Sick To The Soft Of My Bones

I’m not sure where the illness ends

Or where I begin

And thats a harder pill to swallow

Than the three bottles of antidepressants I took this morning

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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.

 

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.