and from time to time, you will think of me

i remember that look. the smile that carved out gold from my tears.
the twitch and fold of our limbs.

i was always too cold.
you were always too warm.

lie naked
undrugged, sober, a box of maltesers rattling at our feet.

no one kisses me like you do.
no one cools me like you do.

a piece of sky slithers down my back
somewhere, that same piece of sky has drifted over you.

and we are breathing the same air.
and sometimes our hearts are falling to the same beat.

and from time to time, you will think of me
as that creature of hungry love.

my tongue is shattered, it cannot talk.
my sad eyes tilting the shade of you.

i remember that look. the stare that bent the moon in half.
and our bed, haven ground for hard breathing.

i was always too cold.
you were always too warm.

and from time to time, you will think of me.

and from time to time, i will think of you.

Advertisements

kinda tragic

well they do say third time’s a charm
you fulfilled the brief, what’s your mother like?
you are a kind of word that stays on my tongue
a sort of, cliffhanger?

— kinda tragic man,
your bones are rotting fruit
your heart’s a bag of brittle
you’re overcooked

sometimes i think hard about your excuses
the way they multiply like cancer
oh i couldn’t be here to do this
                i won’t be there to do that

i’m not bitter;
just pensive about the fact you haven’t shaved in weeks.
i used to marry us two together and forge rings in my mouth,
our wedding date clashed with your appointment at the barber’s

sometimes i think hard about your poorly face
how desperate i was to leave
and how you stained my sheets with cheats
god give me strength

it’s kinda tragic
that being happy now means i write less
it’s kinda tragic
that we moved the fuck on.

When We Die

N.B. 10/2/16 03:48am, I wrote this only hours before you left me. How could I have known? My sixth sense is strong, no? How time has changed me. How time has changed you. My face is not crushed in the disappearance of your kiss. But it is fixed by no longer loving the single cold form you are, that no one will ever, can ever, appreciate.

You think that when we die
or fizzle out
that maybe you’ll just go out drinking and replace me with the night

right up until the birds are saying go to bed at 5 am
you think that when you replace me
everything will fall into place better than it did before

at 19 I find aches in places I didn’t know existed inside me
I’m waiting for a call to say I’m redundant
and my heart’s just not needed anymore

when broken glass skirts the corners of where you live
and you taste somebody else’s lips with your liquor
you’ll remind yourself that we were the misfit that confused everybody

we were so different
like A and Z
yes we were all wrong for each other

and doing this is fine and it’ll be okay
if you just close your eyes
and forget that a different pair of legs are straddling you

in some other broken universe
you can find me digging graves
for all the different pieces of me I shared with you

I’ll take my broken bones
and heave them into the soil
and find a new body to steal

I haven’t lived inside my own body for years now
I demolished the thing when I moved into yours never thinking we’d die but now
I know that we will and when we die

you’ll have the night to turn to
you’ll have the daybreak to confide in
and the hangovers to blame

but I’ll just have my face smashed into the concrete of your disappearing kiss.

“what did you feel like when it happened to you?”

N.B. for my friend, who is always loved.

it is a blur because
all i really remember are a collection of small but very real things.

just feeling like i was a baby being sucker punched
repeatedly until my bones were baby food.

and i listened to ultraviolence and sad girl
and lay in my bed for a couple weeks with the plates piling up on my desk.

my face seemed physically broken
and my mother said i’d lost weight when she skyped me.

i kept looking at his t-shirt hoping his warm body would appear inside it
i wanted to blink and he’d be right there smiling with a scotch egg in his hand.

sometimes i went clubbing and there’d be a tall redhead
and my knees would buckle and i thought emily would have to carry me out.

there weren’t enough cocktail pitchers in the world
to soak up all the breaking of me

and it took every vessel and every sinew and every bleed
of me to not pick up the phone and kill him.

i don’t expect him to understand because he’s never been here before.
but i’m a proud girl, i’ve got the weight of the oceans in my hands.

fine is a hard emotion to come by,
but then one day when a friend walks by to ask you

“how are you doing?”
you will not sweat under the word. fine is your friend. you will mean it.

the world will turn in again and like me
you’ll be a proud girl with the weight of the oceans in your hands.

I Can Fit Two Years Into An Old Boux Avenue Bag

this is your destination now
there are some gifts you gave me i won’t wear
necklaces from the amazon
a painting of a toucan
a locket keyring with our faces smiling inside
love letters
a USB of photos i didn’t have the heart to delete
plus a bunch of other things that shouldn’t matter
but hell they did and still do
when i’m 40 i’ll dig em’ up
and rake my insides with our youth
it’s good to give your heart a quick shake
now and then
our universe is packed into this little lingerie bag
and i think that’s kinda magical, don’t you?

Personal Problems: 11th Account

N.B. i do believe in fairies, i do, i do.

dear lover,
tell me something so innately personal
that it makes you feel like the way you first fell in love with me.
the way God pushed me over that familiar cliff into your heart.
or better,
so personal that it tears you with a meat cleaver
until you are nothing but slices of guilt and regret.

you suppose I write because I hate you,
but no.
you are just not the boy I thought you were.
take heed of when I call you “boy”.
maybe it is the Peter Pan in you that calls for a Wendy like me
in life to be your mother,
to clean your room
and wipe down your sinks
because that is my calling in life.

there is no need to dislike you
at all.
not even after everything.
my fault, your fault, our fault.
it is immaterial. like dust.
we are just two children,
you fight your dad like Captain Hook
and I too thought I should never grow up,
but Peter, I must.

for me, lover
it is the having to fall in love all over again
start from cleaner whiter pages
so clear are the raindrops
in my eyes
i must harvest new tears to shed

over other silly Peter Pans like you
and the thought of it is so exhausting
but exciting.
learning to recognise his smell,
making him cups of tea his way,
or watching him fly to the second star to the right

straight on till morning.
all boys are Peter Pan at heart.
there is a shard in their chest
that wills them never to grow up.
it’s what wills them to wear the t-shirt
with the curry stain down the front to the gym.

or wills them to leave pistachio shells all over the floor.
or wills them to leave tea bags on the surface.
the TV programmes litter you like childhood dreams of being a F1 race car driver.
and sure enough,
they hide it with the bills to pay
and their newborn son in their arms

but there is magic in their lungs still
fairy dust lining their fragile ribs
that tells them to go play with their Lost Boys down the pub. get muddy.
y’see,
no matter how much it hurts me
i know you meant well jumping into bed with somebody else

right afterwards
because you’re just looking for a Tinkerbell. or Tiger Lily.
a friend to nurse the swords splicing your bones after a broken heart
whereas I took to a cloud
and went on home
where Dad had to hold me.

sure I would fall in love in again.
i would fall in love with a man so hard and so different
that we would make the planet fall away from beneath our feet
and we would go to the university of Neverland
and make it our own
i would risk my heart a thousand times

and wash it out
wring it out to dry with the mermaids all laughing at me
for being so naive that I’ll find a sweet one
but washing out my chest
means I’m a shade closer to new
and you eventually disappear altogether, stain.

no I don’t hate you
no I don’t love you
it’s just always disappointing to stain your new clothes, or organs, in my case.
for now
I’d better be Wendy
and not rely on a Peter to love me.

here is magic
the alcohol is nothing
when you can fly alone
and visit each star like i visit my grandfather.
always sweet.
no, no man for me is ever needed to be happy.

but i might stumble across one by accident to share it with
like cake.
and if you should ever run out of Tinkerbells and jäger
i should hope you find your Wendy in the nick of time
before Neverland runs out of magic
and immaturity.

it’s your turn now.

April-Breeze

I know for a fact
That at some point,
A familiar breeze will have rolled in
Through the gap in your window
And you will have smelled me entering your room.

I stand at the foot of your bed
Waiting for you to scream
For you to say that you’re really sorry
That you mean you want us really,
To be friends,
But the summer months are coming

And all I feel is the muskiness of your lies.
They are deathwatch beetles in my pockets.
I fish them out into handfuls
I pour them about.
You get scared.

I say let them crawl across your face
And you hope that it’s punishment alone
But I am just killing off any love I’ve had for you
This you,
Lying in bed,
Satisfied you’ve done by what you think is right.

Tonight I walked into my bedroom
And had a flashback of the time we fucked on my bed
Thoughtlessly, irrationally, in anger, in sadness
Because you were going one way
And I was going the other.

I don’t know how to handle separation.
Or how paths split into two like hair.
I have broken you off like an end
And,
With that thought alone,
The beetles vanish from between your eyelashes

They dissipate with a final kiss,
And the rest crawl back into my pockets
Nothing but an alarm clock tells you it’s time.
Time for me to give up on your carcass.
I had already eaten and suppered on what’s best of you,

And now there is nothing left. No good of you. Too bad I didn’t share.

And with that thought alone, I came as I went, again,

On an April-Breeze,

And you were alone.

Free

he hit me right over the head
bled and bled and bled
he sucker punched me to the sky
when i came back down

he kicked and kicked and kicked
the bruises defiled me, disfigured my face
and the blood dried in my hair
fingernails burned away

he dragged his axe
through me
repeatedly
slowly

all of this done smiling
and i remember the last strike
blinding me in the eyes
and i was gone.

i dragged my carcass to the hospital
my fingers trembling
i fixed my own drip
filled up bags with the blood of friends

which they’d donated with complimentary kisses
i lay there deader than pluto
when i checked myself in
and people i loved watched me sleep

they watched me breathe weakly
my ribs raise
the anchors of my heart sewing themselves slowly
back into the cavity

none of us expected him to give me a real beating
but who does?
we all lay there and waited for me
and one morning my eyes flew up like the sun.

we stuck some gauze onto my wounds
and sterilising them
wow
the pain meant acknowledging how bad it was

we cleaned my hair
had it smelling of rosehip and jojoba
we threaded our needles and started stitching
we soaked up the blood from the floors of my house

with paper towels
they went and bleached it
he’d done a runner
long gone

we filled in the paperwork
we filled in the holes
filtered blood into my veins
filtered life back into my eyes

he left like a bruise
in some amazing way
the black and blue
become purple and yellow

and the yellow to cream and skin
we watched me breathe harder
happier
and when it was time

i stood up
and made the bed
i let the drip fall to my feet
i removed the gown i’d worn like a disease

i discharged myself of a broken heart
the stitches still dissolving
the scabs swallowed by my own kiss
i opened the door

went home
stared at my kitchen floor
cleaner than a baby’s two eyes
and warmer than a mother’s hands

bleached bare
no pain in the crevices of the tiles
banking the walls
nothing

no we all came home to my house
and we all watched the moon pass our faces
we all smiled
the past disbanded as memories often do

then i was whole and free.