Loneliness is easy to confuse

Because people think loneliness

Is the product of a lack of company.


When somebody leaves you

You were alone before they left.


Loneliness is a lack of comfort in yourself.

Being yourself
Means being with yourself
And when you're with yourself
How could you ever feel lonely again?

She worked on a property that I did too
And she lived in the main homestead~
I lived in a bunkhouse where I had my gear
And where I slept in a bunkhouse bed~
I never wanted to get to know her
As I really needed to not get the sack~
But she kept on being way too nice
And she kept on coming back~
She wore a raincoat on that rainy night
That she knocked upon my bunkhouse door~
And asked if I could spare a cup of coffee
As she sat down on my rug near by the fire on my floor~
I said take off your raincoat why don't you
She then said as if she was singing a song~
Well you did asked me once to drop around
When I had nothen on~
What the hell are you smiling about I said
Then she stood and removed that coat~
My eyes almost left their sockets
And there was no way I could clear my throat~
Next morning she donned that coat again
And slowly walked out of my door~
Looking over her shoulder and said
Coffees good .. I'll be back for more~
Never have I loved raincoats so much
Can't wait to see that one again~
And now I go into a coughing fit
Whenever the boss says , God I'd **** for rain ~

Terrence Michael Sutton
copyright 1988 .

// she falls in love the same way that she falls apart; quickly and all at once.

tumbling into his outstretched palms with a startling intensity, his fists clench and she cries.

she wants him to hurt her, leave smouldering bruises around her neck. Force your fingers down her throat and make her beg. maybe this love; choking sounds and blood.

it’s almost funny, the fact that she still hasn’t learned yet; make him your everything and you will be left with nothing.

and it feels like hell, almost romantic.

her lips part in the dimly lit room, gasping for air.

that’s the thing, there is nothing he could do to her that she wouldn’t do to herself. hold a knife to her neck and watch her soul drip from her mouth

one rib at a time you snapped them all like twigs and complained that she made too much noise. too much,

too loud.

lungs swimming in fluid yet she breathes out flowers, because that’s what pretty girls do; that’s what you wanted isn’t it babe? beauty. perfection.

don’t let him inside your head, keep him between your thighs or else everything around you will become white noise; fading into the background.

go on, romanticise it. i dare you.

force its unwilling bones into a metaphor or a simile.

pretend that we fall apart into beautiful, tragic spectacles and simply glue the broken fragments back together

she sat in the dark with a cup of tea between her shaking hands, resisting the urge to split her veins over the white walls and string her organs from the ceiling like fairy lights.

wanting to die in the most violent of ways is a lot less convenient than it seems; an unholy addiction of the rawest degree.

darling, i’m sorry he made you feel like you are hard to love,

because loving you is the easiest thing in the world //