you’re just a pair of hands.
old now, but soft; gently creased
with nails stained
by the cigarettes that are killing you.


you smelt like smoke.
you wore your past lives around you
like a coat.
like your beauty, they lingered out of reach.


you beautiful bag of bones.
at least your eyes glisten. at least
they look like stars.
like a child, you still believe in magic.


i can see you fading.
burning out. you’ve got nothing left
to see here.
your eyes close as the sun explodes.

he takes photographs of forgotten things.
an umbrella left, still dripping, on a train seat.
a toy rabbit, well-loved, with one ear chewed off.
it was on the side of the road.
a christmas card from somebody’s mother,
still in its envelope.
and now, he points the camera my way.
it flashes.
i forget to smile.

she was red with love,
full of it; the feeling oozed from her skin
and dripped from her laughter like honey.
love stuck to the walls of her home
and she painted with it;
her life was a canvas and red was the colour
and your hands were her paintbrush.
i guess you didn’t realise
that her colour stained other people.
(his lips used to be blue but they’re purple now.
they probably taste different too but
you never asked her if they tasted sweeter than yours)
your own skin was the colour of moss.
dirt was under your fingernails.
your hair was full of splinters.
her hair was always so soft
even when you ripped it out of her.
she’s all red now.
even her throat is smiling.
she still laughs in technicolour.

two bodies; once one.
fumbling hands are now still,
clasped on separate knees,
separately shaking
with separate lives.
some words are best left unspoken
and best left to speaking in bodies
and tongues
and without understanding
as non-sensical as the birthmark
shaped like a boat
that she claimed was never on her
back before.

it wasn't there anymore.

everything was removed.

rent asunder.
torn apart.

promises locked onto a small hand
became broken fingernails
that were sharp as the needles
that littered your bedroom floor.
you never told me secrets anymore.

pink lemonade was mixed with
other things. stronger than the bleach
you used to dye your hair. sickly summers
in your throat reminded me of palma violets.
i’d hate to know what went inside it.

the people you loved became
people you’d forgotten.
i like to think you loved me once.
but now i live in your memories
and our childhood shines faintly like dreams.

does it hurt when you die?
i hope not.
i hope you don’t feel it
when your cells fade out
like a star that stopped burning
that you still see.
i hope i never cling on like that.
i hope the end is fast
and drifting
like waves maybe, or
tumbling clouds in the wind.

does it hurt when you die?
does your body still feel
from beyond the grave?
please don’t cremate me.
please don’t subject my bones
to the flames.
please don’t bury me.
i hope i will never feel my skin decay.
i hope i will never feel again.
nothing is worse than the numb
apart from the feeling.

does it hurt when you die?
even growing old
do you feel pain as wrinkled skin
and once-beautiful eyes
change?
i can see your body lying there.
you look so peaceful.
are you sleeping?
or does everything hurt too much?
i hope i never know.
rest in peace.

i’m all i see.
i’m all i have.
i’m all i’ve ever known-
living in this fragile shell
filled with broken fragments
is all i’ll ever know.
it’s no wonder that i’m so lonely.

her breathing was ragged and
sweet;
like strawberries that stuck in my
throat.
sickly summers had never tasted
so divine.
her laugh burst effervescently; it
was lemonade
on my tongue. her skin was
peaches,
her hair a soft toffee that wouldn't
leave
my fingertips. i found her melting
on my hand.
like ice cream, her cold hurt my
teeth
but left me craving more. her name
caught
somewhere between my jaws
and never
*******
left.

but when i leave
will there be nothing?
will my solipsistic
(vaguely narcissistic)
beliefs be proved
with an ephemeral body
and even more fleeting soul?

will there just be blackness?
or will i be with someone
(or something)
greater than my sordid self?
i don't mean to be nihilistic
but how can i not be
when we're so short-lived?
how can anything matter
when we know no answers
and tell so many lies?

i am ready for blackness.
it sounds so quiet.
life is all too loud
for my agnostic mind.

nothing seems real anymore.
i am roaming the earth
with transparent feet
trying not to fall through the ground.

my bones are always cold.
i am trying to scream
but no one can hear.
no one sees me anymore.

i am not quite dead; not quite alive.
a stranger in my own skin
but not a ghost.
even ghosts have homes to haunt.

when I told the only person I trusted
about all the times I tried
and failed
to die,
they told me that I can't have meant it
judging by the fact
that I am still here.

I did mean it.
and my broken mind
and my burning stomach
wish that I didn't.
I wish that I didn't.
but I also wish that I meant it more.
maybe then everything would stop
hurting so much.
maybe then I wouldn't regret failing.

you used to flow through my veins
but then you left
and now it's just blood
and it's not even all there
because most of it stains the sheets
that you used to lie on
and tell me you loved me.

we only feel so empty
because we left
little pieces of ourselves
in everything that
we once loved;
once lost.

people only see youth
in the eyes of a child
and not in the soft hands
of a 70 year old woman
who still believes in magic.

do you know the feeling when
you wake up early
at the time when the rest
of the house is sleeping
and you don't have the energy
to do anything else but
stare blankly at a wall?
that's what it feels like.
numb.
silent.
tired.
you just want to sleep again
but the stars behind your eyelids
are so beautiful
that you fear when you shut them
you'll never wake up
again.

darkness is spreading like a virus
and you're telling me that my mind's diseased
but you won't give me a cure
or a torch
and you're forcing me to feel my way out
completely alone
and cold
and blind
when you promised
that you were here to hold my hand.

it's the hardest thing in the world,
watching you fade.
I'm waiting until you become dust
all for a more prominent ribcage
and to be able to cut diamonds
with your collarbones.

it's the hardest thing in the world,
watching you cry
in front of your reflection.
your pain is never beautiful
but your soul always will be.
you always were.

it's the hardest thing in the world,
watching you die.
you were always so fragile,
so delicate. I fear you might snap
when I try to hug you close,
with your bones digging into my arms.

it's the hardest thing in the world,
watching you fight.
although, it's not so much of a fight
when you're too tired to
and the winner is guaranteed
and you never wanted to win anyway.

you asked me what love is today, little one.
I smiled and said,
love is your mummy and daddy smiling.
love is how we care for you.
love is the way we kiss.

I wish I could say that love
is always made up of comfort
and warmth
and a cherished feeling
spreading through your veins.
but it's not.
love is the tears stained into your cheeks.
love is the constant feeling of jealousy
because you can't bear anyone taking away
the only person who makes you happy.
love is sadness
love is broken
love is a knife
that twists in your stomach
every time he doesn't reply.

I wish I could say love was easy, little one.
It's not.
But it sure as hell is beautiful.

I was at a party last night
tipping poison down my already-burnt throat
because I thought it could help me to forget you.
however, I forgot my own name
and left yours stuck on my tongue.

they asked me for drugs last night
but they laughed at me
when I told them about your smile.
everything about you is addictive
to the point of me craving you every second.

when everyone had gone last night
and I was left alone to pick up
the shattered pieces of themselves
that they left on the floor,
I wished you were there.

in a way, you were with me last night.
forcing me to empty the bottle of *****;
whispering with your lips touching my ear;
occupying every single thought I had.
I thought I didn't miss you anymore.


I was wrong.
you were never the one that was missing.
you took me with you.

look at the stars.
look how they shine for you.
look at how they match the freckles on your cheeks.
look at how the clouds are as grey as your eyes.
look at the black velvet sky.
look at the forests that are as old as time.

just stop.
the world won't stop for you.

wait a moment.

look.

sent: 11:11pm

I wished for you tonight. Please come back.

sent: 9:04am

I haven't been to school since you left. I'm failing everything, but I don't care.

sent: 1:47am

I haven't slept. I can't eat anymore. I miss you.

sent: 2:21am

Please.

sent: 3:07am

Maybe I'll join you.

sent: 4:52am

I'll see you soon. This hurts.

although, my darling,
silence isn't really silence, is it?
silence is the sound of your breath
as it raises the hairs on my neck.
it's the heartbeat that keeps the time
to the soundtrack of this summer.
it's the soft ticking of the clock
as the hours drain away.
but, my dear,
there's no silence I'd rather spend
than with you.

it was like
in the love that we had
I was the cracked earth
and you were the gorgeous drought
and we just couldn't find the rain

you were fleeting
gone
in an instant
but you left scars
on my heart
and in my head
and I don't think
they'll ever fade

You.
You are the sunlight that filters through the leaves on the trees, leaving a golden warmth in patterns on the ground.
You are the smell of the earth after rain, rich with the musty aroma that brought memories back like rivers, or floods, or waterfalls.
You are the deepest part of the night. You are the silence. You are the soft sound of breathing in the moonlight.
You are the whispers like peppermint kisses on my tongue.
You are the stars, the velvet sky at night, the fiery sunrises, the clouds that drift like smoke.
You are the sand between my toes, you are the snow crunching under my feet.
And you are so beautiful. And you are gone.

this is who we are:
we are seven billion
lonely souls
wandering this earth
trying to free
ourselves from this
heavy feeling
in our  chests.

I've been trying to write what I feel
for such a long time
but the paper stays blank.
I've only just realised
that the blank paper
describes my feelings
more than words ever could.

stars are tiny holes
in Heaven's carpet
and they say that
humans are made
from the dust
that falls
through them
and can't get back home.

our flaws don't define us
they make us who we are
stretch marks, dimples
and all of your scars
each mark is a star
in your body's constellation
and though they tear us apart
we can't let them
no matter what
if we accept them or change
they will be used against us,
people will find a way
so we have to call them beautiful
look at them and smile
because they make us, us
they make us worthwhile

I guess I'm in love with you
although I don't really know what that means
but I hope it means smiling a lot
and holding hands
and long phone calls at 3am
when we should be asleep
but want to talk longer
and going places together
and getting lost somewhere maybe
but if that's what love is
it will be even more shattering
when it breaks my heart

the little girl just could not sleep
because her thoughts were far too deep
her mind had left her; gone out for a stroll
and fallen down the rabbit hole

this life will never be a wonderland
nothing goes just like it's planned
all the creatures are gathering round
as her broken body tumbles down

but darling, you're too late, I fear
your sanity has already left, my dear
maybe you're too big, or maybe you're too small
but you'll never get to wonderland at all

you're mad as a hatter, and far too late
you'll soon see, but you'll have to wait
this will soon all be a memory,
left only as a darkening dream...

(the girl wakes up to the smiling light of the crescent moon. but the nightmares don't end.)