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: : this poem is me : : 1. I started this poem at midnight with cigarette smoke choking my skin and the outside air clogging up my cold lungs. The damp floor stole my seat, so I just stood in the dark looking up. 2. I see nothing-ness, just black with the occasional pale yellow moon clambering into my view. I like how eyelashes curl upwards and the blue of your irises, but that doesn’t matter, not now everything has squeezed into shadow. And the clouds - well they just hold onto happy things, letting go of the ugly hard-hitting rain drops and gasps of wind. Don’t laugh but sometimes I think I'm like a pomegranate, too many bits and pieces and I’m slipping out everywhere, leaving a trail of sweet-peach sadness on every floor I hit. 3. Something about callous atmospheres draw me in. You spilt bottled sea water on the carpet last week all because you wouldn’t take me to see the ocean for myself ‘it is just a big puddle with too many secrets’ you said ‘and would only splash against your pretty new clothes.’ Ever since then I can’t stop obsessing about how perfect everything was before you came. 4. I am a grey water-colour wash. there is nothing special about me apart from deep deep down where pink-tipped matchsticks play hide and seek with the world, but that is just between the two of us. 5. At 20:59 this evening I decided I write too much poetry, words are slug coloured and pressed inside paper. This could be the last time you hear from me so I’m going to try make it perfect beauty never suited me, but I’ll try. Speaking of beauty you are much like a pale porcelain tea-cup, bitter, half empty and you hate every damn crack as you chip away from the inside. 6. I am in love with your uneven cuticles. Underneath I imagine the deepest blue to run around, nothing else, apart from behind your chest bone where a tiny tiny red heart sits. I scratched my name beside it three years ago - but you do not remember details like that. Your eyes are two moons falling through a dirty pink sky, but you blame that on the late nights and all the coke you did yesterday. 7. Did I ever tell you that without you I spin around and around? I’m like a child in a park tugging at the stray threads that hang loose from my skirt and you are watching as I come undone. 8. It is now 00:08 and I don’t want to say I miss you but I do.
written by : [[x].lifes.[shor t].deaths.[long]
