it’s your fault i’m this miserable

shame in my nail beds
that i’ve watched stars wretch under your fingernails
and watered the weeds in your stare.

your breathing
the the the ache of your sound
the etched into my womb

every morning after pill has a name.
i baptise them like babies
and i look at the bloody state

in my palms.
ooooooooooooh doctor will i ever consume.
you grip my hand

as once more i unfold.
another iron pill.
another month.

you used to be obsessed
with with with with my wire.
but now call me a summer lay.

dry my tears
i am lost over the way you were last active
11 minutes ago

tell me you’d fucking die for me
ttttttttttttttttttttttake your talons
aaaaaaaaaaaaaand latch onto me

your grease,
your fucking evil
BLEACHING ALL THAT’S GOOD OF ME.

I HAVE BEEN YOUR FOOL.
TOUCHED TWICE.
gggggggggggggggggod where do i go to settle this?

to make it fair?
divorce papers lick their lips
in my dreams.

i had a vision you’d told me
yyyyyyyyyyyyyyou were done with me
bbbbbbecause i had given you my sex.

and because i were some bitch
hanging over your kitchen counter
wired still. going mad.

crippled by the disappearing trick
ooooooooooooof my insides.
oh doctor will i ever consume.

you. you’re the reason i’m miserable.
you’re the reason for the black ink
grilling my underwear 6 days before i ovulate

yyyyyyyyyou. walk over to me as i sleep
the deadline of the new moon
wwwwwwrites another poem nobody sees.

no light, no light.
your fate’s design only leads to my heartache.
what laughable devastation am i

take your needle
aaaaaaaaaaaaaabort me

and tell me it’s my fault you’re this miserable.

eating granola alone

each time u touch me
my body becomes a veil of smoke
because i cannot run after the jagged in ur ease.

tonight i may freeze in a pile.
i long to hate u and find a way to turn ur bones to gravel in my arms.

i sit here
eating granola alone
thinking of the way u cut me with kisses

and the way u grind the knife between my lips.
i was butter once.

i was soft and made to melt
in the palms of a wet god
and inside my steam was made for love.

the crumbs of me
are wasted on ur invalid
that i were a text message away from paradise

and a phone call away from normal.
u tell everyone we’re not trying
but all my efforts bleed back into ur eyes.

u tell me i’m the kind of beauty
that would make the sun fall into the water
and the rest of night would turn pink in my gaze.

and i don’t want to miss u
sat here, eating my granola alone
but all i can be, is, alone.

my fashion is ur winter.
i hope u wear it.
and i hope that u will lose ur purpose

when u lose me.

a blue eyed boy

afraid, i held his hand.
i have tried to unpick you;
my throat of wax, kiss build-up.

a wasp sting on my neck
i have lost count of all your orgasms
pooling into my palms,

in every orifice of my weathered carcass,
the choir bleeds from the church.
my ex calls me “chou-belle” on the phone

as a blue eyed boy laughs in the background
i fall in love with his tundra
afraid, i held his hand.

you fleeting wretch of joy.
you can of worms.
why?

and why not?
nothing stains your gums
every time you raise your lips to me

except there is a burn.
i wet my insides for your detest
i want you to come inside me.

afraid, i held his hand.
i dried the surfaces, needed no one,
screamed rain as he stared at me.

a blue eyed boy
beat me to death with happy
until unafraid, he held my hand.

i keep colouring us grey

–  you’re the last petal on this daisy.

don’t know the truth hanging on your lip
just keep colouring us grey.

in the bar i punch you
in the bed i hum you

to shake off the guy in my hair
to be a fragile girl sucking her heart like a dummy.

tomorrow you’re reading a book
i’ll not really notice

but see you smoking outside
i’ll die in my own arms

broken bits of stars in my eyes
you’d smile that smile you give

in awe
in pensive mood

just keep colouring us grey.
can’t shade us cerulean over beer sex and feminism

can’t give you violet with fat joints and doorstep kisses
can’t stream emerald on our carcasses

we’re boys night out and your blonde hairs on my fur coat
we’re pool tables and the smell of your apartment on my jeans

your grey
my arch

vomiting rain day by day
your eyes stained of cloud

no i couldn’t cry at all
yes i could burn away tomorrow

–  i’m the last daisy in this field.

and you love me not as i love you
and you love me as i love you not.

the big comedown

used to listen to youth a long time back.
fourteen. balling the moon up in my fists.
a pub closes down
my guts are uncertain. boiling.
i am ready to lose my virginity.

feel tired in his arms.
carry me to bed. seventeen.
heart a little more alive
rosebud at the edge of noon.
it might be a dandelion. who knows?

blowing away my scars.
i used to drag the point of a compass
across my stomach
just to fill the silence in my bedroom
as i toss pills back.

he asks what kind of pills
and my salty fingers fish up some rennie.
and a half eaten box of sushi.
a daughter licking out the wax of a candle.
i chewed grass my dog pissed on.

and didn’t know.
the ground is deaf to my footsteps.
water fails to touch me.
a raindrop on my sore back.
a porn video left by my best friend’s dad.

blot clots stuck around my nose.
nineteen. hollow pit
and shakes in the shower.
Elvis gets his groove on
as i try to find my last period.

hair loss. my mother sweeps the ocean off my face.
sweat harassing me.
i find my debit card and chop.
the airport never notices my sullenness.
i groan.

my body clears the cuts.
i am unspeakable.

it’s funny cos you’re sleeping with him

pain’s a slip of the tongue
passing fancy,
or you find it sometimes in your pockets by accident

your room fills up with smoke
so does your head
you remember conceiving a can of worms on that bed

and he opened it with one final thrust.
you think spring comes alive
whenever you open your eyes.

and in a room full of mirrors you are back
with a baggy of mandy
and scrannin’ whatever you can.

you’re not one colour.
you steal everybody’s cigarettes.
you put your dolly to bed.

you say you hate yourself,
but you don’t really.
you’re a lovely purple on Sundays

and you think you’re a princess of rainbows.
how happy.
how comforting.

and it’s funny when you stare at your ceiling all night
as he paces the floor 10 minutes down the road in his bedroom
anticipating his next wank

he whips it out and bleeds thoughts of you from his pipe.
he begins to wipe away the mess
from his sweaty face.

that he put his heart into you
and you laid waste
to a winter he loved centuries ago.

//

you were my new year’s resolution.
i would’ve put you in my lungs
and continued to cough you out.

your fingers dripping with a lemon smile
and it’s worthwhile
to note we’ve all carefully sucked God’s balls

at our most vulnerable.
but you’re a trick of the light.
an unreal scent.

and i just think it’s funny how we’re all sleeping together in bed.
i think it’s funny how much my nails have grown
so i can scrape your dirty face from my memory.

and how many times i’ve seen your face in Deansgate
sat with a cheeseburger
as you try to inconspicuously rub your fanny.

is it itchy?
or is it just what you do when you see me,
the memory you get paying for a special mistake pill over the counter?

does it hurt?
did you find anything in your pockets,
or see a passing fancy?

did you love him better than i ever could?

“don’t you miss having a penis inside you?”

my housemate is stirring his cup a soup
and i am wearing my skin inside out on the sofa
thinking no one has noticed how naked i am
yet thinking i don’t care thinking that if i draw attention to myself
my penniless heart will speak again

and it could be the fact that i am getting kicked out of spoons’ with you
and it could be the fact that i am puffing on cigs with you

but i was never ready for the way your eyes
would pinch my cheeks mid-conversation
as your lips smack together weeping inbetween
croaking stuff like
“chomsky, unfair, obligatory, yes, no”

and whenever i light a vanilla scented candle in my room
i think about the way it hurts to be in love with a fantasy
and the way you were like a disappointing subway sandwich
and she put pickles on it instead of cucumber

I am never in the mood for rain these days
I used to love it because i wanted to be more like bella swan
and be complicated n interesting
but now it is changing,
i am wearing clothes like my mother’s

and i have been happy eating birthday cake alone in my room in the afternoon
and listening to magpies beat their tails on my windowsill

and i have enjoyed not having a penis inside me every day
i have enjoyed being held by a man that does not want me
and kissing his cheek as though we were two daisies nodding at each other
i have enjoyed not being sat on the sofa crying over kfc waiting for a phone call.

i have enjoyed fucking a stage to pieces and putting tears in peoples’ eyes
you ask me to tell you what to do
and i could cry
because i don’t know

i just wanna go home take my bra off
sit topless in bed and put season 1 of gavin and Stacey on

and not tell you how utterly utterly broken my ex has left me
and that i am incapable of loving anyone but the sun
and a long walk along the beach
i don’t miss having a lopsided penis inside me
with words like “baby baby” in my ear

i was a change in season and a lick of the wind
and suddenly i am love with myself again.

a text that never sent

i guess every time the moon changes phase
i lick up another line for the way i’ve been candy flipping my heart over you
it is a coin i keep tossing with my fingers
it is a big bad red penny
and i learn slowly, that i don’t like you half as much as i did
or should.
i toss and turn
and fail myself again.
my bedsheets move and so do voices on the tips of the cotton waves
i seem to make as i shrug with pain.
god’s thumb begged me to forget
and i gave him the devil’s fingernails instead.
i picked them from out of my underwear
and i tried to dream about planets
that fell into my carcass instead of you
it was an earth of impossibility
it was a terrorist in my lungs
but as i dreamt,
i saw you maybe loving me again one day.

mate i’m not a drive-thru

whenever i kiss a guy i hurt him
not sure why;
i guess out of habit i have to bite his lip, graze him
it’s not about leaving a mark
but a guy needs a receipt, right?
i’m fast food, take-out, noodles on a tuesday
and the sauce is all over your dashboard
i’m a drive-thru
i’m a napkin to take on home
i don’t like to be eaten.
you can’t idealise mass-produced, processed crap like me
when you just stuff it in the cheeks of your stomach and say,
‘i ate it’
oh yeah you fucked that up like
the way you fist bump god on the street
n invite him round to watch the city v. utd match
with your chicken legends dripping down your faces.
you guys meet every sunday.
not in the chapel at 9 am,
but on your bedroom floor whenever he rings your doorbell
with pages from the holy bible for plates.
and he’ll tell ya
“mate she’s not a fucking drive-thru”
and you’ll say to yourself you wish you never brought this up “i never said she was”
but she so was.
she was the please-enter-your-chip-and-pin
and she was the sweaty package handed to your arms
over the sleeve of your car.
so whenever i kiss a guy i hurt him
like hot food.
not sure why;
out of habit i’ve become a bit of a meal,
a moment on the lips, y’know.

mdma in the library

i guessed half as much the night wouldn’t come to this
we bombed the pcs up
i am like the way your heart stops when you download a virus
onto your laptop
and i am like the fear of losing your words
i am mdma in the library
and coke lining your kitchen sink
and i am fucking the sun with my mouth
and begging for a sip
have you ever burned yourself like this?
and you were fucking my mouth
and not knowing who you were supposed to be
you hung your body up on a coat hanger
and wired yourself to my limbs
said to yourself to be someone else’s for a few hours
it was holding the moon between my teeth
and holding my tongue as you hold my hand
there is a shift
i guessed half as much the night wouldn’t come to this
i am like the way your heart stops when you lose your wallet
and i am like swallowing too much seawater
and throwing up at the feet of your mother
somewhere in majorca
and wishing you’d had a better day
i am mdma in the library
and coke lining your kitchen sink
i am the evidence that would wash away 
that would dissipate
but like air, you never forget to heave in  
i am the drowning
and i am never sorry of how i can pull you under
it is because i never once reciprocated.