In your little book
Of every fairytale
I am the sour witch

Thinking of you
Is reminiscent of
A rusting silver blade
Digging it’s tip
In the core of my soul

And that one ******* song
we sang to each other
plays it’s sweet melody
constantly
in the back of my thoughts
an endless loop

I told you once
I feel all your pain
and each little sting
of the tack on your wrist
sends a shiver
up my worn spine

I wish you had listened.

There’s this secret desperation
hidden in the crevice of my soul
for you to be here
with me
a comfort to keep
in the denim of my pocket

and when I come home weary
from that loud
obnoxious party
I want your embrace
the slow rising and falling
of your chest to hold me
your scent
to linger on my little black dress
your hands to rub
in small measured circles
the ***** of my worn down feet

and when it pours
the downpour thrashing
against the glass of my window
I want your presence
beside me in the antique chair
the silence
broken only by the turning
pages of our favourite books
and stolen glances
over steaming cups of tea

and when I’m crying
looking into
the dusty mirror
and wondering why
I was born with such features
picking at the flaws
I want your consoling voice
telling me I am ok
the way I am
your steady arm
helping me to my feet
and your soft fingers
brushing away the salty water
stinging at my lids

But for today I am alone
and my feet are worn
and your tea is left
to cool
and my tears
abide to flow
but my pocket remains
filled with secret thoughts
a vision of you

I'm trying so
hard to forget you
I really am
but it's especially
difficult when
your lips are
so close
and so soft
and I want
so much for them
to be pressed
against mine

I think if there is a god
He must make mistakes
Because there no way
I am meant to be
This lost

And I think I wasted
Too much energy
Pretending I love him
Because when I knelt in the chapel
My mouth spoke
"Amen"
But my mind
Thought nothing

And sometimes I think
That god is a metaphor
For the daydreams
We all have
But never really speak of
Because this world is a prison
And we're already in hell

None of this is to say
Of course
That if you died
I would not go back
To my lifeless "amen"

Because I need to believe
That you are watching over me
And not a lifeless corpse
Cold in the ground

I know I'm a coward.

I still feel a warmth
from time to time
where your soft sweet lips
pressed gently on neck

and you told me yesterday
you were giving up
and your eyes shone brightly
a twinkle of excitement
like giving up wasn't stopping
it was moving forward

and sometimes I wonder
if I held you tightly
you'd forget about the pain
of those sad nights
the flashlight blaring down
and the darkness
of your secret thoughts

but for now I'm stuck
with the memories of your kiss
and the ghost of your silhouette
in the cold sleepy stairwell

it's fascinating
that kids who grew up sheltered
are the most broken