You always mention Sylvia Plath.
I think you want to be like her,
But your poetry’s just not up to scratch.

You idealise her suicide

Her torment becomes your own.
Relish in the thought
That in death you will achieve some kind of success.
Yet in death you will still be alone.

All my life
water has been weightless.
So I did not fear it when I met you on the shore.
You insisted it was shallow
That the waters touch would be painless
Convinced me it was pure.

Then you lit
A cigarette. Offered one to me
Said it made it easier to breathe.
Its stale smoke was intoxicating
Like your presence,
I soaked it up.
But it burned in my lungs and suffocated
Even the water could not extinguish its flame.

Under the water
I perceived things more clearly.
Your ashen face and broken soul
Of your games I had grown weary.
But it was too late I felt the waters weight with you
Like crimson ribbons the blood from our wounds
Intermingled and consumed.
I couldn’t drift away from you

My screams were silenced in this bottomless depth
But your lips never moved.
And then I realised
You didn’t want to be saved
From the moment we met upon the shore
You wanted me to feel
your pain

Once I was inexplicably drawn to you
But now I’m struggling to escape your grip.
I refuse to drown with you
My fingertips are reaching the surface.

Outside my window.
Is the sky really this opaque?
Or am I just up in the clouds
In a dream like haze
High on the smog from the city
That saved me
                                                              ­                                          
                                                                ­                                         Sleepy Skies.
                                                          ­   Tonight the sky is as black as my soul
                                                            ­                 And an artificial amber glow
                                                            ­                                                         Filters
                                                         ­                     Thru the gap of my window
                                              And I don’t know whether to be happy or sad
                                           that you are sleeping under the same sky as me.

Lilac Views.
Dawn beckons me from my bed
With a faint purple hue.
I see bright white headlights
That trickle like raindrops
Through the dewy branches.
And as we chase the sun a
pink appears upon the canvas.

                                                        ­                                                                D­ay.
                                                             ­                  Soft beginnings turn to blue
                                                            ­                                   That bites you and
                                                             ­                   blinds you when you stare.
                                                          ­ And it's strange to think without the sun
                                                             ­               We wouldn’t see its colour.