Skin to Skin

He gently stokes the skin along my neck.

He does it in a way that was never meant to be erotic

but rather like a father trying to sooth his child to sleep.

He kisses the top of my head to remind me once again that he is here.

That I am here.

It’s easy to forget every now and then.

I press my head deeper upon his chest.

Here things seem slow and calm and real.

He moves his face toward mine and grazes his lips upon my forehead.

Then my cheek,

and pauses at my lips.

He glides his finger over my mouth and I pout so we’re closer.

Sometimes skin to skin still doesn’t feel like enough.

His lips meet mine and they dance slowly,

gracefully.

In a way I didn’t think it was possible for me to move.

He tastes of the wine we had just finished

but I guess I was still craving it.

 

“Your Positive Ideology With Suicide”

Your positive ideology with suicide is clouding you, he said.

But when looked at my bleeding arm in the bathtub the night before it was the first time my head felt clear in months.

Your positive ideology with suicide is toxic, he said.

But the toxicity was in my mind long before the suicidal thoughts, you see.

What else could have driven me to take line after line after line from her shaking key.

What else could have caused me to claw and love every man who resembled my father.

What else could have driven me to just stop going to school.

The toxins where what drove me to suicide. Suicide did not drive the toxins.

Jellybean

Jellybean,

You keep me keen

You seem to adore me

Even with all you’ve seen

My jumping jellybean.

Darling,

Don’t say you’re parting

Only in dreams do I have someone like you

You would leave me starving

My dearest darling.

Buttercup,

I know I’ve fucked up

But I’m dying you see

This is merely a hiccough

My beautiful buttercup.

Lover

I know you have another

But she’ll never hold you

Like I under the cover

My lone  lover.

Dear,

You are now something I fear

How stupid of me

To think you’d shed even a single tear.

My damnedest dear.

 

It’s Getting Worse

I will write you poems,

From the blood the pours from my wrist.

The colour of your eyes in the sunlight,

Matches the noose hanging in my closet.

Your hand grips mine so passionately,

The same way I held the empty pill bottle.

Your sent is intoxicating,

I just wish I could be locked with it inside a plastic bag.

You gently splashed me in the tub,

And the waves made me want to go to the sea and swim as far as I could so I couldn’t make it back.

I thought loving you would make me better, but you have given death a romantic touch. And I love her more than I could ever love you.

Exhaustion

I’m tired of empty apologies,

Of drunken phone calls,

I’m tired of these tired words,

That mean nothing to you.

 

I’m tired of trying for you over and over,

I’m tired of you acting like a stranger,

I’m tired of your jealousy,

The pathetic way you contradict yourself.

 

I’m tired of staring at your name in my contact book,

Not having the heart of throw away your number,

I’m tired of playing our memories over in my mind,

I’m tired of crying myself to sleep because the loneliness is overwhelming,

I’m tired of writing about you,

But I can’t get you out of my head any other way.