she was the library book
he couldn't give back
he didn't care
about the consequences of loving her
for her story
was one he loved more than the works of
Charles Dickens or Oscar Wilde
and the words were buried
deep under her skin
where only he could open her heart
as if it were the pages;
finding her story
alongside her pain
and reading it
over and over
trying to find some way
of fixing her
whilst still loving her
for all her withered pages
and hidden stories

escape to the woods
where i would hold your head
and kiss you
so as to drink in your existence
falling in love with
the way you’d smile through my lips
i would be the last sip of wine
ever tantalisingly quenching your thirst
your search for love
but never being quite enough
to satisfy your soul
you would be the first cigarette
filling my lungs with sickly smoke
that i so sweetly adored
disappear with me
take me away in to the unknown
two ghosts side by side
so confused
so overwhelmed by the
dark secrets we kept
hidden in our minds
i could turn you in to poetry
late at night when the world was sleeping
in a 3am haze i could pour you on to paper
to keep you with me when you leave
i know you’ll leave
the clutches of my smothering love
some day