Midnight.
Both an end and a beginning,
More of a transition...
The tension of the countdown,
The thrill of the cheer.
The champagne,
the kisses with near and dear.
A rainbow of measures,
one after another,
drop after drop.
The night carries on,
song after song.
The clock strikes
as does a glimmer of hope.
For a second the promise
that this year will be better.
We swayed in the streetlights,
the moonlight,
the club,
And we sang
with the busker
who played only for us.
The truth is this year
will be the same as the last,
But blink and you'll miss it
and it'll soon be the past.

Tell me you know he's here.
Tell me "come home, you're mine".
Shouting out in the town
We don't care who's around
Because this is the last time.

Silence on the freeway
Until we get to the driveway at home.
With one hand up my shirt,
And one hand up my skirt,
You tell me I'm not alone.

It was beautiful agony
For two years, maybe three.
Kept me trapped with each kiss
And the ring in your lip
And you knew I'd never leave.

A post-*** serenade.
Drank your Kool-Aid, I was blind.
Overdosed you with love
When you didn't give me enough.
I guess we're a different kind.

My brain must hate me.
What reason, other than that, to explain why I'm constantly tortured by the mental image of him. And her.
Him and her.
Him with her.

My muse.
The fuse
to the fire in my heart-
A most eternal flame.

You can't trust no man but your father.
But I can't be mad, you played the game.
This is why they give storms names.
We are the only natural disaster.

How bitter sweet to be entwined for one last time.
And for one last dance to the song of our united breath.
How bitter sweet to be given one last chance to shine.
Who'd have known a goodbye could be so welcoming?

Pensive as I am, I thought of you today
Amongst the overgrown grass and the clouds of grey.
The heavens, they opened, perhaps pathetic fallacy
As I lay there saturated, already losing my sanity.
But I stayed in the showers and let nature embrace me
When all of a sudden a gold globe came to face me.
Warmer I felt, as down on me it shone
Almost as if to remind me to always be strong.

I have a burning need to be adored
To hide the fact I'm insecure.
The guys I date all soon get bored
While deeper in love I seem to fall.

Crazy am I driven by the idea,
the possibility,
of another's kiss on your collarbone.
I recall St Valentine's Day,
when your **** Jagger lips told me
'I'm yours'
with such sincerity
and that I could hold you to it.
And I will.

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.

Breathing, panting, moaning into each other's mouths.
Lick. ****. Kiss.
Hot in every sense of the word
And every sense is heightened.
Grab. Pull. ******.
Flesh on flesh. Skin on skin.
Eye contact. Lip biting.
My nails in your back,
Your whispers in my ear.
Your name escapes my lips like a bird taking first flight.
And from this high, we leap together.
Falling and sinking, deeper and deeper.

Does she listen to your stories and then pretend to care?
Do you make that moaning sound when she plays with your hair?

Does she hang out with your friends and has she met your dad?
Does she hold you oh so tightly whenever you get sad?

Does she let you keep her awake with your snoring?
Does she know how you like your tea?
And that it's coffee in the morning?
And which mug you like it in?

Does she know you listen to Green Day when you brush your teeth?
Does she know you like your teeth?
And that you hate the rest of you?

Does she notice the scars on your arms?
And then does she wrap you in her's?
And does it feel the same?

Soles hang,
Souls hang
Amongst the green.
They dangle, pleading of acknowledgment.
They twirl in their places,
Connected by their laces.
Countless but clear.
The shoe tree whispers "we were here"

Outside I sense the streets' hustle and bustle.
Inside, not even a rustle.
Who'd have known the city could be so lonely?
Thousands of faces but none of them know me.
Cold coffee. Uncomfortable small talk.
No familiar paths for me to walk.
The place that I connect not to, but they call home.
Their foundation, their roots, where I am alone.

I prefer the way you feel between my thighs than inside my head.

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.

As the weather gets colder
We enter into the Fall,
With your arm round my shoulder
But saying nothing at all.

The season cycle goes on;
Spring will soon be passing.
So when things seem to go wrong,
Remember nothing's everlasting.

Simultaneously happy and sad,
I lay under the very same moon that shone above you,
(Although much farther away).
And I dreamt of the dreams we had not discussed, but I knew we both had.

Feet in the tide,
I gazed afar
Thinking of the beautifully exhausting wonders yet to be discovered.
I realise
I only want to discover them with you by my side.

Do you remember the sparks when we kissed that night?
In the sky, in my soul, in your eyes.
November fireworks both within and without.

Your veiny hands cup my face while your lips settle on my forehead.
My inner child uncontrollably grins at the fairytale cliche which, in this moment, my life has become.

Did you ever hear the tale of the loneliest cigarette?
Bringing short term pleasure to just one man, while simultaneously burning herself away into oblivion, she is selfless.
He'll soon kick her to the kerb and stamp out her embers which she offered to him because it's what she thought he wanted.
When she is gone, he will take another.
*And she will be useless. Lifeless. Unwanted. Replaceable.

This is fine.
This is just fine as long as it doesn't go in my hair.
My fringe is hanging down a little.
What if it goes in my fringe?
I can't adjust my hair now, it'll ruin the mood...
Just look ****.

Oh god, he's looking at me.
I can't make eye contact with him, it's too weird.
Maybe I should close my eyes and roll my head back and make some sort of moaning sound.
That's a thing isn't it?
That's a thing girls do in ****?
It probably is.

****. I am not a **** star.
This can't look hot.
I think I'll give a nervous giggle.
Maybe it'll sound ****.

Great, now he thinks you're laughing at his *****.

No he doesn't.
He knows you love his *****.
Well, as much as you can love a *****.
It does feel good, but they just don't look very attractive do they?
Especially not when they're thrusting in front of your face.

Stop it - focus.
Don't focus! Relax!
Be in the mood.

How long does this take?
He's using his hand, surely he's a pro at this.
Why is he taking so long?
It's probably only been thirty seconds.
I hope it's been longer, I'm running out of ****** expressions.
Maybe I should talk *****?
But what if it goes in my mouth while I'm trying to speak?

Oh, he's grunting.
This must be...

It's in my ******* fringe.

He is the only one who I truly need.
The one whose arms shield and protect me as a castle does a queen.
When I am sad his are the only hands which can wipe away my tears,
And he wields the only smile that can sooth my soul and rid my fears.
His eyes, oh how his beautifully cliche eyes see me. All of me.
It takes a fool to fall in love
And a fool to run from it.
I know one day he'll break my heart
And there'll be nobody to blame.
He'll be worth the pain when we part
And no one else will be the same.
He is the only one.

The picture spoke a thousand lies,
A thousand lies but not a word.
We stare, obsess, we analyse,
But not a word was spoke or heard.
That intoxicated smile hides
That painful party, now a blur.
Pictures mask what stays inside
And only show us as we were.
No fair display of life in truth,
They capture only our disguise.
She appeared content for all her youth,
A theory which she now denies.

Tell me,
what is so sweet about sixteen?

The layering of lashes in an attempt to age just two more years?

The relief when the shopkeeper served you that Smirnoff Ice?

And the excitement of drinking it in a park?

If you were lucky, the occasional spliff stolen from someone's older sibling?

Sweet is the nostalgia
but sweet is not the rawness of the reality.
Living the teenage tragedy is bitter and sour and tasteless.

Late nights
filled with mascara tears
fuelled by heartbreak.

Your rose-tinted spectacles see past the vomiting and the headaches and the regrets.

Would you do it all over again?
And would you do it exactly the same?

Her house:
Now home to one person and a million memories.
It used to be their house, until he passed.

They told her to move,
But she never did like moving on.
And so she never did.

At the wake they brought her flowers.
Flowers that were soon to leave her,
Just like everyone else had.

Ten years from now I wonder where we will be. What will we be doing to **** time before time kills us? Strange to think we'll be nearly thirty, the age we spoke of in dread as the old us sat in your hallway smoking cigarette buts from your ashtray.
Remember when we spent those six weeks apart? Remember how much we had grown? Perhaps time changes us just as time heals pain, or so they say.
And why is change so taboo? We needn't feel guilty when our new selves adore one another quite the same as the old. My new inner-city slang is still besotted with your mainstream skinny jeans.
There was that day in the park when I awkwardly ignored the bride and groom that passed us by, followed by the elderly couple, and the toddler on the swings. You asked me how I pictured my future and I shrugged, considering life's unpredictability.
Now I sit by my window, gazing at the golden glow of the city, not knowing what I want for a life of my own, but fantasising of the possibility of a Christmas morning where you unwrap a guitar and spend a lifetime with musical memories, with or without me.

Scary yet essential.
I have forgotten how to do it.

I know that pearls
and diamonds are in,
But look at my necklace
of rope all tied in a ring.
The colour, it changes,
into that of maroon.
A little tight at first,
but the pain will go soon.

I've spent all this time thinking you were toxic for me
But I'm having second thoughts, I'm toxic as can be.
Laying up in bed with a man expecting you to be alone,
And then freaking out the second you don't pick up your phone.
I'm a hypocrite.
I hate myself.
I'm holding his hand.
But when you come to me,
you met some girl,
I'll never understand.
We both made promises we both should have kept
Because the way you make me feel that day I'll never forget.
You said you'd wait for me, said I was worth the pain
And now you come around saying you can't do this again.
I get it.
I ****** it.
Yeah it's always the same.
But it's cool if you're in bed with her and can't remember her name?
That's *******.
You can't expect me not to feel hurt
After all those late night texts telling me I was the right girl,
And that I rocked your whole world.
Now the thing is
Does she make all your senses tingle even when it's only kisses?
Does she write you songs and poems when it's you that she misses?
And ten years from now is it her you picture as your missus?
Let's stop playing all these games.
Stop hiding, there's no shame
In loving when it's us two.
I'm the one you know you're always gonna run to.
You know this makes sense.
Who you think you're kidding? It's us until the end.
It's you who said the one you love most to kiss is also your best friend.

I'll never forgive my washing machine.
How it took the last of you away from me.
How it lathered
and rinsed
and drained your musk.
"Confident and fresh" you used to mock the slogan.
Now the fabric smells of softener,
And the colour's crisp and pure.
And it's just a tshirt again.

Another second,
Minute,
Hour on the clock
Reminds me the end is drawing nearer
And that, I cannot stop.

Twenty Six days left of your gaze that sees through me,
That sees through my facade of endless positivity.
Twenty Six days until the growing apart,
Until the increasing distance and the breaking of heart.
But see, Twenty Six days just isn't enough
Because, with you my darling, I'm still so much in love.

Day two
Without you.
A million miles apart
But under the same stars.
I am sleeping alone in this river I've cried.
The nights are so long when you're empty inside.
Are you thinking of me?

Forget your mothers words
When she told you lying is wrong
Because once you've had the truth
You'd have preferred the lie all along.

Cuddled in my lap and then you say you need your space.
You tell me you're depressed yet there's a smile upon your face.

You push me away and then you tell me that you need me.
You tell me that you're worthless but that isn't the way I see.

Cigarettes, drugs, alcohol. You try your best to get clean.
You say you want a better life and then you question what it all means.

I wish there was a way that I could make you understand
The purpose of it all is how it feels to hold your hand.

We send each other love songs to express what we don't know how to say.
Freaky adolescents in the night but epitomising sophistication by day.
We send each other love songs to express what we cannot conprehend.
The looks of disapproval we'd give when they refer to us as 'friends'.
I tremble under his touch and I linger under his lips
While he takes a deep breath and tells himself to always remember this.

What are you thinking
At eight in the morning
When you sit there drinking
Your coffee and yawning?

Is it merely desire
To go back to sleep?
In the bed, by the fire,
Counting your sheep.

Do you think of me
And my unpainted face?
Is it my two sugar tea?
Or my empty bookcase?

Is it reflection of past
Or a fear of now?
Or how I always asked
When you never knew how?

What are you thinking
At eight in the evening
When you sit there drinking
Your red wine, not speaking?

Who are you to interrogate me now that the boots on the other foot? Now that it's you in pain?
You tell me you can't sleep at night, thinking of him and I.
But where were you when I needed you?
Where were you when I was driven to insanity by the image of you and her, and the other one?
I've been living lies and faking thrills, yearning for your touch. But you aren't here are you? You're the loose cannon, the spontaneous, adventurous one. I know that about you.
I love that about you,
but where's the security?
What if you change your mind?
What if you don't love me?
What if you just miss me?

I'd give you my last ciggy
Without shadow of a doubt
Because hearing you sing Ziggy
Is what love is all about

It is more than family photos
Hanging on a wall.
It is much more than a garden,
Where as toddlers we may fall.
It is much more than a roof,
Standing over some red brick.
More than a place for us to shelter
Whenever we get sick.
It's more than flowers on a mantlepiece,
And endless cups of tea.
Home is not a place,
Home is letting me be me.

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?

Maybe some day I'll be able to watch the sun set without wishing you were there with me.
Or maybe some day I'll hear 'Fast Car' and you won't be the first thing that springs to mind.

But probably not.

Your passion is poison and
aggressive like venom.

With your teeth in my lips,
and your firm grip
in my ***-tangled hair,
I was pressed tightly
against your door.

My heel marks are
probably still on that wall,
persistently reminding you
of those nights where
we never made it
to the bedroom.

Your wrists were already scarred
but now so are mine,
with the memory of
your fingers firmly around them.