I know I'm *******
But you're ******* too
And I quite like that.

No one leant me shoes
The day I met you
So I have no one to blame
But myself
I don't think the shoes were really important
They just made me an inch or two taller
And gave me farther to fall

you always wanted to give a girl a heart shaped lollipop
it's endearing, you say
as a child
i always wanted a boy to give me a heart shaped lollipop
so you do it now
and it's not the same
as we both laugh
and i use the stick to poke down the spliff

i walked up the drive,
and was reminded
of how little attention
i actually paid to the place
when i had the luxury
of being there.
i never walked the drive,
far too lazy.
just twice,
once there, once back,
two separate occasions.
both at night,
both with company.

i debated hitchhiking,
still lazy.
i picked someone up once.
a third year choreographer.
she was late for a tutorial
and smelt of alcohol.
everyone i walk past has grey hair.
i look out of time.
two years late.
there's no room now
for an art student with a suitcase.

i walked the halls again,
because the door was propped open,
framed with familiar white handprints,
that fit comfortably under mine.
it smelt just as i remembered,
musty, and comforting.
with the paint still peeling on the stair rail,
from where we'd sat for hours,
pulling it off in strips.

i wrote a letter to my room.
the room in which i fell in love,
lost my mind,
and changed my life.
it's just a room.
just a place,
a space.
but so much was shared,
with the air in there.
and i can't explain the relief
that it isn't in rubble.

i hitch hiked back,
or i'd have missed my train.
a lovely man picked me up,
and i felt the drive from a car,
how i remembered it.
we talked about the place,
about it what it did.
he was as upset as i was.
he was the type of person
i'd forgotten existed.
someone who wasn't one of us,
but understood our loss.
a stranger on the street
who felt what i felt.

Because you have this way
Of looking at me
That makes eveything else
Fall away.

How can I exist alone,
Or with anyone else,
When you have the abilty
To do that?

You have to promise
Only to look at me
Without recognition,
Without revealing anything,
And I'll stop asking questions
Without saying anything.

So many times,
You fell asleep on my bed,
At noon, or by night,
And I sat beside you,
Rolling a joint,
And everything Was.
A company felt
In the imitations of
Immortality
A distraction,
A perfect waste of time.

It doesn't matter when we met.
There's no point in starting there,
It wasn't our remarkable day.
There was so much else to distract me
From noticing such bright blue eyes.

We exchanged words on stairs,
Words I've since forgotten.
The ground didn't shake,
Time didn't stop,
There was no spark yet.

The spark came the moment your hand
Rested on my knee,
Caught in a laugh,
That moment you found me looking at the sky
And draped an arm round my shoulder,

Or even before when we shared a bench
Under a blanket of shooting stars,
That's when the air started humming.

you're an arms length
away from me
only my arm
is lying across
a map of the world
not the folds
of my duvet
and I can't
just wrap the sea
around myself
and curl into you

I used to be so good
At dreaming
But now they just turn into
Memories of you
Now my dreams are shorter
Smaller
So much warmer
And I can't remember
How to imagine
Something so bittersweet

I stop existing
Every time you
Leave the room

Most days I miss you in English
On the worst I miss you in French,
You are missing from me
I am lacking in you
a vital part
as essential as air
as bones
as blood,
A lost immune system
that can't keep illness at bay,
an amputation,
a lobotomy.
There is no single word
that covers a lack of you,
I miss you out of language
But French is the closest,
tu me manques.

This morning, I woke up in Cornwall, with no idea how I got there.
I couldn't see the sea from the window, but I could hear the birds.
Strangers knew my name, my secrets, my songs.
And I found I knew theirs.
The streets were familiar, but they weren't the streets I grew up on.
I never grazed knees on those pavements,
Or idled home from school past those street signs.
It was a place removed from childhood,
With eyes I shouldn't know so intimately,
With no idea how they became so sure in my mind,
When they shouldn't even exist.

Don't ever get used to the person you love
Be amazed every day at their hand in yours
There are bones in that hand, strong yet fragile bones
And they're wrapped around yours, your bones
Strong yet fragile
And you've had those same bones for a very long time
So long that you've grown used to them
You've grown with them
Because for a very long time they were all you had
But now they grip onto another hand
Another set of bones
And ohmygod they'rereallythere
In your hand
And you don't know these bones as well as you ignore your own
So marvel at them everyday
For as long as it's taken you to know your own
Because that hand full of bones is just a fraction of what you love

There's an image I'm trying to make
Of shells
And the wind
And salt in my hair
Of something to do with your name
But more to do with the air
When your face looks away
And there's something about flames
And them not quite blowing out,
Because there's miles to go before sleep.

It doesn't matter when we met.
There's no point in starting there,
It wasn't our remarkable day.
There was so much else to distract me
From noticing such bright blue eyes.

We exchanged words on stairs,
Words I've since forgotten.
The ground didn't shake,
Time didn't stop,
There was no spark yet.

The spark came the moment your hand
Rested on my knee,
Caught in a laugh,
That moment you found me looking at the sky
And draped an arm round my shoulder,

Or even before when we shared a bench
Under a blanket of shooting stars,
That's when the air started humming.

So many times,
You fell asleep on my bed,
At noon, or by night,
And I sat beside you,
Rolling a joint,
And everything Was.
A company felt
In the imitations of
Immortality
A distraction,
A perfect waste of time.

Because you have this way
Of looking at me
That makes eveything else
Fall away.

How can I exist alone,
Or with anyone else,
When you have the abilty
To do that?

You have to promise
Only to look at me
Without recognition,
Without revealing anything,
And I'll stop asking questions
Without saying anything.

outside his world is cold and solitary
it is warmth
which becomes a church
to hold the storm of life

Someone’s having a midnight shower,
I’m lying under familiar words,
I don’t know what you’re doing.
I think you’re getting high,
Holding your phone for way too long,
But maybe not.
Maybe there’s a guitar involved,
I don’t mean ‘involved’,
There isn’t a crime.
But a guitar seems likely,
That way you can sit quietly,
Unless you decide to sing.
I hope you sing.
The shower’s stopped now,
I’ll probably fall asleep soon,
I don’t know what you’re doing.

Last night, I lay in bed picking the snake-like, silvery memories of you from my mind with small tweezers. Every word exchanged, every lesson learned, every heartbeat felt, all came floating away.

I say I, and I mean she. Like when I say you, I mean he. But I am she, and you are he, so they/we fit these characters adequately.

I wondered how I would react to your face, once it had been cut from my recollection. I felt excitement at the prospect of passing you on the street, in blissful oblivion, as you became just another he.

But the one flaw in my plan was you. I was still wrapped around every membrane of yours, even as I cut you out of me, snake by snake. I would stay I, even as you became he.

How long would it take you to realise? Would you take advantage of it? Would you rebuild every memory for me? Would I do any better a second time round, with a complete absence of hindsight?

I kept wondering this until every snake had been cut out, and I didn’t know what I was wondering anymore.

I say I, and I mean she.

I’ve realised, upon the
changing of rooms and
the removal of things,
that it’s not just my speakers
that illuminate my room
at night, it’s also my
laptop power cable, oh
and you.

When I feel alone I like to go and look at the sea,
        
            It looks beautiful at night.

The problem is,

                there are too many people already there

                                                          ­staring out into the midnight blue,

and I can't help but notice,
            
                              not one of them is you.

Don’t write letters; if you can’t say it face to face, you probably shouldn’t say it.

Try empathy, it’s beautiful.

Honesty is liberating, but inerasable.

Don’t think too much, it’ll hinder everything you want to do.

Don’t fear the fear; accept it, embrace it, deal with it, use it.

Lucid dream, especially when you’re awake.

Life is long; waste time, forget plans, start again.

Above all, remember, one day you’ll die, let that be a comfort.

'You alright?'

I won't say it.
I'm a child again, but so are you.

I'll wrap my fingers tightly with yours, and with all the strength I pretend to possess, I'll push back. No matter how my bones threaten to crack and break, it's a small price to pay, scratching miles beneath my fingernails. Somewhere in the middle of this torturous playground game, I decided it would be easy. Distracting myself with the lyrics to Cat Stevens' Greatest Hits, counting cracks in the ceiling, studying snatches of the dictionary. Did you know nauseous actually means to make ill? The correct term for feeling ill is nauseated. The distraction feels like it's working, but just one imbalance, one push from you, is all that's needed to knock it down. 'How Can I Tell You?',  the structure that encloses me, the insistently pedantic English language, all desert me, and I'm feeling every bone ache, every joint seize, every muscle tighten and burn.

But I'll kick out, with the half of myself that's not wounded. I'll kick back at you, breaking the rules we failed to set down, rather than breaking myself. My hands grip tighter onto yours, and I know that if I say it, you'll let go. My bones that threaten to crack and break feel connected to yours, as if when eventually released they'll feel alien and numb. I won't say it. I won't say it. I won't say it.

I'm not sure what we're playing anymore.
I feel nauseated.

You say it.

traced where the hollows outlined his prayers
hands into words promised rest and the sense of purpose
every dimple faint, indented
its growing radiance showed the still hidden sun
a sudden embracing prolonging splendid tension
in the first glimpse of his eyes

So maybe you've never been broken-hearted
never walked away
or left another standing in your indecisive wake
as I have,
because that's what this city means to me.
It's a throwback
neutral ground
somewhere to pretend under the garish glow of undying light
that we're living in a cartoon
a scripted glimpse
just a portion of our perfect lives
bitesize
ample
because that's enough of you.
I'm not talking to you any more
I'm talking to the one I left behind
amidst bright lights and roaring traffic
to script another episode
for my next five minutes of fame.
I hope I never see you in this city.

She minds.

follow me
go where you don't know
never will you let my love be grown

will you leave behind
kind hostile stare
will you answer me?

you blind
I will set free
and never will you kiss
and admit to you and me

you hide
I name the fear inside
will you reshape my sight in you

echoes let me follow you

Am I the one you can’t replace?
Then tell me now, what did we share?
A brief encounter, a chance to change-
Because I knew you?
A game I played, and shared, and won
A lie I spun, and grew, and laced
And I need to see you now.
Like I’ll need to see you then
And I don’t think I want to see you again
Did we even share?
What did we make?
There’s one person I can’t replace
I’m sure you will
What did we even share?

Please don't follow me,
Trust that I'd never just leave,
And that when I do walk away,
I'll always come back.

We could lie here forever.
I could, easily.
Because I won't move first.
Let's play dead. Lie very, very still.
Till someone calls mercy.
I'll win. I always win.
I can out-stubborn you.
Because we can't lie here forever.
But I won't move. Not until you do.
And I'll still lie here wishing you hadn't.
It makes me think.
Could we lie here forever?
Do you move for the sake of the world around us?
Someone has to call it a day.
Before it starts to get ridiculous.
Before they start to miss us.
I question your commitment to lying here forever.
Wasn't that the plan?
No. No, you move.
You move because I won't.
I'll call you the strong one.
I'll wish we could lie here forever.
We'll try again tomorrow.

It's about the deconstruction of language,
It's about a speech event model put into practice,
It's about challenging the meaning of the sign,
It's about the digression of language,
It's about how language relates to our understanding of the world around us,
It's about hypothetical theory,
It's about metaphors, and linguistics, and the science of language.

Anything, to say it's not about you.

I’m sitting beside my inner child,
Watching a God spin a silver web.
A knowing warning shared between us,
Two sisters caught in metallic awe.
Your warning stirs something in me.
‘Don’t get too close.’
This silver web that scars.
Does such beauty hold such danger?
I want to get closer.
To this web. To this God.
I want to be one. I want to be it.
I want it. This purity.
I see your mystery reflected in your spinning silver web.
Spun by a God.

I see you now.
You complain. You tire. You fuss.
Remind me.
Gods have imperfections.

There I was, waiting in my world for a guide to step outside. The first thing I did, when I reached the other side, was walk. It's so easy to move forward with the breeze at your back, and the grass beneath your feet, and the sun making the sky the most inviting shade of brilliant blue. The trees parted and the ground flattened as I stood before my equal. A beautiful anachronism, so imposing and awkward in this rolling sea of green, I felt immediately akin to it. But the more I encircled it, the more I realised how desperately it fit. Its hues were soft and subtle, its stone structure had nicks and faults, as ageless and as natural as the trees that kept their distance. There had to have been a day when it had felt as I did, new-born, intruding, unwelcome. It had turned from being a flame for my defiance, to a glimmer of hope, not as bright as the initial fire, but far more enticing.

Adam is sleeping.
Adam is stirring.
Adam is stretching and yawning.
Adam is awake.
Adam is looking for signs of life.
Adam is alone.
Adam is going for a walk.
Adam is exploring.
Adam is fascinated.
Adam is running.
Adam is jumping.
Adam is climbing mountains.
Adam is a mountain.
Adam is standing on the precipice.
Adam is reaching over the edge, ready to dive and tumble through what lies below.
Adam is awed.
Adam is bored.
Adam thinks….?
Adam thinks!
Adam CAN think.
Adam doesn't know what to think.
Adam considers.
Adam wants.
Adam needs, has, had, can, did, would, could, should, can't, won't, doesn't, might.
Adam pauses.
Adam rests.
Adam decides.

The only thing worse than a boy who hates you, a boy who loves you. So tell me now, if this ain't love then how do we get out? Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. I ought to have been prepared for this. He made me love him without looking at me. I wish I hated him. I do, you frustrate me, confuse me, infuriate me, more than anyone I've ever met. Learning to ignore it will teach you humility. When we first met you seemed fickle and shallow. And that cute, charming little smirk with its tendency to make the person it's directed at grin a little too? Don't even try, I hate that too. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all. The thing is - and I know this is going to sound strange – that I seem to love you sort of desperately. I feel like finally, there's time to breathe. Can we go back to hating each other now?

see flaws.

I don't want to sleep with you,
Let me explain what I mean when I say that.
Perhaps I should say I don't want to dream with you,
Although actually I would rather dream with you,
But sleep doesn't allow for it.
So what I mean to say is,
I want to dream with you.
I want the room to dissolve around us,
Drift and tumble and throw us into an adventure,
Pull us into hypnotic lull,
Leave us defenceless, cowering at the gates of what has never been,
Braving the streets of what could be.
Confusing us with the vicious wiles of those we know and love,
Rolling every word passed between us into nonsensical compelling narrative,
Composing a suffocating atmosphere from mist and memory.
Leave us to wake with the lingering taste of humming cadence.
In actuality, we're pushed through opposing doors, as night draws on.
It becomes a solo endeavour, non-sequential and estranging.
I'd rather forgo our separate adventures, and vocalise our own,
Painted on the drab walls in our words.
Or wait in silence,
The breaths between us conducting the simplest composition of being.
This is close to what I'm trying to say.
It is simply this;
If I can't dream with you,
I don't want to sleep with you,
As much as I don't want to sleep without you.