What will have changed in the morning? You’ll be older, taller, stronger, but you’ll still be the same, it’ll still hurt that he touched you in places he shouldn’t have. it’ll still hurt that there was that one person you loved, left you when you needed them and you can’t even recall their face. but i’ll still love you he whispers. stating it proudly as if i can’t remember the feel of his fingerprints against my eyelids and back of my knees. 

my hair shall be longer, the date will have changed and the sun, moon and stars will rise and fall. but otherwise, nothing will have changed. nothing. and that is fine, everything is just fine. 

21-06-13; iv.

i could dream, but i wouldn’t.

breathing against your shores
of ice and the howling of the rain
against my eyelashes.

i could scream against the silence,
i could beat my fists against an
ocean that would keep on drowning
as the world kept on spinning.

i could draw in the whims of the birds,
bees and angels of a neverland that
i’ve never visited. i could breathe, but
i would choke on the weightlessness.

i could die, soak my skin in the wishes
and lies, breaking in my skin like leather
shoes. but i wouldn’t, in case i left a scar
battering against the hearts of the world.

i could live, but instead i’ll move slowly on.

21-06-13; iii

my doctor closes his eyes when he
sees me, taking my blood pressure
and listening to the various ways
that i’ve let myself down again.

there is a boy who lives in my dreams
wishing that i’d get well, he blesses the
sneezes and forgets to care sometimes,

most times. we’d do nothing at all but
scribble our thoughts across a discarded
napkin or envelope, brushed with dust
and what once was, history.

there is a howling in my wrists, wheezing
when i smile, brimming with hatred and
the desire to watch me drown.

i avoid corners and shadows, because they
might engulf me, they might strangle the
thoughts of stability and the smiles that caress
in the sun, in the daylight.

goodnight sleepyhead, i’ll wake you when it’s

21-06-13; ii

three am, teeth gnashing and
clashing with silence. whispering ghosts
and ghouls might gossip but our ears
can’t hear tonight, our mouths can’t care.

fucking like we were dying, breathing
like we were trying not to cry. wear me
out like your favourite pair of shoes,
cling to me like clothes caught in the
rain and the night to the moon.

break me if it means that you’ll see
why you love me again. break me
when you feel like you can’t see your
way out and i’m all that’s left, an anchor

keeping you grounded (holding me back,
he whispers in the dead of the night).
holding onto you like stars and gravity,
earth and suns.


When someone touches you, for good or bad, they take a part of you with them. the fingertips that graze your wrist lovingly and the prying fingers trying to invade you; they all take something away and leave you with a little less and a little more. the boy who shares my bed, takes a lot of my heart and leaves a lot of himself behind and in my arms. the man who shares the earth, took a lot of my strength and courage leaving only the taste of bile behind. 

vulgar impressions of bruises on a thigh and sickness in my bones. wondering what it was that i shouldn’t have worn this time that granted the invitation. was it the wrong time to leave the house, should i never have been on the 11.03 jubilee line train to stratford? should i have gone to liverpool street even though it was more expensive? slowly, people are stealing any sense of strength that i have left. 

the people who skip in and out, the people who stop by to say hi before disappearing for a fortnight, the people who come in once and leave a lifetime of impressions; everybody who comes in, takes something away from you, but today, someone took more than i had wanted to lose.