I live a life collecting pieces.

Pieces of fantasies forever the

realm of

childhood;

Pieces of imaginations turned wild and wonderful.

Pieces of laughter, confusion, delight and tears.

Pieces of melancholy, shards of sorrow;

fragments of regret, portions of jealousy.

Sections of desire, passion, leading us on

blindly to others of

heartache and yearning.


The rough edges of frustration, yet the

smooth curves of contentment, peace.

I live a life collecting pieces;

this is what I’m told makes a life worthy.

Worthy of remembrance, joy; fulfilment.

But only I can see the struggles,

feel my bones bearing more weight;

the aching tiredness I fall into,

when I’m not at work,

collecting the pieces I speak of.


The fright I hastily pick up off the ground,

when I compare my clumsy, ***** array of

pieces to your perfect and bound ones;

when you aren’t looking.

The dread I reach for, because you leave it crushed

beneath your feet.

The nervous tension pulling strings beneath my skin;

leaving me a reckless, vulnerable puppet

collecting the pieces left in your wake.


Torn to scattered, dusty pieces;

Reborn a puzzle of simplicities,

bright and shining pieces woven into form.

No matter where we have been, where we

were taken,

where we were loved,

where we were betrayed,

where we fought bravely,

where we surrendered nobly,

where we were embittered,

where we learnt of strengths and weaknesses;

we are all made of pieces.


We are collections of pieces.

You and I.

Our collection is known as life;

each piece is our experience of something.

Someone.

Somewhere.

And the more we know each other, the more

often our hands can reach for two of the same,

available pieces left before us.

I pen them down, keep them special and fragrant.

I live a life collecting pieces

and often they are of you.

Restless days,

torturous nights.

Thinking.

Always thinking.

Click, click, click,

always clicking over in my head.

Snap to one image,

snap to the holiday you gave me,

snap to the dinners and treats,

you temptingly placed before me.


Fading hopes,

nightmares rising in the daytime.

Thinking.

Always thinking.

Click, click, click,

I confide in you what happened.

Why I’m always cold when

you reach to touch me.

Why I always patiently wait

for you to want to touch me.

Why I always wish to say

something but I hardly whisper instead.

And how it broke us.


Lasting, loving smiles,

darkening gazes and empty silences.

Thinking.

Always thinking.

Click, click, click,

I shared as much as I could.

I gave you whatever was

left over, still mine, not theirs.

You fell for me, I know you did.

Showered me with silken kisses,

steamy nights,

in all my curves

you found something beautiful.

Me on top, you

lulled me with sweet words.

I was like no other.


Fanciful dreams,

a bruised and aching reality.

Thinking.

Always thinking.

Click, click, click,

You made me want you, so badly,

because you believed I was good.

You handed me golden platters of

worth, passion;

I could finally acknowledge the shape

confidence takes.

It walked beside me.

I was foolish to place this charge in you.


Click, click, click,

Snap.

You promised you would always

be there.

You phrased such blissful melodies.

You wanted to be with me through anything.

You said that.


Why did the tide turn?

How do you go on pretending,

deceiving yourself,

when you said those exact words.

I heard you.

I heard you every night onwards.

I don’t believe you wanted to lie to me,

but you did.


You tore those stitches out,

thread by thread.

When you walked away,

leaving me turning to stone

in the freezing night air.

It whipped me, beat me and still

you didn’t look back.


Only now can I go to sleep,

knowing I don’t have to see you

imprinted

behind my eyelids.

I don’t crave you anymore.

Is it the same for you now?

Idle moments,

forgotten dreams.

Listless wanderings,

raucous play and empty hearts,

bleeding away the foul nights.


What is a moment?

Come take a walk through the infinite second;

void of definition, standard or law.

Come and watch with me.

The sordid dens filled with debauchery;

the lonely houses drowning in darkness;

the enchanting thrill of lovers’ chase;

hearts stolen in the quiet night;

nightmares frightened off with the touches of a lover.


Come, let’s discover the possibilities of one single,

droplet of time.

The eyes that meet;

the friendly greet;

lovers we lose;

the farewells we choose;

Lifted hearts tempted and lost,

to frivolous imaginings at great cost.


Come and see the multitudes of fantasies;

donated or taken in a moment.

The first kiss we grant on tender lips;

passions ignited under the blessed light of stars;

to wandering hands prying into locked chests;

cruel bargains stolen and delivered in secret touches.

The people agreed to;

those consumed without consent.

All in a single moment.

One fragment can narrate endless stories.


Come and lose ourselves in the worlds

we shape for each other.

Blossoming loves;

petty arguments won;

promises made and broken;

lascivious thirst for skin on skin;

fights turned brutal, burning, raging in the dead hours;

shattered trust; bitter confusion;

stinging remorse;

the pulse of regret tapping under the skin.

We feel so much in one second.


Together, a seething, roiling

mass of humanity laid bare.

A connective unit, ignoring it’s separate

millions of limbs.

Let’s marvel at this spectacle.

What is it, that you could want from me,

my friend?

We walk along as shape-shifters;

Flickering, ephemeral forms.

Starting a labyrinth from opposite ends,

we hope to meet at the heart.

The strategy you follow and the actions I take

will never agree though.

I know you will keep left,

and I will circle endless maps,

waiting for you to find me.

Because that is what you do;

you find me.

I need your shelter, when I’m drowning in thorns,

spiny hedges, out of shape;

twisting and curling their brambles around me.


What is it, that you could want from me,

sweet lover?

Moth to flame;

shadows to the light;

a starving creature to the scent of fresh blood;

you gaze and crave and advance,

lost in heat.

I simply lean and wait to find you wanting.

Wanting the same crazed thing every other

man wants from me.

You are of the same mould;

burn the same;

hurt me the same;

excite me the same. But that is not an invitation.

I welcome the thrill;

but I also shiver at the chill you let in as you enter;

leaving the door open to a blizzard.


What is it, that you could want from me,

lovely admirer?

I struggle to cover up my holes and gaping wounds before

you eye me.

You like my insecurity;

you feed off my uncertainty.

You can sway me like no other.

Because you have seen those weak spots under

my skin and feathers.

And you show me you like them.

You warm the air around me,

everything shimmers and is soft to the touch.

I’m safe moving into your arms until

you show me truly what you are.

Scaly, coiled as a spring, rough,

grazing and cutting my skin.

You’re a snake that charmed me into

harm.

Stop admiring me, It’s worth so little

I could be better without it.


What is it, that you could yearn for in my presence,

my love?

Long, slow days wrapped in each other.

Excitement buries itself into expectation. Into routine.

I know you’re there when I call.

I know you sense my tears building,

before I do.

I know you already understand the words yet

to tumble from my mouth;

dirtying the floor and reeking of loss.

Why yearn, when you already have been given what

you need?

Why moan and cry at my feet, hurting, when you’ve already taken

what you need?

It’s only need. It’s not desire, or dreams.

It’s physical, real, and I’m the lost one thinking it was different.

Maybe, one day my love, I’ll be the one to yearn instead.

Loud enough that it will shudder and surge through your skin.

Enough that you can give back to me.


What is it, truly, that you want?

I know that the choice,

littered like puzzle pieces before you,

is a hard one.


I know you don’t mean to break me.


I know you want to conceal my cracks,

pointed edges,

gnarled and twisted,

before I get to see that they are still there.


I know you want me to wake up beside you, hopeful and

cured.

I know you want me to stop gathering my defences,

every time you throw a question over my fence.


I know you want me to be the one.

I also know that you are beginning to question if I am the one.


I know I follow an endless road. It’s always muddy and cold

and runs parallel to yours.


I know I seem settled but that’s the excuse and lie

I want for you to understand. That’s the image I

build for you.


I know I won’t be what you go to bed dreaming of.

I can’t live in fantasy with you, even though I can fall into

daydreams and blissful reveries of someone I could have been.


I know I ensnared you,

lured you into my bitter web.

I stalk around our trap like a purposeful spider,

self assured and cunning,

my body waiting for a moment to strike.

I know I’ll hurt you deeply; so much it’s

enough to cut you lose

from the net before I do something unforgivable.


I know we love the pull of each other. The safety we revel in, when

we pose as dangerous threats to each other.

The fiery lust and desire sparked when people look away.


I know I fell in love with you, but I also know that doesn’t mean

all that much to you.

I know it doesn’t mean you will always love me.

I know we hold each other until the first person lets go,

stops clinging to open arms;

warm bodies turn cold.

And I know one of us always leaves.


I know I am myself, and I wouldn’t change it for you.

Not for all your kisses or caresses or late-night passions.

Not for the eyes I bathe in or for all the sweet promises you break.


I know that I will always be me.

And I know I’ll continue to be me, strive to be me,

hold on to what I am, burn

as fierce as I do,

long after you take what’s dedicated yours

and run.

Do you know what you do to me?

Quiet fury, hauntingly close.

Every time you say that word, you leave an imprint,

a naked brand scarring my skin.

Raised, sore, bleeding on to my hands.

Soon I’ll be covered in welts,

because I can’t always agree to your demands.


Frigid.

Why so frigid?


You are now my disease.

I carry you wrapped in bed sheets inside;

nestled deep inside;

you course through my bloodstream,

hot, boiling my blood;

Sending flushes of sweat flooding my skin,

as you try again to reach for something that’s not yours.

Waves of infection that I wait to succumb to, every time we

feel the need to be intimate, to have a semblance of normality,

when I know I’m not even close to sharing myself with you.


You’re not…affectionate, are you?

You barely do anything, you leave it all up to me to love you,

just do something in return, start something would you?


Do you even realise your foul play?

I can’t help but carry your marks and bare them for

each new soul that steps towards me,

lovingly, until they know what I seem incapable of.

I do love you.

I do want you.

But please realise the scars and wounds and battle remnants I harbour;

bruises that don’t disappear, stitches that don’t disappear, tender spots

and pain that doesn’t

disappear as you try and ****** your way in.

You can’t be a cure.


Stop. You are just so cold.

Are we ever going to be together if you can’t do this for me?


You roll over in bed.

I can feel the heavy burden of disappointment.

Your chilly reception of my arms

resting on your chest.

Almost like I’m the one causing you suffering. My touch gives you

flinches,

subtle twists of your body away from mine.

I feel so horribly naked before you. It isn’t pleasant anymore.

It isn’t beautiful anymore.

I do all this for you, I lie down at your feet

and surrender myself to this icy blizzard because

I’m trying to make you happy.

I’m trying to keep you satisfied. It’s always been the battle I rage with

myself,

warring and violent punishments when I fail to keep you here,

tucked beside me,

warm and safe beside me.


I’m so sorry there are times

I can’t show you just how much I need you here.


I’m not stoic; I flail and drown all on my own, without you,

Without your fecund roots to keep me grounded.

Without your whispers and nips and possession.

Without your lips on mine, without your push and pull;

Without your refuge I seek, to escape myself.


But don’t you ever name-call again.

Don’t you ever make me close up inside again.

Don’t make me retract my limbs and curl,

fold and bend down, into myself, because you are hurt.

Don’t you ever think I don’t feel, don’t think I don’t need pleasure as you

do.

Don’t ever think you always provide it the way

I need you to.

I’m the one who cries at night, howling at the things I still don’t

achieve for you.

I’m the one who feels that I don’t support your weight as you

do for mine.

I’m the one who drifts into sad reveries of the time to come;

The time I know will come when you flee and run from

my outstretched arms.


Frigid.

Frigid.


Get out. This will never be ok.

Stop sending that word ripping underneath

my skin. Don’t impale me on such a lie.

It’s tender. I can be so gentle but you only remind me

of brutality; dominating my strength so I don’t

know it’s there.

How is that right for you to say to me?

Do you know what you do to me?