I think I heard the sound
of every rainbow falling down,
collapsing into your veins,
capturing your smile and
painting colours in the
back of your throat.

I saw each and every colour,
exploding from your body,
I think I saw the sun rise
in your eyes,
I think I tasted the rainbow
in your kiss.

It painted colours in your lungs
and left its mark on your breath.
This is the closest I have ever got
to seeing colours,
let alone tasting them on the
tip of your tongue.

If I looked you
in the eyes,
I would see
the end of everything
we ever had.

If I heard your
words, I would
hear the start
of a war.

If I put a gun in
my mouth, all I
would taste is
your name.

I can't tell if
you're lying to me
or you really did
just forget.

I'm sorry I'm not her
and that I never will be,
sometimes I think
you're thinking of her
and you don't want me
anymore
and it hurts a lot
because I know that
she was probably better
than me.

It's 2am and
I can't sleep.
Maybe it's because
this is the first night
in months
that we haven't slept
in each others arms
and honestly,
I don't know how to sleep
anymore
if you're not holding me,
if your lips aren't staining
my face,
my neck,
if your fingers aren't tracing
patterns on my chest,
if our bodies are not
entangled and our hands
intertwined,
like vines spiralling up the
side of an abandoned house,
caught up in each other
like lovers that lay
side by side,
each one dreaming
with the others eyes.

I can hear a clock ticking somewhere in the back of my mind and I can't reach in far enough to take the batteries out, and that's when I realised it had stolen mine and I can't remember how to work, how to breathe, how to be and you're laying next to me but wait you're not or maybe I'm mistaking the fact that I'm mistaken or god I must be daydreaming of your lips against mine and it's only half past five in the afternoon and I'm sitting here in the middle of uni trying to think of how to say your name without it taking a hold of my throat and scraping down my lungs and choking me half to death and I'm wondering how to touch you or let you touch me without setting myself on fire and I'm trying to remember where all the stars have gone and then I looked into your eyes and found them and then you opened your mouth and more came spilling out and I'm trying to concentrate on what your hand feels like in mine but I'm also concentrating on how your bones feel underneath my fingertips, your collarbones, hipbones, your bones that I once only thought of as part of the human body but now it feels different when I'm touching yours and now I'm thinking about the way your fingernails dig into my back I guess you could say you use it as a canvas and as long as you're the only one making art on this strange substitute of a canvas then I'm okay with that, as long as your name stops choking me and my lungs stop being raw from your name and from trying to scrape out the taste of another's breath when he kissed me at a party you weren't at and I threw up afterwards because I only wanted your lips, not his and I hope you know that I love you and I hope you love me too, and I can hear footsteps coming and all I can think of is you and I hope they are yours but I know they aren't because you're not down today I don't think but I'm still hoping and I wish you had come today and I've lost myself in thoughts of you, and oh god I think I'm in far too deep.

Your name is imprinted
in my mouth,
under my tongue and
scraping down my lungs,
your fingertips are finding
holes in my body
that other people have left,
and you have a piece of string
and you're trying to stitch me
back together,
sewing the holes
shut,
kissing my scars that,
if they ever reopen,
and i swear it would be an
accident,
they would bleed your name.
And your nails have left
a mark on my back,
as if by digging in hard enough,
you could make art on a
canvas made of skin
and I don't think you know this,
but, by sewing the holes shut,
you wrapped the broken bones in my
body back up,
I remember when I tried to
glue my bones back together
with glue that never actually
worked, and I never tried
stitching them up like you did.
I like to imagine you made a
row of ribbons along my
ribcage that spell out your name.
And someday, maybe these
broken bones will be fixed,
with cracks along every single
one of them that scream your
name like the air in my lungs
do, and I guess that's okay.

How to act okay when I'm not,
how to smile like I mean it when I don't,
how to laugh like it isn't fake,
how to live when I want to die,
how to sleep and then still wake up.

I saw you fall asleep
amidst a garden of stars,
underneath a moon
that if I looked closer,
would realise was just
as bright as your eyes,
and I found my favourite
constellation running
across your collarbones
and down along your chest,
and somewhere in between
all of that,
it collided with planets
that would never have
looked so beautiful
if I had seen them on someone else.
When I looked at you,
I found myself wondering
how a person could look
like that,
like they were the galaxy,
a galaxy so pretty that
for a moment,
the air left my lungs.

I think I realised
I was in too deep
as my eyes closed
when you fell asleep,

as my eyes closed
when you fell asleep
and what I saw
was the back of
your eyelids, not mine.

The back of your eyelids
and the beat of your heart,
the touch of your hand
and the rhythm of your words.

The touch of your hand
and the rhythm of your words,
against my chest and
falling out of my mouth.

Against my chest and
falling out of my mouth,
your words behind my tongue,
your breath in my lungs.

I think I realised
I was in too deep,
as my eyes closed
when you fell asleep.

I don't think anyone has ever looked at me
like you do, before.

I found myself barely breathing
on the bathroom floor with no one around,
except the guy downstairs who I
realised I love,
even though I told myself
never to love again.
Maybe this time,
my veins will stay closed
and my lungs will have air.
Maybe this time,
loving him won't turn wrong.

Six months ago I was a ******* mess,
my lungs ran out of air,
I couldn't breathe, let alone sleep
and I regretted not listening
to my therapist,
when she told me
"don't fall in love."

You remind me
of summer,
and every cigarette
I light,
holds your breath
in between my teeth.
Your body holds planets
I thought I couldn't reach
and your eyes contain
thousands of stars.
And every time I touch you,
I feel the galaxy
underneath
your skin.

It's 3am and I can still feel
your collarbone underneath
my fingertips, I can still feel
your calloused hand in mine
and I can still taste the
***** - in my lungs and on
your lips.
I can still hear the way
your words fell together,
and I can still hear you telling me
you love me.
I can still feel your body
against mine, your fingers touching
my skin,
your voice soft in my ear.
I can still feel the way
your teeth dug into my neck,
my skin,
leaving a mark to remind me
of you while I sleep alone,
in a bed too big for just one person
in a bed too cold without your warmth
in a bed too silent without your
uninterrupted breathing
while you're sleeping.
I can't seem to sleep if
you're not holding me
and I'm still trying to decide
whether I'm too far in or if
I just can't get out -
get out of the depths of your eyes,
the warmth of your body,
the rhythm of your words.
I guess I just don't want
to leave you behind.

He didn't love me
but he ****** me,
tried to leave his mark on my neck
and now every time I smoke
I can smell it on his breath.
I can feel his fingernails scraping
down
my
back
when he turns around, says I'm nothing more
than a pretty *****,
and laughs.

First drops of sunlight
that shines across your body,
where you lay asleep on
your side of the dishevelled bed.
This coffee tastes
as bitter as you were last night
but this cigarette smoke tastes like
the one we shared at
3am this morning.
The alcohol seeping
through my veins
reminds me of how you
infected me with your poison
when we first met.
Your name is on the tip of my tongue
and your breath is caught in the middle of my lungs
just like it was four hours ago
when your body was on top of mine
and you were burning me with your touch
Your scent still hangs around me
in a cloud of ****,
lynx
and ***.
And the ghost of your hand in mine seems almost real
that I forget you are no longer holding it.
Your kiss still lingers on my lips
like the teeth marks you left on my neck
and the scratches down my back.
Your words still ring in my ears
and my memory decides to play me a slideshow
of every image I have of you -
this will be a long night, yet it is barely even mid day.
The air is cold, colder than you
and you don't hold me anymore.
Every breathe I take will not be
because of you,
every cigarette will not have
the trace of your lips,
yet my body will still remain with
the touch of your fingertips,
a maze of marks and bruises,
a labyrinth of complications
and desires.

I think
you're still burning
in my lungs.
I think
your hands are
still
tracing my skin.
And I don't think
you are ever
coming
back.