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,
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.
The back of his hand feels like my father finally coming home
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.
You keep me keen
You seem to adore me
Even with all you’ve seen
My jumping jellybean.
Don’t say you’re parting
Only in dreams do I have someone like you
You would leave me starving
My dearest darling.
I know I’ve fucked up
But I’m dying you see
This is merely a hiccough
My beautiful buttercup.
I know you have another
But she’ll never hold you
Like I under the cover
My lone lover.
You are now something I fear
How stupid of me
To think you’d shed even a single tear.
My damnedest dear.
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.
I should be comforted by the way he holds me, and how he speaks to me to tenderly.
But all I can think of is how badly it will hurt when he is gone.
I hate that every time I hurt myself, I hurt him.
I hate that I cannot be well for him.
I hate that this is just as draining for him.
I hate knowing that he deserves so much better.
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.
I don’t talk much anymore,
And maybe I drink too much,
I don’t get out of bed until noon,
And my poetry makes you feel uneasy,
But my god,
I am so full of love for you,
I could pretend I’m okay.
Getting to know him
As been like listening to my favourite song
But learning something knew
Every time I hear it