you are dead.

I didn't say those words
aloud for months.

I didn't talk about you
in past-tense.

I didn't tell anyone
what had happened.

you were dead.
you are still dead.

but speaking those words
into existence made
them feel too real.

I thought that maybe
if I never talked about it,
I could convince myself
that it wasn't true.

I keep telling people
I’ve moved on.

but every time
I close my eyes,
I still see you.

there are visions of you
still trapped in the
back of my eyelids.

you’re gone.
you’re not coming back.
you’re not here.
I know that.
so why haven’t you left me?

I keep telling people
I’ve moved on.
and I’m not lying
when I say that.

I’m telling the truth.
I have moved on.

...but maybe my mind hasn’t.

I’d rather be loved than be wanted
A desire of me means something you need
Something for me to provide or a deed
To help or to guide, inspire or drive
You may want my money
You could need my time
But what if I’m busy?
Or what if I’m tired?
What if I don’t want to fulfil your desire?
Then you won’t want me
But you won’t let me be
You’ll tear me down further
Until I provide what you need

But to be loved, no requirements? Could set my soul free

If the truth is a lie,
Does that make a lie the truth?
Or is it simply denial?
Another example of the mind
Trying to find meaning
When it comes across something
It doesn't understand?

Denial,
such a human emotion.

So quick am I to turn my back,
to close my eyes against the truth

So adamant that it must be wrong

it must

For if I am right I would have to face the consequences of something that is out of my control.


If denial is my first instinct, to claw my way out of the quicksand

then why,

when I came out,

did I never except denial from you?

I wash-up two cups, find a spoon,
decipher his mood whilst I pour us coffee.
He’s not talking.
Dishevelled.
Frustrated.
Irate.
Whoever she is, last night wasn’t great-
The bed’s made up with clean white sheets.
She didn’t stay over.

I hand him his coffee.
He nods,
it’s a start but
there’s nothing set up and
I can’t tell where he wants me.
He’s paid for a day- I undress anyway.
And because it’s quite early, still cool-
I sit in a spilled-sunshine-pool
at the foot of his bed.

He studies me.
Traces my line with his eyes.
I keep warm,
drink coffee.
Wait.
He draws a deep breath-
takes my cup,
holds my face in both hands.
Says nothing, just kisses me hard
and pushes me back.

I unbutton his fly-
lick my fingers,
let them glide,
slide.
Rise up to meet him.
He pulls out the moment he’s done.
His frustration feels hot
on flushed skin,
and becomes mine when
he walks away.

He gathers up paper and charcoal-
the tools of his trade.
Arranges my limbs,
places my hand in
glossy-soft-heat between
my slight-parted thighs.
Leans close, kisses me thank you
then whispers
Be still.

muse

Feeling the embrace of denial,
Coursing through my veins,
Worse than poison,
Choking out my pain,

Growing grotesquely,
Losing control,
These powerful palpitations,
Are starting to consume me whole,

Zapped into the darkness,
My limbs feel the tug,
As my intoxicated emotions,
Tear them off one by one,

As I burst,
I am transported in a blink,
Back to the waiting cell,
My mind constructed for me.

it's been a while since i've seen him
and i'm telling myself not to love

but in my dreams he's there
his eyes, his nose, his lips
what's wrong with me, i said i wouldn't
yet all i can think about is his kiss

he hasn't even kissed me! not a graze, not a touch
i never thought i would be a victim to this nature
this lust

but even if i can spare a few words with him again
my wishes will be fulfilled
alas, there's no way
so my dreams will be killed

don't let
the ship sink,

and if
it happens,

don't
leave me
behind,

drown me
in your love.