1500 seconds after, I tripped over my own boots.
I fell onto the sidewalk and scraped my knee,
a dusty indigo mark.
today i might’ve made a friend;
she asked to share my notes and I gave her the date.
I forced my arm into the closing train doors
because i was taught to fight for what you need.
I let my words flow and ebb and my thoughts consume me,
follow my veins up my pallid legs through my fingertips,
and let them sink me.
because you taught me to journal.

the last time I wrote my hair was shorter,
copper, colourful and vivid.
I wait because that’s what I was taught to do;
you bleed until what you crave consumes you.
until your head is afflicted by the fervid, dark feelings.
when I crawl around my every day, I find pieces of you.
in plantain chips and Plato.
in wool coats and white coffee mugs.
it's impossible to tear myself from you.

Deep in the sea,
You are my book--
Pages living within my soul--
Sweet honey letters battering against my heart.
It took blank pages, empty silences;
You were the one that took the longest to write.
Because you, and only you, are the scholar.
The chains in the sea pulling at my heart,
Words filled with unfaltering reason.
Reason that melts into silence.
Honey.

The page you tore out; it cannot be forgotten.
It lives inside of my ribcage.

Your love--or your lack of it--is sending me into a spiral.
One minute you are here, alive and ardent,
The next, you are my ghost.
You are the wave that is drowning me,
The box that is suffocating me,
The sun that is blinding me.
We have danced around this for so long:
The empty souls are coming--
But we are still standing here.
Perfect.
Imperfect.
Racing inevitably towards the end.

Please don’t let me go.

You are all of the blistering colours swirling in my head;
The indigo waves and the copper sunrise,
You are the white light that refracts and sends
All of your miraculous colours to my dark corners.

Relatively;
They’re traced back to your hand.
Where the lakes meet the palatial forests,
Ensconced by a foreign land,
Ink stains, summer ice cream, soccer matches.
They spell what raised you from the ground.

Farther;
They pull you to the motherland.
Whispering to you in unfamiliar characters,
On a train across the vast verdant terrain,
Reliving the arduous lives of your predecessors.

You are a product of cold animosity and two rivals.

She walks;
A single sole scuffing the solid earth,
A pebble thrown into empty silence,
The night embracing the wisps of her hair,
Down to her frigid fingertips.
She screams;
An empty howl
As constant as the wind,
Waiting for another soul to entwine with.
She reaches out:
Honey,
Just sit down
And
Bleed.