I’m addicted to you
The very act of talking to you sends toxins through my brain
Some may call them oxytocin,
I call to poison

They say that talking to you sends an oxytocin rush to the brain,
The happy hormone
And with that I’m addicted.

Stuck with thoughts of you
A lasting memory coursing through my veins where you one ran through

Blood replaced by you

You sustain me

I don’t want to stop this addiction
It’s the only thing that keeps me living

It’s the finest act of self destruction
Choosing to get addicted to you

Knowing that I am and yet doing nothing to stop it

Breathing in the sweet toxins I’ve grown to love

You’ll be the death of me
As addiction takes its victim
So will you too

I have a hard time
describing
what my childhood memories
feel like.

I think most my age
still recall their childhood
pretty clearly,
like photographs of various quality.

I feel as though
my memory cracks a little
every time my settings
are changed.

The first crack was graduation,
the flurry and fear of
finally
leaving home.

College became
a hazy blur;
it stings to look at it
directly.

Everything falls short,
I move again,
another crack forms
and I feel the pain.

Memories here
are strange and bittersweet;
The fog here is thick,
and I know I don't want to see.

In the present,
I just try to breathe;
but I feel so detached
from my memories.

Everything feels
so far away,
mirages in a shifting desert;
golden sea swirling with storms.

i remember
nights
staying up
late just
to hear your
voice on the
other end

perhaps
you forgot
that writers
adore broken
hearts.

I deleted every photo
from last year
let’s love with new emotions

there is water
somewhere on my right
i can hear it
the gentle patter
of what must be
a delicate fountain
hidden amongst
the foliage and flowers
of freshly bloomed lilies
or falling from a feature
at the water's edge
there is a far-distant
rumble of jet engines
undoubtedly drawing
trails of vapour
across an otherwise
unblemished blue
sounds of traffic
dulled to almost nothing
a background hum
barely noticeable
even the unfamiliar
shrieking of a siren
as it passes by
cannot overpower
the drawn-out strains of violin
the rasgueado strum of guitar
the echoed stomp and clap of dancers
performing or practicing
in front of the monument
to a public figure
of some kind
that i would likely
not recognise or be aware of
on the other side of the park
a clock tower bell
chimes the hour
two o'clock
setting a fluttering
of birds to wing
chattering on the breeze
the seemingly constant
pattern of clicking heels
and scuffed steps
along the nearby path
tell of an exhaustive
cosmopolitan life
a dog begins barking
as i open my eyes
reminding me of home

Yes, I do,
remember being twenty-two.

Being vapid.
Doing things stupid.
Running around without a care,
despite the scare,
still with a lot of things to spare.

And yet also on this very bed,
every night,
over naught,
agonising...
Knowing I could never do nothing,
of the future to come, powerless,
yet, all at once, fearless.

All in all, it was... confusing,...
Yet now,... old and wrinkly,... reminiscing.

you pull me through doorways
with cherry red charm
you fill me with whiskey
and hang on my arm

The clerk asks for blood
the stone has run dry
we promise ’tomorrow’
and feed him with wine

dark clouds now move faster
with voice of hard wind
it speaks to you only
as thunder moves in

you twist here beside me
and curl like a vine
your teeth in my shoulder
reliving some crime

you hold me so tightly
and whisper your vows
your secrets stay hidden
your tears are so loud