i don't think
you realise just
how much you've done
to change me
break me
because even now that
you're gone
I can't help but feel you
everywhere

we were at the park
at 2am
we snuck over the gate
and I swear I've never
felt so free in my life.
leaning against a tree
you kissed me for the first time,
you traced my hair down to my
waist
and told me you loved it
more when it was short
because then I wouldn't hide
behind it
away from your eyes

one night when we
drank so much we couldn't
walk
you told me how you
didn't like seeing me destroy myself
but you admitted that you
loved the taste of *****
when you kissed me
(and the colour of my lips after you did too)


you carved our initials
into the tree we had
our first kiss against
and although I laughed,
telling you how cheesy you
were being
I never admitted how much
I loved it

I remember how much you
loved art
you were always
using the colour purple
you said it made
everything beautiful,
it made everything look like art

but now you're gone
and I've cut my hair shorter
now
just how you loved it
and I drown myself in *****
hoping you'll come and kiss me.
I've bought 20 lipsticks
to try and match the colour you
made mine when we kissed.

they cut the tree down.
and now there's blood
all over the floor
and my hands are shaking.
I've been trying to carve those
initials you made, into my skin
I need to keep us alive somehow
but ****
I can't get your writing right
and I'm starting to feel faint

I start punching the mirror
and bruises are forming
my skin is turning blue, green, purple
...
purple.
I keep punching the walls - purple.

I start punching myself
hoping to cover my skin in bruises
because then maybe I'll look
beautiful to you again.

like art.

when a poet loses his words
It's like a bow without a arrow
Useless on their own
But powerful when combined
Because if I was a engine
you'd be my fuel
As I struggle to write
The light because dim
Because you were the light
But now this tunnel is caving in

If I come to you once in the silence of morning
as the sunlight weaves strands of wild fire through my hair
will I taste on your breath a new love slowly dawning
will your eyes be enraptured on finding me there.

Will you hold out your arms, will your soul sweetly beckon
as lightly my kisses your passion will find
sweet petals bloom scarlet in rapturous welcome
as ivory flesh with yours softly combines.

Then I will return to the arms of another
and all will be lost in the passing of time
aside from the fate that our
hearts must now suffer,
nevermore to be yours, nevermore to be mine.

Brake, turn turn turn STOP.
Shift the gear from Drive to Neutral to Reverse to Park.
Switch off the lights, 3, 2, 1. Turn the key and pull it out.
Let go of the brakes. Move the seat back a couple notches. Lean it back a bit. Exhale.

It's 5:36 and I haven't slept all night and I should've but I regret nothing. My hoodie smells like you, I bring it closer to my face. Your scent envelops me, embraces me, kisses me lightly. I wish it was your hair that was wrapped gently around my hand, not my hoodie string. I wish it was your body I was holding close to me, not the cold air.

Sigh. Shift legs around. Stretch arms out. Rub eyes. Look out the window.

I wish I could hold you and kiss you as the sun comes up. We've ended days together often, but we have yet to witness a sunrise. I wish you were here to tell me what colors were where in the sky. I wish I could point out the fading constellations and tell you the stories behind them, while adding on to our own.

Sigh again. Straighten seat, move it up a couple notches. Open the door, check pocket for keys, lock the door.  Lean against it now. Sigh.

I'm thinking of my bed. it's cold, lonely, and it has an appalling lack of you in it. Your body isn't there to warm my bones. You're not there to hold and caress. We rested, naked in thought and partially in clothes.

Sigh once more. Close the door. Keys and hands in pockets. Walk up to the door, unlock it. Wipe feet on the mat. Shut it ever so softly (you can't be waking up Mum). Take off shoes. Sit on the stairs.

It's cold outside and in my bed and again, my bones are frigid. It's Sunday morning and I've a long day ahead of me. I've been up almost 24 hours but I can't seem to sleep: I'm going through withdrawal now, the ecstasy that is your touch now an hour old. I miss you.

Sigh for the last time. Get up, stretch out a bit, get off the stairs.*

I shuffle off towards the kitchen and make myself some coffee. Strong, bold, and sharp. I wish it was your lips that I tasted at 6:43, accentuating my senses and jolting me awake.

Mug in the sink and sugar in the cupboard, milk and cream in the fridge. Up the stairs, right to the bathroom. Strip. Shower on.

The water runs down me and I wish once again that it was your body pressed up against me. Your ******* against my chest, the curve of your hips against my waist. Hands roaming, hearts beating, lips meeting.

Shower off. Drip drop blip blop. Dry off and dress.

**It's 7:30 and my day has started, but my longing for you has yet to end.

do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.

Porcelain angels
are delicate things
and darling,
you broke
your own wings.

She looked at her blades,
Than looked at her wrist...
She missed that feeling,
But her scars were healing.
She wanted to stay strong,
But i's  been so long...
She put the blade on her wrist,
And than made her hands into a fists...
She dropped the blade,
And began to cry..
She couldn't believe how long it's been,
Since she felt those blades cutting her self.....
She should be so proud,
But voices in her head got so loud...
She sat there in pain,
Because she knew she was  going insane!!!

I want to feel the breeze on my unveiled face
and my unlocked hair, this morning,
I am walking barefoot.
I want to feel the earth on my feet.
How she has gone warm
under the anger of the days.
Or how she shivers in the days
of agony, the cold winters.
Before the night was done,
I plucked and hid some in my pocket.
There it stays, the darkness,
close to my heart. Sometimes
the stars smile, pomegranate cloves,
bleeding sliced under my knife.
There is a wave receding,
stealing the earth under my feet away.
A projectile flew with the birds,
racing them a while, but it drops now
into the water in a thud.