4-12-2012; iii

i wanted to be a disaster,

i thought he loved the
nights bruised, stars
unaligned whilst the tears
poured;

(whilst the blood fell
against porcelain frames
and hands shook)

i thought that was what
would make him stay until
the sun rose and lights
shone clinically against the
frozen background.

i thought he loved the
tragic failings of a damaged
gift, falling from the skies
and breathing shallow.

the bowl was full of lemons
and apples, whilst we stared
into nowhere, reading poetry
from the back of our hands
with our feet against the sky.

(i wanted to be everything,
that he adored and that
he held closer than warmth)

i wanted to be a disaster.

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