I felt you
before I saw you;
your almighty presence filling the room,
filling me.
I turned and met your eyes;
blazing green prisons
that confine me,
emerald pools
that drown me.
I move closer,
and you smile that
all-knowing smile,
wrapping your arm around my waist
feeling the bone of my hip
your hand moving down
stroking my thigh whilst I quiver.
How can this be wrong?
These feelings I have when you enter a room,
when you touch me,
when you know me...
how can they be wrong?
Your fingertips dance over my body,
tattooing your name under my forbidden skin
scarring your lust in to my heart.
I look up
to meet those burning eyes once more
and we lose ourselves for a moment;
your lips almost grazing mine
longing for a silent lament of love
in the form of a kiss,
getting ever closer to fulfilling your desire until...

You stop.
You pull away.
You swallow your love.
You walk away
from what is sinful
tempting
and above all--

*forbidden.

i'll listen to joy division
and put myself in the shoes of ian curtis
realising i feel the same as him
and that isolation is the only song
that makes sense tonight

I'm sinking again
and I don't know where you are.
I need you to be here;
to keep me safe in your arms
and tell me it's all going to be okay.
I need you to stop me drowning;
I can't drown again.
I'm isolating,
my head screaming '*******'
to anyone who isn't you.
I need your voice to whisper to me,
to pull me out of the dark
so that I can drown in your arms instead.

I fell in love
with the way your hand
wrapped around my waist when the crowds were violent;
this hand was not to ****** me
but to protect me--
to love me.

Tonight,
you said goodnight four times
and called me 'darling'.
If only I could walk upstairs
and find you there
to kiss and hold
and watch in gentle slumber.

I am in love
with the way your hands move;
how they caress
and trace
and adore.
I could fall asleep inside those hands,
keeping me safe until I wake up
to your wandering eyes.

There will come a time
when you are sick of trying
to understand my wrists
and my mind
and how I am more than one person
when I do this.
I know you will become sick
of saving me
and that you will regret knowing my mind.
You will not miss
my selfishness
or inconsideration when I do this
and you will not miss the 2am phone calls
that come with trying to love me.
You will hurt
when I push you away
and flinch at your touch
and you will hurt
when I isolate myself
and hate myself.
You will leave when I try to love you
and you will leave
when I lose it.
You will leave
and you will not come back--

*I am not worth the fight.

I know you do not love
the space in my mind
nor do you love
the demon that lives there.
If we had met sooner
perhaps you could have been the lifeboat
sent out to save me
from my drowning depression.
I'm sorry for knowing you
and bringing you in to this;
I'm sorry I asked you to save me
in my own silent cry for help.
I know I am hard to love
and understand if you can't bring yourself
to love me.
Trust me,
I find it hard enough to even exist.
I wish you were there
when the darkest shadows creep through my head
isolating me from everything.
I wish you were there
when the cigarettes aren't enough
and turn in to some kind of self-infliction;
punishing myself for hurting others.
I would rather sink in to
the safe confines of your arms
than sink in to my sadness once more.
I'm sorry I couldn't be stronger than this,
and I'm sorry that you're all I think about.
I'm sorry that you're the only thing making me want to breathe,
hoping I could catch your scent in the air
which would pull me out of this
so that I can devote my time to loving you
rather than finding reasons to live.
Writing hasn't saved me.
Nobody has tried to save me,
but I need you
to save me.

You stand there
performing the act of grace
simply by poisoning yourself
with cigarettes.
Often
I have watched your fingers
as they roll over paper and tobacco.
I still reach for your hands as if yours wish to encompass my yearning fingers,
pulling away before we touch in fear
that you will reject my love.
I despise the way in which I fall in love
so completely and utterly
with different parts of you.
Every time we lock eyes,
I can not drink you in long enough;
my lungs failing me
before I can capture you.
Take me from the room of alcohol
and sweat
in to the world that is your arms
where I would stay for hours
terrified to leave your embrace again.

I could write you down forever
turning your face in to every synonym for
breath-taking,
your hands the thesaurus I glance at
when I can't find the words
to explain you.
When the music was loud enough
to travel through our bodies
you wanted to hold my hand
whilst I wanted someone else--

Sadly,
I wish I had held your hand instead.

The first time you saw me
you thought I was beautiful
and you know my secrets,
you have witnessed my darkness;
but still you find me beautiful.
How often do you find someone
that falls in love with your flaws
and desires no more
than your heart to hold?

*You were the type of boy
who would rather watch me
watching the stars
than watch the stars yourself.
The type of boy
who would rather trace patterns on my skin
than find shapes in the clouds.

The need to just love him
kills me slowly.
So long I have yearned to simply hold him
in my unsteady arms.
For him,
I would no longer need the cigarette smoke
to inhabit my lungs--
I'd much rather fill my lungs
with him
and feel his soul creep down my throat
down to a place near my heart
where  I would keep him for an eternity.
Oh, for that sweet boy
I'd try to love him more than poetry
but I'd rather turn him in to poetry;
typography that could last much longer
than we would.
I wish to turn him in to the library book
that my forgetful mind would forget
to return;
knowing I would pay all the money in the world
to read your mind forever.

his sweet, shivering love
on a terrace with his arm against mine
smiling down at me with the entire sun
in his eyes
he brushes my wrist with his fingertips
a gentle kiss upon the fading scars
his eyes whispering a long lament
of i love you's
trying to **** the demon inside me
willing him to give me back to him
wanting to kiss me
and hold me
and hoping that one day
i would not reply to his 'i love you'
with the question of
*'why?'

i want the breeze to capture your voice from the long-distance somewhere in which
your timid heart beats faster at another's sound.*

i dream about knowing you in the
most delicate places and often my dreams are trees and landscapes that spread across
my mind to reveal your magnificence and pure beauty and in these dreams i can not kiss
you enough times to truly expose my feelings to you, whispering the softest of words
in to your mouth so as to convince your poor smothered heart that i am the only one
you will ever need. never quite gripping you tight enough i would search the sea that
is your eyes in an attempt to unravel some kind of beautiful secret that you are hiding
from the world and asking for a piece of you that the world has never seen before; all
the while you would search the darkness in my eyes trying to uncover the pain i can't
reveal to you because i am so terrified of failure and rejection and so very very
terrified of you leaving without me.
sixteen and already more tantalising than the
women who surrounded him
offering him a warm glass of tenderness and  an 'i need you'
in which he would drink down until he could love her enough to understand why she did this,
trying to **** the thing on the inside and wondering why no man ever looked her in the eye when he said he loved
her and still trying to figure out that when a man did say those words he had to drink
seven shots and smoke a joint first and still trying to grasp the idea that he would say
it more often if she gave him her naked body to own. escape with me oh sweet love and
try to understand that when i have fallen in love with you i need the warmth of your chest
to catch my head and i need your steady heart to beat with my own.

let us run through the
edges of nowhere and try to decipher a meaning to life--

*maybe we exist for each other.

I am drinking
alone on a night where the weatherman
has promised warmth
but has delivered cold, harsh wind.
I wonder where you are
and if you are wondering where I am.
Sometimes
my hands become knives
which rip out my heart;
so as to throw it at people with soft words
and beautiful smiles.
I sit here for nights on end
feeling you in every sound
of Explosions in the Sky’s songs
and trying to turn you in to poetry
I cannot find the words for.
Your voice is the song I love the most,
filling me so completely with its tender tone.
I long for rainy nights
spent inside the shelter of the arms
which held me so tightly;
yet I was not afraid of breaking.

*It is strange how I give these words to others
when they are only really meant
for you.

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