i'll bring you to me like i need it
because i do
that need for your lips
that need to be lost with you
the intoxication they provide
like a solemn deed set aside, that sincerity still resides

by waist i pull
by lips i speak and you listen without words
cheek to cheek
none will fulfill
fulfill what you mean to me
what you do to me
getting lost in the darkness of a cinema seat yet remaining still
getting lost in bedroom sheets yet remaining still

the words i struggle to say, here they lay
the map, thrown away
because
i lose myself
but i want to
i need to

It makes me anxious
How much I care about you
You've got hold of me

I was proud of myself,
When I shakily took the blade
Away from my wrist
Because I couldn't stand it
If I started cutting again

i have decided that
it is better to die than to speak.
all my lips want to do is lie in bed with his,
lazy hazy days doing nothing but touching,
but i will keep them closed
as we go from this world to the next.
did i really think i could fall in love with my best friend?
that i would be loved in return?
that there could be a happy ending?
that i could continue to breathe without loving him?
oh... my heart feels frozen.
i cannot possibly move on,
but this current state will **** me.
i have to do something
i know i must.
but is it worth losing the best person in my life?
everyone has disappointed me, but him the least
and how can i just pack it all up and say goodbye
to some of my happiest moments?
under the covers
with sloppy drunk kisses
toes tickling toes
and hands on the warm parts.
this is the worst feeling.
my lips are fighting to stay closed against the waves of words on my tongue.
i see him and i turn to dust
like a forgotten city that waited too long in the sun.
i'm writing my own love spells,
last ditch efforts to pray something into existence
when there is no life to be had
in between our little hearts.
this love will pass.
it must.
so i will wait for the wind to carry this love away from me,
and i will not speak again until it does.

my telephone screen
prints your name
and the illuminated letters
haunt me
as the aftermath
of your actions

Swimmers.
Groping each other,
intimately,
through the distance of a lane rope.
The lady,
with three children,
touched,
my thigh,
and I brushed past the man,
who's five times my age,
his hands,
soft,
and embracing.
But it's okay.
Because I'm drowning.

I fell in love when I was six,

looked straight up into the dark void
and found gravity did not exist,

threw my hands ritualistically to the stars,

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