Grey is the colour of the winter sky that wraps it's dull arms around me each day that I wake.
Green is the colour of his eyes that looked at me as though I was too beautiful to break.
Red is the colour of my eyes after months without sleep and too many days spent crying.
Black is the colour of the pain inside my heart after giving up on trying.
Yellow is the colour of the sun in spring that can no longer warm my soul.
Blue is the colour running through my veins that burn for me to feel whole.
Brown is the colour of his skin as I bury my happy face in the curve of his neck.
Pink is the colour of the lipstick that I apply to cover up the fact that I'm a wreck.

And please know that while you’re living your life, I’m in the dark falling apart.
Because you are the colour forever in my heart..

In the waiting room,
the walls are white
Scrubbed with a strong chemical weekly.
The people are white
The chairs are white
My room at home is white
When will I be called to go in?
Soon.
It's the longest memory,
this coming and going of pain
(Though the pain never really goes away)
It just quietens.
The hospital blinds are white
Her face wasn't white
(It was yellow)
But I am white
It is the most terrible colour
Wrapping it's arms of sickness around me
It is the most surreal memory
(Who am I?)
Was that me?
It was me before half of me left
When I was whole
When I was not white
But
Pink
And red
And all things hopeful.

My lips are bruised.
They are red,
and raw,
from biting them.
Tired of trying not to remember,
the taste of your lips.
My face is pale,
hollow.
my eyes wide with fear,
with shock.
The bags under my eyes,
show signs of giving up,
show signs of being too afraid,
of laying in bed alone.
My ribs have grown a face,
and they smile at me in the mirror.
Their teeth a razor sharp edge,
cutting across my skin.
I look,
caught in the headlights,
of an oncoming car.
I look,
like I don't care,
if it runs me over.
Too afraid,
to feel,
I encase myself in the darkness.
But that is just as bad.
It suffocates me,
makes me *****.
My lips are bruised.
They are red,
and raw,
from biting them.
Tired of trying not to remember,
the taste of your lips.
And as the first signs of a slow death start to show,
I realise I am in hell.

Her eyes were candles (until they got put out.)
A painful laugh escapes her lips
a real laugh in the realm of deep aching.
Now she sings. (Softly at first)
Then louder (only to herself.)
and everything becomes the slave of her soul,
just
for
a moment.
Tear ducts sealed,
tremors of sadness,
vanished
until
everything must stop for a moment
and grow quiet.
Body rocking, soul sobbing
infront of the T.V while the 7 o'clock news plays dumbly.
It's all
so
fragile.
(It has to be.)
Her heart stops whispering
and becomes
a broken limb.
(I am a bird and she is me)
be free.

mum

i enter your room
after you have passed
but you're still here

i can smell your perfume
your clothes
and i can feel your presence
your love

i enter your room
two weeks earlier
you are in your bed
smiling at me
your voice familiar
and warm
and motherly

i don't remember you as sick
or tired
i remember you as beautiful
and strong

mum

you showed us the ocean
and the colour of the sky
you gave us the world
the stars

you made us daisy chains
and sung to us
you made us who we are
and who we'll soon be

one day
i will think of your laugh
and smile
but for now
i cry

mum

you're still here
i can feel it in every breath
and though the world seems very dark
the sun still shines

love lives on

Her mind shatters,
into a thousand pieces.
She does not have to face,
all the pain at once.

Encasing herself,
in the dusted wings of a moth.
The sun does not reach her,
though neither does the night.

Sometimes she plants flowers,
and starves them of their food.
Now they know her sorrow,
oh now they know her sorrow.

Shouting becomes muffled,
under her warm sheets.
Where she stays throughout the day,
whispering her name.

And one day she will bloom,
but it won't be bold and innocent.
Because only butterflies dance,
and only butterflies cry.

laying back to back,
i feel your warmth.
our bodies fitting perfectly together,
like imperfect jigsaw pieces.

I find your hand with my own,
and your breathing slows.

Everything is quiet in the right places.
~~~~~
Laying back to back,
I feel your warmth.
Our mouths do not move,
But I can feel your gentle words.
And like soft waves that carress the darkness,
i too,
will carry you to the light.