N.B. post-party depression. don’t do drugs kids. – lymh, 99 BC
it’s spun from your words,
sometimes i have found myself lost from your orbit
sometimes i have found myself inside your mouth
trying to taste my way back to the surface for air
some sort of gravity
to drag me here
my head hurts
you are like ingredients to me
and i am like a recipe for disaster
the burnt cake on your 20th
and the way my fingers run run run through your hair
liquidate the stars you animal
i’m so fucking high right now m8
i’m going to find you
at the top of the stairs somehow
ring on your finger
oceans begging you to drown yourself
no eggs left
i don’t know
where the fucking tea bags are
i don’t where your fucking car keys are
i asked you to drop your heart into my palm like a fat strawberry
and you said no no no no no non nonnononononononnonoonononononono
and i said yes yes yes yes ye sy esy ysyesy eysyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyyesyesyes
and then we squeezed sugar out of suns together
i am not clever. my hands are clear of knowledge and i am not interested in the structure of my dna or how to please the man scanning my examination paper. i am only cleaning my knife. i am only bruising myself on other kinds of skin. i am learning by touching familiar faces through a white sheet on the other side of my palm, where my fingers poke through the holes and grooves of their eyes their noses their lips i cannot see. i am not clever because i cannot calculate a sum. i am not clever because i cannot hold together an atom and feel my way around the skeleton of a liquid. i cannot describe nature to you. even if i place stars in my mouth like sweets. no, i do not live for this kind of education. i live for the lessons inside peoples’ tongues. and i want to rub myself against their language. i want to be the drug they scrub into their gums. and at night i want them to fall asleep with my face imprinted into their dreams. i am not clever by books as books. i am only a genius with the books people wear on their faces. and i read them. time and time again.
but no, i am not clever.
N.B. for people who know how to love deeply
deep love is like being sat at the bottom of a swimming pool
with your goggles on and feeling like you’re a different species.
it’s alien in all the ways you’ve ever dreamed of them being
and you just have to be in a car one night for it to slam you.
you’re the reason you crash and you’re the reason your heart’s skipping
double-dutch and it’s beating harder than the bass in your eyes.
deep love is a whole new game
and you never find it.
it finds you.
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
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
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.