
And tell her I miss her

Tell her I miss the mother that said my name just as much as my sisters
And asked about my day at school
And if I had anything to tell her,
And always claim to be the proudest mother.
Tell her I miss her

Tell her I remember exactly when she stopped being super man
Tell her I got older and I understand mistakes
Tell her I can forgive more than most can
But I’ll never understand
Why she gave up on me.
Why she loves me less,
Why she doesn’t care
About these holes in my chest.
But tell her that I miss her.

Tell her I remember when space was not an option
When she would tell me I could do whatever I wanted and she
Would be there.
That no one loved me as much no one cared like she cared.
And tell her that I miss her.

We sat on top
of the old bomb shelter
on the grass
outside Banks House

evening was creeping in
sky darkening
moon showing
lights on
in the flats
above us

Lydia said
I’ll have to go soon
or my mum'll be
on the  war path
me being out still
and school tomorrow

just a few more minutes
I said

a steam train
went over
the railway bridge
over the way
by the Duke of Wellington pub

I love the smell of trains
she said
if I close my eyes
I think I’m on a train
to Scotland or the seaside

we could go
to Paddington train station
I said
I think trains to Scotland
go from there

Lydia looked at me
do they?

yes I' sure they do
I said

she smiled
could we go there
some day?

what Scotland?
I said

no silly
to Paddington station
she said laughing

sure we can
she looked away
and at the moon
above us
stars were visible

best go
she said
or Mum'll
be after me

ok
but we'll make
Paddington
maybe Saturday?

I'll ask Mum
Lydia said
or maybe Dad
he'll know
which trains
go there

we stood up
and climbed down
the bomb shelter
onto the grass
and walked along
by the flats

and maybe one day
she said suddenly
we can go
to Scotland

sure we will
I said

and she seemed happy
about that
and we climbed
the metal fence
and walked up
the *****
and into the Square
and I walked her
to her front door

she knocked
and her mother
opened the door

you're late
she said sternly

we've been talking
Lydia said softly

her mother looked at me
with her stern eyes

it's late
the moon's out
and there's
school tomorrow

Lydia frowned
and walked in
and her mother
shut the door

I walked off
and up the stairs
to my parent's flat
thinking of Scotland
and Lydia and me
and the sky darkened
like a deep moonlit sea.

She tastes like the sun
that our bitter lives made.

And perhaps this truth
is why we can't be saved.

For the starlit girl
speaks against our false truths.

Not so innocent,
yet full of passion's youth.

The lunar eclipse
is not enough for her.

We are the disease.
And she? She is the cure.

You stab me in the back with a knife,
and I apologize for bleeding on it.

You were a nauseating complication
that had nothing to do
with the pain that I do now feel.
Your inconsistent
consistency
brings me down.

The cowl that you wear among that filthy hair
brings a halfhearted laugh
with the frown that I do now wear.
Your inconsistent
consistency
brings me down.

Amid the rope that you continue to jump
sits the lonely and lost
with the flowers we do now hold.
Your inconsistent
consistency
brings me down.

A little bit of greed had crossed my mind,
when I saw brother, pale with that lush fruit.
Like a ghost he sat, yet my envy grew.

I rushed down the hall to my dear mother
and in a single breath I told my tale,
Oh dear brother, why did I heed her word?

Your head rolled, and beside it went my mind.
Mom's wolfish grin claimed you for supper,
but you deserved more than Midas could give.

I took your remains, and wrapped them in silk.
You rested by the woman with no name.
As a bird sang on that juniper tree.

That night we ate my brother's memory,
father with sorrow on his furrowed brow,
and mother whose mask was merely a mirror.

That little songbird came down from heaven,
and mother's mask started gaining some cracks,
as the bird sang on that juniper tree.

With a final song, my mother was gone,
and on her gravestone, my dear brother stood.
it was a miracle, our love was warm.
Our hearts embraced by that juniper tree.

You leave each weekend to go to heaven,
Carelessly disregarding our own hell.
Hysterically I wait for your descent
I pick you up, tarnished, and wish you well.

The other children also do observe
That irony in your notes of remorse.
Pretending we aren't unimportant.
When we are but your stable's weary horse.

Return now, you immaculate liar.
We don't need you, angels shall warm our fire.