I memorised each trace of your skin on my fingertips
like a person without sight feels for their surroundings
and relies on touch alone for security
to feel around their home

You say you need me
but don't you know why my star sign is named after a disease?

I am an illness
that will take residence inside your veins
and flow through your bloodstream
until I pour out of you
in every single way

I will take power over your bones
and make you ache
until you cannot move
in the slightest angle
without seething my name in pain

I don't know anyone who needs that

A boy

not a boy, but a soul;
an entity
a field of energy
positive energy
but hidden energy also

he was scared
or sad
or lonely

perhaps simultaneously all

you could see it in his eyes;
eyes as blue and wavering as the ******* sea, and his emotions

they betrayed him in a sense of portraying his deepest of feelings
even when he made feeble attempts to fight otherwise

one glimpse into them and you were graced
with a show reel preview
of his entire life

childhood memories
christmas with the entire family
brokenness and disputes
as unsettling as his beauty when he caught you off-guard

his features were as strong
and dark
as the chaos that stirred within him

a jawline sculpted like no other
hand-crafted for his individual attriibutes
thick, shapely brows and lashes the colour of coal;
a statement within themselves against the lightest of ivory skin

there's a saying "you look like you've seen a ghost"
in reference to someone looking ghoulishly pale
and whilst that is fitting of his porcelain complexion,

he wouldn't have seen the ghost: he was the ghost
that's just how he was
he was never the sub-heading
or the sypnosis

he was the entire story
he was it
everything

something within him was magnetic
and in each person he came acoss
there was metal tucked away
within them that they were unaware of

drawing them to him

They say home is where the heart is and they couldn't be more correct.

You see, I ripped my heart out and handed it to you whilst it layed beating in your open palm, and that is where it remained - in your clutch for eternity, and that's why you will always be where I belong.

You will always be my destination.
You will always be my journey, my route. My souls compass and GPS system will always direct me to you - through backstreets and alley ways and sidewalks, across continents and oceans - my path will always lead back to you. My mind will always have your existence mentally stored as my address. Your name will always be my street, my road. I don't remember any prior location before you. You will always be the place I go to rest, you will always be the place I lay my head. and for that, you are home.

Home is not made of plaster and paint, or bricks and mortar. Home is the look you give me when our souls communicate via the emotion in the dilated pupils of our eyes, like portals to another realm where it's only us that exist; without having to exchange a single word, without having to part our mouth even a centimetre, without having to exhale or breathe.

Home is feeling our fingertips draw together in perfect unison as though they are polar opposites, possessing a magnetic force after being apart for so long.

Home is the way your body slides effortlessly into the shape of mine so perfectly like fate intended us to complete the other half of another like the universes favourite jigsaw puzzle and we knew we were missing pieces before we met but we had no idea we were pieces.

Home is the warm feeling of fulfilment and content that fills my fragile heart entirely at 6am when we are climbing upstairs to bed together with sleepy slanted eyes, greeted by the light of the world waking and the birds tweeting, as we are only now just laying to rest. Because that's how it works doesn't it? you and me. it's us and our world, on different terms to the rest. the sun and the moon dancing around the planet of our love.

Your teeth sunk into my skin
in the same way that your words infiltrate my brain
and soak into my mind
letting themselves print repeatedly
like a student writing lines

You do not know love
until you are painfully familiar
with the constant ache that takes ownership of your soul
far too often when you are without him by your side

you do not know love until your mind is sewn
with thoughts of him
scattered in every creek
until there is not an empty or peaceful corner to back away into
without bumping into a plantation within the garden
that he has grown inside of you

you do not know love until his hands explore your skin as though
it is a map of the world that you plan to venture through together
and even the green and blue running through your wrists are now a subtle representation of the globe that you shall journey through together

and he brings to you
the warmth
that will hit you both
when you step off the plane in an unfamiliar land

the hurried bustle through a crammed airport
as you rush for your flight
with laughter in your eyes whilst your luggage flies
in the same way that you feel you are when you're with him

you do not know love until his lips are medicinal
and each kiss possesses the power to heal
and you were so broken to begin with

you do not know love until when you are in is presence
you feel the platonic plates of the earth halt beneath your feet
and you daren't breathe
in fear of losing a second of the moment that you know will already fleet by far too soon

you do not know love until his laughter is music to your ears
and amongst a shop of worthless CDs
consisting of auto-tuned pop garage of false teen romance
he is your one favourite record
with lyrics so beautiful that you wish to replay them again and again
and if he was infact,
made of vinyl
you would hesitate to remove his dust cover
in fear of ruining the art that he is

you do not know love until he opens his mouth
and a fountain of words pour out
and you are hanging on to each and every one
until you are almost drowning in a sea of his ramblings
and you do not wish for a life jacket
but instead,
you wish for nothing more than to let a sea of his rants
wash you up and leave you on the shore
decomposed and gasping for breath

you do not know love until his touch becomes a portal
into another planet in which it is only you two that exist

you do not know love until you lay to the soundtrack of his heartbeat
and you discover the reason as to why you were homesick for all those years;
because home is in his arms

you do not know love until you are hooked on him like a drug
and there is not a sober vein left in your body

My legs were as un-*******-stable as my heart
and I could feel my knees trembling
in the same way that my bottom lip was

and even though the seats of the bus stop were only a short reach away
soon you wouldn't be
so I said nothing
and continued to stand with your arms around me
like I was your favourite belonging
that you were sheltering from damage

and I took the un-even strings of your hoodie into my hand
and traced onto your chest as though I was stitching up the wounds
of your shattered heart
and the blood that I could feel pouring out of it

but instead,
I traced the word "****"
and I got on my bus
and I left you
before you could leave me

My god, I'm sick of belonging
I'm sick of being owned
I'm sick of being limited to what ever the **** it is that some ***** decides is fitting to define me as

you don't know me
I don't even know me
what the **** makes you think that you,
with your cookie-cutter shape, stereotype inducing, boxed-into-labels mentality of thinking is going to understand me?

I am a planet in my own right;
as a result of my own entity,
my own ******* thoughts and claims and efforts and achievements,
rather than as an assosciate of  another or a product of someone else

I am a ******* constellation of thoughts that your mind
could not even begin to fathom

once glance of my mind would send yours sideways

a one minute preview of what wraps itself around the deep,
bottomless, abyssal interrior of my skull
would entise you to smash your own

inside of me there are a thousand words, stirring
arranging the perfect sequence within their placement of my being
in order to concoct a storm worth being read;
not skimmed and mistaken as a light drizzle
but instead,
thoroughly scanned and recognised
as the tornados, the blizzards that they are,
kicking up a fuss and wiping out everything in their way

I possess an entire novels worth
including a sequel and trilogy

I am a story in my own right;
a book that you believe to have conquered and completed
a vaguely transparent, generic tale in which you believe to have mastered and defeated
but little do you know
that you have ventured barely as far as the first page

what lies within me is far beyond the reach
of the dainty intermediate level
in which you consistently surround yourself in
as though it is your safety blanket or comforter
as though you are a child with anxiety and mediocrity is your prozac

I am more than a brick in the wall of the kingdom
that you box your entire tiny, narrow universe into
and confine yourself within
in seek of refuge from a great perhaps

If I listen to your sobs closely enough
I can hear them chanting my name

Listening to your heartbeat like it's a story that'll never be told again

listening to your heartbeat like it's the first edition vinyl
of my favourite song
and the only copy ever made

listening to your heartbeat
like the universe is sending me a message
through the whistles of the wind

listening to your heartbeat like science is trying to contact me
via the thuds of your *****
and justify the inexplicable
of how two astronomically unidentifiable catastrophes
clashed and become one planet
in a galaxy surrrounded by false stars
that actually turned out to be passing planes

"You have to prepare yourself for her,
I could never just stand still and greet her;
it was too much at once

her eyes are like magnetic portals,
just waiting to teleport your soul
into a completely different realm of paradise

anything and everything is the greatest time of your life
when you have the moon with you

feeling her veins is my favourite sport,
it's intense...
like when your father lets you walk to school by yourself
for the first time
and you are desperately looking for the road sign

you finally see it and your entire body state changes,
you feel safe and relieved;

that feeling times by 33 thousand."

- G.M