You have a gift,

my lovely monster.

I get to own you in the dead hours of night,

all mine and rough and ravenous for pounding blood

and heated touches.


Words are putty in your claws,

my lovely shadow, chasing my body, so close.

They are malleable, leaky,

drizzling sweetness and love in sugary promises.

They crack apart when I reach to see if they are real.


Days are completed journeys, changing sides of your heart,

my lovely animal.

Softened heart melting in my fingers, wrapping my body one day

and bruised and brittle red glass leaving blood marks

painting crude patterns and ruptured brutal bursts on beaten skin.


She just doesn’t know how beautiful she is…
Through anything, I need to hear it, I need to be here…
You make me feel like I never have before…
I love you and I need you right now…


My body wants to wrap around you, when the shadows return

to rest along my lonely cold walls.

I devour your words, hungry and lustful, tempting,

the juice and hope of them leaves gloss on my lips.


I remind myself dazed and sleepily to lock your words in today’s box.

They can be shelved; raised and at once forgotten among the other

treasures you give me.

Each day is a new box my dearest monster.

I cradle and store your words like delicate porcelain,

only usable for one single day.

Only clean for one slim moment.


Right now I curl beneath you,

the smell of you stains my skin and littered clothes.

You breathe on me.

Your words are crashing noise; they ring and slice the air,

my head splits and my eyes weep salty remnants of your words.

Cleansed and rid of the filth you breathe into them,

your tongue that slithers through my parted lips, scorching my throat.


Your hands cold and threatening,

I can taste the dusty feelings you shed, like dead skin

flaking away its layers.

The words you mouth just spread ash around me, circles my body

like a dead hearth.

You never meant them.

They cover the frightening parts of you I can finally see-


Rip.

Seams exposed and blood making its slow passage to the floor.

I feel its sticky pool beneath me, my back lies wet and limp in your hand.

A husk bleeding out.


Lead me on and take what’s yours.

My heart. It hurts. It shrivels in the wake of your betrayal.

Stung and stopped,

you crawl off your prey.

Leaving it to be scavenged in the dark to come.


My lovely monster.

Come back.

Dear you;


I have tried,

so hard to paint my feelings out for you;

to relinquish those delicate flowers into the raging torrents.


I have always wanted,

you to understand what I do, is for you;

I don’t have to pretend I’m not falling into your fibres and strings.


I have craved your smiles,

to know they are for me, mine for you;

I frolic along with you, hands bound and the world a riot.


I have never wanted to cry for you,

to let myself feel something so large, trembling inside a shell for you;

to feel is also to know I can hurt, wounds and scars do show.


I always was excited by you,

what you could make me sing for, praise in you;

to feel the sudden rise of temperature, soar to new ecstasies.


I have never known that I could predict words for you,

being able to moan and shape them from my tongue;

I know what they are, before you growl them out and

bite me

with those sharped teeth

and I collapse with them

buried deep within,

my head, arms, legs and in between.


Yet, there are things I have always wanted to say to you.

Things locked away, deep;

bottled and barrelled in caverns and crooks.

I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to voice them.

You make me nervous. You don’t help me wrap my tongue around them.

But maybe it’s simply me; I blunder through it all, you know me well.


I have to tell you that I’m sorry we will never be able to know

exactly who we are, together or separate;

there is no one who knows another person so intimately.

We are lovers, but I will never truly know your body like you do;

and for that I only wish to speak in answers.

Never questions.

Or I’ll be haunted by their coldness.


Take care. I love you.

At the same time I’ve already begun to miss you.


Me.

Flailing limbs and burdened hearts,

made heavy in the leaden air,

all silence and endless questions,

running off the walls.


Trying to make sense,

from long forgotten body language,

words and fluid messages,

lost spellbound to a sea of worries.


Will you still be there when I wake?

Can I hold your hands in mine now?

What is your reasoning for disappearing?

Is it time for me to let go, because you already

have released your threads, cut the strings and

tied the loose ends?


I circle your reasons like a hungry bird,

circling and devouring the strength from the land below,

for all these stormy days and listless nights,

left defenceless in bed and devoid of touch.


I only wish I knew your why.

A hungry heart left with scraps as morsels of

dried up affection and cracked pieces of disappointment.

I have turned over every piece left, trying to salvage the decay

left behind.


I was once strong and beautiful in your wake.

I smelled of fresh sweetness yet burnt hot as newborn flames.

I only why you abandoned your beauty?

I wonder why you left your stunning creation behind?


The one thing you didn’t take with you,

along to new hands and new hearts,

is my ability to be me.

I can still circle like a vulture in flight,

but I can also soar and sing like no woman yet

to touch her feet to this earth.


For all the reasons I still don’t understand.

For all the reasons you spoke and the volumes you

left unsaid, words brandished between us like knives

yet to pierce skin,

for all the reasons you left trailing behind your choice…


At least I know you helped strengthen me.

You gave me the room to spread wings,

You gave me the light to paint my colours by,

you gave me the boldness to reach out for new lovers,

and you gave me the endless questioning I seek to answer.


Only you, could have been responsible for such worries.

Only you, can still be responsible for such worries yet still to appear.

That is your lasting message scrawled across my skin.

I know these are the fruitless dreams,

the billowing smoke of the wishes of a lover scorned.

I know I’m just a ragged mess curled

in on itself, cowering to the floor, wishing to be gone.


I know these are the silly, sad-song lullabies

of one girl hurt too many times in your arms.

I know I’m just reaching out endlessly,

a drowned twig broken and miserable on the shores of

a lapping stream.


I know that I’m so lonely,

fighting a battle of one, for one person,

and refusing to admit the sad outcome.

I know I’m trying to paint artworks, that simply aren’t there;

trying to steal kisses and borrow time with you that I can’t have.


I know that I’ll keep holding you under

my thick ashen smoke, until I get what I need from you.

I know I’m blindly hoping, curling fingers around restless shadows,

tendrils and whips of blackened air,

trying to find a reality where you say sorry.


Pulling at deluded forms, I’m clutching at faded outlines,

I know I’m desperate in seeking your salvation.

But I also know I just crave your fall.

I want you to make amends, to breathe my name

into the fires at your feet and feel the sting of the burn.


I know I want your dreams to fizzle and pop,

cloudy fireworks aiming to reach me and shout the things

you need to tell me, to me.

I know what I want so badly.

And that is for you to crouch and kiss my feet for all the

words left unsaid,

bruises blossomed and cuts made,

raised words bitten and covered over mine,

doubts sewn and fears nestled and nourished.


I want you to search for me, hunt me down and

unburden yourself of such things at my feet.

I want you to whisper my name at night, before you sleep.

I want you to crave and plead and beg to find me,

and I want you to say what you left abandoned.


Even if it hurts, stings, blisters or boils inside.

Say them.

Don’t cower in fear or run like wounded prey.

I want you to search me out, I want you to be the one looking…

…and I also want you to be the one to truly find me.

Voices weave words around and behind me,

softly burying me in whispers and whims.

I’m a wallflower, pressed and trimmed inside

the neat frame you placed on me.


Cool, clean, crisp and curt,

I belong shrinking from the light, so you clearly say.

Clinging to the shadows covering the walls,

I have a voice but I only long for you to hear it.


Fanciful freedom lost on summer breezes,

fine lines drawn on hidden walls.

I’m the flower that blooms in the shade, in the night,

whilst you frolic and fade away.


Hiding hurt and shying from prying eyes,

huddled, hastened to escape the trickling lights.

You back against the wall, folding into me,

you can tell something weeps behind you, but

you just can’t see the petals.


Languid, lost and lonely beneath the silence,

I lurk in wait for your eyes to spy mine.

I linger over words unspoken, shared through time lapsed

between you and me,

I’m your wallflower, forever more.


I long to be over you.

I long to make you hear my voice.

But I don’t know how to press out from the wall,

to make you see my blossoms against such a wall so tall.


I ache to hear words spoken,

even lost in the static air between us.

I need to hear you notice me breathing, me whispering

sweet notes in your ear.


I long to feel touch, to know warmth and craving,

I’m in dire need of you, so please, just notice me.

I long to tell you of the tears I spilt for you,

that you didn’t notice on your shoulder, that you never see.


I am so tired of being quiet,

I have words to whisper but I can only be so hushed.

I need to tell you I’ve been there for you from the start,

but trodden and paled and left in the dust.


Everyone sighs over you.

Everyone mouthes and soothes and steals your gaze,

but I’m the one you press against for safety,

I’m the one you seek in you winding maze.

You don’t know it yet, but I know in time you’ll see.

It truly is, me.

Nights of thinking alone,

gathering my proofs,

I’m still unsure you were real.


I loved the sweet caress of your voice,

the way your mouth shaped my name,

your eyes hovering lazily over mine.

I loved the soft touches and frenzied hands,

as you carried and explored me, explored together

in bed sheets and a summer night’s heat.


Balcony doors embraced the ocean with open arms

before us, the tingle of adventures together

left tickling my skin.

It was a night that brought so many gifts, so many

tender looks and sprawling affections

laying waste to the floor.


But it was a night left to my fantasy.

No videos, photographs, Facebook statuses

or afterwords of gratitude.

A night left as bundles of touches and

portions of tangled desire beautifully coiled like

ropes inside my head.


I need those proofs.

I need to know that love-nest even happened.

That it wasn’t some sickened dream I had,

whilst I cried in bed alone that it would soon

all end;

a frayed and ***** heap of pity left in place of you.

My heart would conjure anything to protect me from you.

My heart would drill holes in those fragments if it meant

lies from you, if it meant little pieces of love you could

hurt me with.


My heart is grateful for what you showed me,

the love you painted with me, for me, over me.

My heart is still in love with the times we shared,

the memories that glide around silkily in my sleep;

but my heart is also still frightened, of you.

And what power I gave you, over me, to make me

weep and search for evidence like this.

To finally know you loved me, or not.


Because that is what it needs doesn’t it?

Prove that it needs to, that it’s real.

Were you real beneath my fingers?

Music sings out, sobbing in the silence

of a darkened room.

It rises and falls, waves of calm and turmoil,

shared in bursts;

crescendoes of chaos and gentle melodies,

like bridges between tears.


This is where heart-ache resides;

patient and deadly, it waits.

It lurks in crowded corners, along with

all the other sins you make room for.

It makes the music you wish others

could hear, soft murmurs repeating

long into the night.


This is where everything resides.

The dark portions are home to all

your creatures, and all the music

they make;

worn strings and sticky keys.

Jealousy and its drumbeats

paired with dishonest notes and

the jagged shadows of your temptations

and spite.


The room is loud around you, but no one

on the other side of the door can hear

you cry it’s too loud.

They hear a rustle of leaves in a barren night.

Nothing more.


I confess.

I confess I still love you.

I confess I still desire another, and another;

I confess to all these temptations, passions left

sour in my mouth.

I confess to dreaming of you hurt.

I confess to rejecting your body once before,

a one night stand left on pause for days.


I confess to inflicting your words, just like I confess

to feeling bruised and wounded.

I confess to tears, when I see you embrace another.

I confess to tears in the long, cold night; because

I only feel empty at the thought of your name.

I confess to wishing I’d screamed at you, howled

in agony before your eyes as you slipped between my fingers.

I confess to hoping you would admit your scandalous lies,

and confess to knowing you never would be good enough to.


I confess to whispering your name above me,

and being glad I don’t have to bear a response.

I confess to painting your memories in words,

and loving how they float away,

as slippery and fine as silk.

I confess all these things, in your name.