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. 

ii. 2/5/13

quiet now love, he whispers against
my hair. so tragically breathing
like we belong to one another. take my
heart and my hand; who needs chivalry
when you have fucking against cold
walls and solid unsteady promises.

you need to drink it all, you need to
take this in, before i take it all away.
who decides when the stars shine and
when the moon suggests that it’s night
now; who decides that god was a three
letter word for all mighty, and a synonym
for humanity living underneath a pedestal.

the wind is waging war on the leaves, 
singing the lyrics to destruction and the
man who pulls down the trees. you have to
be quiet whilst they take your words and
leave your lips quivering. i thought i saw
a man that had a heart of stone, feet of
grass and a face of a cliff edge. but he is
gone, whispering and waiting.


she smelt of disinfectant

burnt and bruised from
collapsing and crashing.
brushing her hands against
jails and cemeteries.

she laid down with the
dead and woke up with
the absent.

her hands were whittling
away, ribs so concave
with a heart so obscure.

once, she painted herself
in acrylic because she wanted
to start again. they wiped away
her skin to bring her back.