Hide me from these false hopes of life cycles
for they are tempting quietude.

I don't care who I was in my previous life,
as long as I can make this one work.

Take away these choirs of chaos,
for they become mad kings.
And I refuse to be their hymn.

You're a little like a shipwreck and I think you lost your heart amidst all the piles of rust and dust and I tried to help you by looking for it but everything was so dark and I couldn't find a light, so I tried looking in your eyes but there was nothing there.
You lost your mind a few years ago and I don't think you've ever really been the same. Your eyes used to hold an eternity of light, but now they're darker than the darkest of nights.
You treat your body like a canvas and it looks like you're trying to draw a map, I always knew you were lost but I couldn't figure out where you were, maybe you're lost inside yourself, and I don't know where your map is planning to take you but I hope you get out okay and I hope it's nicer than where you are now.
You look like you're made out of paper and you are so fragile I can't remember the last time I touched you because everything I touch seems to break and I couldn't do that to you.
You have power lines surging through your veins but you're breaking them one by one, so I guess you're not happy with them anymore. You leave cracks all along them and let the energy leak out.
You're like a minefield and I honestly don't know how to work my way around you anymore. I've had years of practice but you suddenly switched and now everything is different and I can't navigate you in the dark.
You started to do things that I do a few months back. Now you stand by me while I light things on fire, because I guess it's better than lighting myself on fire.
You stand by me while I stand on the edges of cliffs, my arms open and my head back, staring at the sky and wondering if I could make myself fly. I don't really want to, I just want to jump. But if I stepped off the edge, I would want you to fly.
And I don't really know which is worse, the look on your face when you know I'm not really there, or the look on your face when you suddenly realised you weren't either.
I'm still looking for your heart, but I think it has been swept away, I'm sorry, but never mind, you took mine anyway.

I've never had a home
that felt like one,
more than the home I
feel when you put your
arms around my waist,
when you kiss my neck
and when you whisper
my name into my ear.

maybe we expected the dishes
to be this *****
maybe we demanded of the willpower
yanked from the exact place
of everything and joined by just
                             our fingernails
                             busy carrying our pails
                             up the hill
                             to fetch a bottle of
                             wine.


     Only to find ourselves stumbling
                           back up the hill for
                                               more.

darling,
don't listen to them.
don't listen to the naysayers,
don't listen to those that say
that you won't make it,
that you're not worth it,
that you're not enough,
because darling,
you will make it.
you are worth it.
you are enough.
shine your light,
tune them out,
and sing your own song.

There were moments,
days,
months
when I didn't think I would make it this far.
I keep thinking back to when everything broke,
to when I started sinking,
and I am wondering how it is possible
that I haven't hit bottom yet.

I'm wondering if there is a bottom.
I'm wondering if maybe,
you just keep sinking,
and sinking,
and sinking,
until eventually you run out of breath
and your lungs force you to inhale salt water
because it is the only thing left around you.

You're supposed to let out little bubbles of air,
never all of it at once.
Your body can keep using the oxygen left in your lungs
and you can breath out the carbon dioxide,
but eventually your chest will be empty.

And then you will swim.

That's when you kick,
pull,
claw at the surface,
drag your water-saturated body
toward the place you used to call home.

You will not make it.

You have been falling for so long
that it is impossible
to make up for the time lost.

Keep swimming.

As you get closer to the surface
your lungs will ache from oxygen deprivation.
Your legs will not be as fast or strong.
You will begin to lose consciousness.

But the sunlight will start to break through.

Ultraviolet rays penetrating the surface
will caress your arms,
you will remember what safety feels like,

you will smile.

You will close your eyes.

You will stop fighting the pull of gravity.

Corpses float.

The moon cascaded on to your skin,
shining lights brighter than the northern ones into your eyes,
taking pictures of the sun
and planting them behind your eyelids,
capturing colours from the galaxy and rainbows
and painting them in the back of your throat.
You're like the fire I used to set in my hands when I couldn't breathe,
except this time it's because
you resemble the flames dancing in my hands,
and you feel like home when
your hands close around mine
and your arms wrap around my waist,
and I love you like I love the sunrise,
and cigarettes,
which altogether is a ******* lot,
and coffee tastes like your breath
when you leave for uni and I'm still in bed,
and sometimes when you're gone I wear your hoodies which are oversized on me,
but I like it because it feels like you're wrapping yourself around me.