They sat there, peaceful in euphoric bliss,
Feeling the rush of electric with only a kiss.
They talked about death and the meaning of life
And the times he had struggled, just him and a knife.
They sat on a bench amongst autumnal trees,
Gazing through eyes that pleaded never to leave.
They sat in silent intervals, savouring each second,
Realising what seemed like an hour had turned out to be seven.
The sun set and they kissed at the station and parted
Content with knowing that they're journey had started.

Do you remember all those nights that we painted the town?
When I'd bring you back up when you began to come down.
Our mouths were dry from smoking but never too bad to kiss.
I'd be happy if you were with me and we were laying like this.
When he touches my thigh baby, know it's not the same.
And know that I don't get those butterflies when he says my name.
In another life, another place, maybe we'd work things out.
Perhaps we'd live happy ever after and we'd have no doubts.
But for now it seems the least we can do is try.
No worries, no *******, but just you and I.

My life has been misleading
Or at least that's how it seems.
I've been brought up on lies on love
And fairytale dreams.

But now that I am older
I feel I've been deceived.
Nobody told the truth to me:
That sometimes people leave.

Why not me?
Why don't I deserve true love?
The type of love I would scoff at and belittle when others possessed it.
What makes them worthy of three, four, five year long relationships when the longest anyone would put up with me for is eleven months?
Not even a year.
Maybe one day I'll experience the affection of an anniversary card or a rose or a box of chocolates.
'Cliche *******' I'd call it, bitterly, in a failed attempt to disguise my envy.
Not envy.
Sorrow.
Loneliness.
Understand that when I see them pass me by holding hands, publicly embracing, I'm not truly disgusted.
I just want to know why not me?

Ear studs.
Leather gloves.
Silver nose ring.
Too much clothing.
You think you like records?
You should see his collection.
You think that you're flawless?
You should see his complexion.
He rocks Houndstooth better than any chick you ever seen,
And even more fiercely than a 2009 *McQueen.
The boy with peroxide hair is one to watch out for.
When he enters the room there's applause; he's to die for!
"Don't dream it, just be it*" that's what he always said
He's a bad killer queen, he's the one, the only, *Ed.

I don't know
what made me
think I could
replace you.
Neither am I sure
why I thought
it would be a
good idea to try.
Haunted by
the memory
of how I would
embrace you.
And regretting
every second
of the day we
said goodbye.

I am merely another story
Behind another window.
With or without me,
The game goes on.
Drowning in skyscrapers.
Crushed by industrialisation.
Suffocated from the inexhaustible thrill of the city.
I am enchanted by my insignificance