To my friends, I’m sorry I’m not always around anymore.
Apparently growing up means struggling to get out of the door.
It means laying awake all night and struggling to get up in the mornings.
It means wishing you hadn’t said that,
And feeling your head full of forewarnings.
Stop playing with your hair,
Stop being so intense,
Stop crying over nothing,
Stop trying to make sense of everything and just let it be. But that’s harder than it seems.

To my friends, I’m sorry I second guess everything you say.
Apparently growing up means leading yourself astray.
It means wishing you’d stayed in when you’d gone out.
It means filling your head with constant feelings of doubt.
Do I look fat in this outfit?
Do they even want me around?
Do I annoy you all the time?
Do they hate every sound that I make? Because that’s always how it feels.

To my friends, I’m sorry I keep contacting you to make sure you’re okay.
Apparently growing up means having thoughts of constant dismay.
It means you feel like everyone you love doesn’t want you there.
And dealing with a constant ache in your heart much like despair.
I’m not good enough.
I’ll never succeed.
I’m always so unhappy.
And so these thoughts bleed into my everyday life. I just can’t stop them.

To my friends I’m sorry if I seem selfish all the time.
I’m sorry I’m mostly self destructive.
And I’m sorry I can only express my feelings in rhyme.

Because I’m scared you won’t listen to me otherwise.

If you are not an addict it’s difficult to understand.
How one minute you’re pouring water, the next there’s whisky in your hand.
I drive home from work and stop in a coffee shop, pick up a coffee and make my way off.
He drives home from work and stops in a pub, picks up a pint and forgets how to love.
He comes home wide-eyed and restless in nature,
And I know the man getting into my bed is a stranger.
Someone who, up until recently I knew,
But then he re-filled his blood stream replacing it with toxicity.
And although he makes it home to me,
I still share a complicity.
I try not to be anguished and it take it so personally.
After all when I close my eyes he’s still the only one I see.
I just wish I could cure him but I’m starting to think I’m incapable,
That no amount of loving someone can make an addiction escapable.

At night and when you are sleeping,
I can see you bare in all of your skin and all the flaws that make you human.
I trace circles of flesh and rainbows in bruises;
Every scar and scratch,
Every flourishing freckle,
Everything that makes you, you.

There’s a kaleidoscope of veins that cascade colourful fractions of your heart into mine.
Every boorish blue and radiant red,
Every drop of your waterfall of thoughts from inside your head,
Everything that makes me love you like I do.

And yet part of me wants to fully engulf you, so you’re not simply just naked but so you, like I become truly infatuated.
I want to smooth out that frown like a crumpled piece of paper.
Every heavy sigh and weighty wonder,
Every restriction that dampens your day,
Everything that reduces that part of you who,
Takes that light bulb moment and creates a projection of the most beautiful smile in all of creation;
And proposes a sentiment of love for my eyes to lap up, and up until our demise.

When you no longer love me I think I will know it,

And it won't be because I've betrayed you.

It will be signs in things that once made you sing,

Instead now they abstain or repulse you.

When I no longer tickle your fancy but instead I tickle your last nerve.

When I no longer ignite your pulse but instead I extinguish it.

When I no longer sing through your skin but instead I pierce it.

I know you you will no longer love me.

When I’m no longer the breath that fills both your lungs, instead I take needles and puncture them.

When I’m no longer the stream that carries your dreams, instead I capsize you and drown them.

When I’m no longer the fuel that feeds each of your bones, instead I withhold it and starve you.

I know you will no longer love me.

It won’t be because my smile’s gone stale; it won’t be because you dislike me.

It won’t be because my affections set sail; it won’t be because you’ve lost me.

When you no longer love me I think I will know it,

And it won’t be because I’ve betrayed you.

It will be because you simply forgot,

Each part of me that once amazed you.