We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

Now lights were always on,
Beyond my bed of sky.
Soul to pavement, pounding,
the hourglass near dry.

I forget you enjoyed my silence,
I was early, she says late.
But let's not dwell on me,
It was all about you, Kate.

Whisperings of constant doubts,
Curdle our shared air.
Caged passion,the ache of breathing
but soon I won't be there.

Then typing is your weakness,
Rain mirrored in the glass,
Is that what Daddy taught you?
Your word is less than last.

But if I could be remembered,
Forgive, my missing place.
Recall the touch of guilty hand,
Upon your fading face.