Under a wan silver sky
I drank your cup of dreams
On that lonely snowy plain
I unpicked your certain seams
In the bleak pall of mountains
I tested your fickle faith
By the broken bones of buildings
I left you an empty wraith

It’s the kind of sadness where your rib cage
Contorts
And twists and
Snaps.

Depression doesn’t float through my veins
It crawls through my bones, with dagger hands
And winding movements.

I cannot breathe.

And yet there was nothing taken from me.

Fortunate are these
hands that get to trace your skin
from your head to toe

12:59 PM
23/10/22

The spark has gone.
Only smoke is rising.

the bruises didn't hurt me
i know they were supposed to but they didn't
the dark brown spots up my spine and down my thighs
reminded me of you
i  loved them, almost as much as I loved you.
and when they faded I asked for more.
and when you left for college the marks you made on me stayed.
i'm now wondering, have you made anymore marks?