Porcelain angels
are delicate things
and darling,
you broke
your own wings.

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

I said I'd love you forever, and I didn't lie

I was lost so innocently in your eyes
Completely
Fooled
By love itself

So,
I guess that explains why your words
Pierced
My
Gut
And left a suffering so deep
That no drunken novelist can explain it

Like you set fire to my kidneys

Bathed my lungs in citric acid

You know
I loved you more than I had thought possible
And my fingers will
Never
Feel
So at home
Again

But it's been a pleasure to have your hands be the ones to
Rip
Apart
My chest
And break the bones that make up my rib cage

It was an honour to love you

But

This is my final tribute to you
My final goodbye
The last time I put your inflections to paper
The
Last
Time
I
Ever
Miss you

You and the clouds have a lot in common
so,
The tenuous cloud in the distance reminds me of you
Faint, nothingness.
You and the clouds are similar
I can see them but I'll never touch them
I'll never get close enough to the sky
To feel, exactly how amazing they are.