It's Friday night and I could pretend that I'm going to some party where
The boys are too drunk and
The girls have lost themselves in between the bathroom mirror and the bathroom floor.

Maybe the music is a bit too loud but the smoke outside should cover it up.

You might be leaning against the side of a couch or
Up against a wall with someone else-
A girl, maybe, with too long eyelashes
And hair that reeks of perfume
(I know you hate it).

I would probably walk in and change the music, do a little jig that makes people laugh but I won't remember it in the morning.

You could come over and pull me out into the biting chill of the backyard's night and tell me about the things you saw in the bathroom upstairs.

I would grab your face and kiss it all over and you'd let me because you'd be doing the same thing.

Step one, step two, step three
And it led me home.

And that was last night and I'm craving for your skin again.
Goodnight.

More than anything I want to make beautiful things.

Beautiful things which shock my teachers who
never gave my work much thought.

Beautiful things which confirm to my parents that I
am not a waste of years and years of upbringing.

I have already come to love myself, and it seems
only logical to make others love me the only way I
know how.

I will make make beautiful things. And they will love me.

I went to a party on Saturday night,
one of those inane get-togethers
for so-and-so who came back from
that place that they went.
Though of course,
it's only an excuse to get drunk since
someone scored some cheap, ******
beer from an older sibling or whoever.

I spent about 45 minutes leaning
against some sticky couch before
I saw you standing in a corner, stupidly
close to the speakers and you were
wearing a hessian scarf that had to be
scraping your blemished neck, but
you didn't seem fazed by it at all.

It's probably the new trend like last
week it was platform sneakers that only
the Flinders Street Steps would ever
wear. Sometimes I imagine a conversation
with one of those kids, though it never
gets past them glaring at me.

I nodded, you nodded
(this means we're now friends)
and passed you a cup of some
****-beer that I'm sure you didn't want but
you probably just took it to avoid saying
no and making this more awkward.

I asked you what school you went to and
you replied with some made-up name
that was probably indigenous or something
since a bunch of old, white preachers
didn't want to offend anyone.

You shrugged.

You asked me a question and I countered
it until it became some kind of 20
questions tennis, minus the ***** secrets
but still adequately laced with teenage
awkward. You told me you wrote poetry
and I laughed saying, "Doesn't everybody?"

I realise now that I'm a little hypocritical.

Prodigies, poets, peacemakers:
These are the names we were given before
Avery or Jaxson or Ahlivea
(because ***** the traditional names).
Why couldn't Ruth or Peter or Hester
fulfil these standards for us? I asked you this.

You just shrugged again.

I looked around the stupidly cramped room,
watched some girls pull down their skirts
(for decency, of course),
watched some boys light up their spliffs and
fall over their post-pubescent yeti feet.
I pointed this out; you just nodded and drank.

I noticed the school captain from last year
passed out on the sticky couch.
We talked about him for a little and you said
he got into law at that fancy university in the city
but he shows up to all of his classes completely
hammered. He still manages to hold a 3.5 GPA.

Eventually, we descended into silence
and turned to our phones,
as is the apparent course of action and the
easiest out to a conversation with someone,

Since none of us know better.

Did I ever tell you that I miss you?
That now when the sun shines, I can't feel its warmth
Because I'm quite sure that you were the sun for me
My own bright star.

I could romanticise the constellations for you,
I really could.
But you of all people know that I was never a
Romantic.
Instead of love letters I'd give you stutters
And instead of flowers I'd give you a crane
Made from the napkin that I used to wipe pasta
Sauce from my face.

Unsurprising is the fact that you left without a word,
Leaving me here to write words about you and
Your arms when they held me,
Even for the briefest of moments.

Sometimes my brain tells my eyes that it was you
That passed the corner by our cafe.
But I'm still convinced that you're a dream and I'm
An insomniac not quite woken up,
Since my eyes are still half-closed.

You could be my Sirius or my Adhara,
Or even their flanks.
After all, Mirzam and Sirius were lovers-
Or siblings, I never did quite get that right.

Forgive me, gorgeous.
I lose my mind around you and talk about the
Stars as if they're your eyes.

That would indeed be the closest comparison,
After all.

For my "Big Brother".*
Love Always, *****.

You said it was adorable
The way my hair curled
around the hollows of my neck
Brushing across my skin
like a
n o o s e

You said my looks could shatter glass,
that my repugnant features
would SURELY guarantee a life of solitude
You loved to point out my flaws
And how my laugh was too late
breathing too loud
walking too fast

The shallow scars on my wrists
were alluring to you
you encouraged me to make more
and I loved the kiss of cold metal just a little too much
and
you
loved
that
I
loved
it.

You said you understood me
my thoughts were dark and scattered
I wasn't always able to share them with you
But I didn't need to
you already
"u n d e r s t o o d"

my dark companion
the only one I ever trusted
We fought our demons together
Dragging the other to hell as well

You wasted no time in telling me
what a waste I was
of skin
of space
and I wasted no time in  b e l i e v i n g  you

You would hold me in your arms
and whisper bittersweet nothings
compliments with a hard slap attached
convincing me I was far more flawed than I am.

We fought like rabid wolves
growling,
hissing,
howling,
circling,
nipping at my ankles,
you'd force me to f a l l.

tearing and ripping apart flesh
with words
and my feeble palms
left angry red marks on your chest and face
but my struggle only made you more eager

Every tear that fell from my face
gave you life
every sob that came from my throat
gave you a voice
you could not stand alone
you said
y o u  c o u l d   n o t   l i v e   w i t h o u t   m e

You said I didn't understand you
that I could never comprehend the torment YOU
were experiencing
I was FAR too dull to see.

It wasn't until I realized
I didn't need to play your childish games
I didn't need you
or your "passionate, intense" heart.

Once I stopped hitting back
your blows became harder

Not worthy of love.

Not worthy of life.

Not worthy of existence.

And I believed you.
I trusted you.

E n d   i t,
you said.
Peering down at the street far below us

You said to.

The height was dizzying

Y o u   s a i d
"Jump."

I stood beside a boy today that
smelled the same way that you do.
It brought me back to the
summer and how we had
our faces so close. Everything
so close.

They say that scent is the strongest
trigger for memories that we have.

Well I remember your arms and
my fingers in your hair
and the way that you told me
I was beautiful, but you're
so beautiful.

I remember your face when
you were sleeping and the way
that we met. Both a little
broken and both a little too
over our heads.

I'm sorry that I'm late, Madame, but
I was in the bathroom reading
The suicide letter of the boy that
Broke his heart 4 years ago.
I remember he bought my icy-pole
On the hottest day of the year
Because I was 10¢ short and
Only in year 7. So small.
He played basketball and won
More games for our school in
Two years than it had won
In twenty.
Everyone always wondered
Why the boy that all the
Girls wanted, never dated
Until the day that they did.
I remember there being a lot
Of yelling and an ambulance
And the only bathroom stall
Roped off with crime tape.
I remember a long, white
Muscled arm dripping
Blood from a plastic stretcher.
The arm which had scored
Countless three-pointers and
Inspired the small male population
Of the school was cold,
Reaching out to me.
I tried to take his hand but
A policeman told me to back
Away. From my hero.
From my icy-pole saviour.

I had a dream about you last night.
I thought that I had forgotten you but
There you were,
Sitting on my roof
Trying to give me a book that I had
Already read.

I was going through old facebook messages deleting ones that didn't seem like they had a purpose anymore. I found three threads from dead friends. One died in a car crash, she was seventeen. Last thing she said to me was "I'll see you later Joshy-Poo!" and she gave me a hug. She died the next day. Another friend killed himself. Last thing I talked with him about was the good reference I would give him for a job since I was his manager. He blew his head off a couple months back. Now their ghosts are still on my wall. Messages forever stamped in a way. An inbox that will never be checked.
Other messages I went over were just people or untitled "users" that never messaged back or I the other way around because I didn't want them in my thoughts anymore. But still these words remained... until I deleted them.
We all push forward my dear, but entropy increases. It always increases...

What holds more power,
the stars in the sky or the coals in a fire?
By all accounts, most stars in the sky have been dead longer than this planet has been alive.
We just see them in passing.
But the coals in this fire are still alive and powerful.

More can still come from this...