Your mouth opening as it takes in
the bitter sweetness of an orange's
flesh

peel littering the worktops that
your grandmother spent hours
scrubbing down

scrubbing until the very eye of
the oak starred back at her

we don't have time for such
arduous chores, we don't look
at wood in the same way

we do not respect it, until
the sky spits out a spark

and the trees that held the
oranges, burn down

what are we now?

wanting what
you can’t
have
is the
#1
cause
of
broken hearts.

look it
up.

loving
you
is
like
starving
in
a
grocery
store

We've been apart
For too long
I want to
Crumple, collide
With the emptiness
Between us
A separation of
Miles and minutes
Mapped down to the
Second
If I leave now
And drive
Dangerous and swift
I could be home
Before your
Head hit
The pillow

in the corner of your
mind
waiting for morsels
of memory on which to
munch.

The monster likes
the happy thoughts —
the ones that bring
bubbles to your belly
and an upward crinkle
to your lovely lips —
He gobbles them up,
chews the goodness right
from their marrow,
breaking their fragile
skeletons,
twisting them into
terrible creatures
who
scuttle
and
whimper
and
whisper.

They live
in the shadows now —
the memories that
once brought you joy —
rent and broken
by the jaws of the
Monster in your mind.