1.  You smelt like cheap aftershave and you smoked a packet a day. I didn't want to hold your hand but you made me. I washed my sheets 3 times after you left but I still couldn't get your stench out of my room.

2. You're probably still my favourite. Our hands fitted perfectly together but you made absolutely no effort to visit and I couldn't deal with that.

3. You were too clingy and at first it was okay but you quickly became a leech and you ****** all of the goodness out of me.

4. Thank you for helping me realise there's more to life than love. You were the greatest thing I never had.

5. You tasted like stale tabacco and when we kissed it wasn't real enough. You were quick to touch my skin but your fingers lingered over my heart.

6. Im sorry for leaving you when you needed me the most. But you had no substance, you were meaningless and I couldn't provide you with a reason to exist.

7. Your touch was like a shot of ******. I instantly wanted more. I craved you when you weren't near.

8. I hated your tattoo. It was cheap and nasty and didn't represent you very well. You were weak and you drunk gin like it was water and your mother made the best apple pie I ever tasted.

9. I would of married you. But you were too competitive. I didn't want to spend my entire life chasing you around the house because you were scared to sit still incase you put on more weight than me.

10. You were like the snow. Ice cold, but sometimes you melted and you were a complete ******* mess.

the spanish have the simple gesture of greeting everyone,
stranger or friend,
with a kiss on each cheek,

and i suppose on the days im feeling unloved
i would like to lie in a park
and be kissed by as many men as my head could handle

but i know that even a thousand of them will never compare to your kisses,
planted like moons on the surface of my cheeks

i miss you
and i dont
i hate you
and i dont
i need you
but i dont

you're the epitomy of perfection
and you fill my stomach like peach season

i crave the feeling of content
that i know comes only
from your tongue
and i think that if you were the moon
and i was the earth
no matter how many thousands of miles seperated us
we would still find a way
to be together.

the thought of her arms,
draped lovingly,
over your pathetic,
excuse for muscles,
is enough to make,
everything fall apart, again.

people go on about what the hell,
was the first man doing,
to the cow,
when milk was discovered,
but im more interested,
in what the first woman was doing
when she fell in love.

was it his eyes
or his hands
or his feet
or his personality
she loved most of all.

if eve were to meet adam again today,
would she still love him,
or would she have a broken heart
and be watching him twirl across
the dance floor with another girl,
in his arms.

i hope you know,
that,
i will,
never regret,
anything more,
than the chances,
i didn't take with you.

there's 14,000 pre-written messages you can write inside a sympathy card,
but there's not a single one to describe the sadness i feel,
right now.

i could file a missing persons report,
but the police would think i was stupid if they turned up,
and i told them the only thing missing was a piece of my heart.

sixteen months is a very long time to wait for someone,
but i would do it all again,
if it meant you were mine,
even for a very short time.

i think the worst part about human beings,
is the fact that,
no matter what,
you will never,
ever,
ever,
really know,
exactly,
how one person,
feels about you,

because in the end, words are emtpy.
words are shallow.

when i was five,
my grandparents,
owned a flower farm.

i know everything there is to know about flowers,
about how to strip every single leaf off without damaging the stem,
to how preciously you have to pack orchids so there heads don't fall off
and how long a daffodil can survive without water.

what i don't know is how to make someone fall in love with you,
and how to stop yourself from going crazy,
and how long a human can last, depressed.

last sunday when we met.

you stole my heart without realising, i think.
but in the end, you knew,
and you took advantage of this,
by ripping it to shreds.

i hope your futures good,
and you have not one, but many kids,
to anyone you please,

the sad thing is,
i know im my heart,
no one will ever be as good for you,
as me.

267 people are born every minute,
all over the world,
into pre made lives,
designed especially for them.

every minute,
108 people,
are tucked preciously,
into satin lined caskets,
to begin their journey to another life.

when you're five, you think you're going to live forever.
by your sixteenth birthday,
you're ready to die.

life isn't easy,
life isn't fair,
and at the end of the day nobody really cares,
who has the longest hair,
or who has the tiniest waist or,
who owns the prettiest eyes.

see this is life,
and it's not very nice.

we're all born.
but why?
there's only one reason,
and that is,
we're,
born to die.

the first time you decided we should stop talking,
my heart handled it pretty fine.

one hundred and eighty two days later,
when you decided again we should just be friends,
my heart was ripped to shreds.

that day,
i asked three thousand and twenty six strangers on the internet,
how i could get you back,
but the most common answer i got,
was that i couldn't.

i never really ever imagined my life without you,
and your texts at 1 in the morning,
and the phonecalls that would last for hours.

right now i feel like a shadow.
opaque and lost,
wandering around,
looking for something,
that no longer exists.

i think sometimes,
nights spent alone listening to sad songs,
are one hundred times better,
than going out and getting drunk,
with silly adolescents,
high on life and other things.

when i told you this,
you just laughed,
and sprayed more colonge,
over your tanned wrists.

three hours later,
when you were locking lips with,
the blonde girl,
who was,
always first to like your facebook statuses,
the sad songs were on repeat in my head.

i hope in the morning you regret it.

In South America, truck drivers are paid collossal amounts
of money, to deliver supplies between towns on
roads, no wider than the width of their trucks.

When you turned up on my doorstep that sunday in the rain,
your eyes told me before your lips did.

Sixty three hundred days is a long long time to wait for someone,
but I would do it all over again,
if it meant I could fall asleep in your arms one last time.

Next Autumn when the leaves turn rusty and fall from the trees,
I'll remember the afternoon we spent in Victoria park,
where you waded to the middle of the duckpond,
just because I said you wouldn't.

Your mother always told me when we stacked away the good china after Sunday lunch,
that your stubborness always got in the way of what was right.

You've been gone eight hours and still nobodies reminded me how difficult I can be at times.

Eight months later and everytime the phone rings I imagine your voice crackling down the line "come get me from the supermarket, I have sugar buns. "