"can we pretend that this never happened? can we pretend that the photo's on my phone, the pictures on the wall, the poems in my book the endless number of calls, the days out, the days in, the days somewhere inbetween, the nights, the lessons taught, the stories told and retold, till we both know them better than the back of our hands that touched when we didn't want them too, but i did, i did, i did."

tear it out cleanly.
it can heal i can deal with the scars i'm not afraid anymore
but i can't sustain this.
do not resuscitate me.

I had the privilege
of the first house - fly
of the season
last Sunday
A sign of things to come

It's much too late and I should be sleeping
The restlessness of lost souls
Can be heard above the din
Of silence
Where will I find my solice
No arms folded around my weary bones
I give in
Love bewilders me
So I shall beckon for its caress no more

the insecurity that intersects
your fingers and my figure
is enough to spin a whirlpool
seven miles wide

i rage at your taste for me
but i am cyclical, stuck
i am a fly on your calf
you do not even notice my thrashing

to feel you are ugly in the arms of a lover
to feel you are nothing in the clenches of another
frankly,
i think is quite common.

Like you've got a head start
on a broken heart.

the walls whisper loneliness
the bed begs for closeness
every night
you were here with me
every night
i kissed you sweetly
but slowly
you were disappearing
i kept trying to make myself known
that i was here still
but i can't make a ghost see me
unless they want to on their own
i close and lock the door
i whisper,
"please come home"
but we don't live here anymore
it's me, again
always finding myself at this familiar end
pangs of nostalgia and
your ghost
won't even haunt me
won't even say hello
anymore