i didn't know how i would fit you
inside the slots of my decaying brain
without injuring you in the process

it was 3am and we were intoxicated
and i didn't know if i was capable
of letting you drown into my abyss

i thought i was doing you a favour
i am toxic with apathy i cannot shake
from drugs that i need to function

your tears were ripping slits into me
and when our final words were uttered
parts of me were drifting after you

i was tightly fussed to your core
but my obsessions had melted me back into myself
and i found myself where i had begun.


foreign spaces

this place was still citrus scented and rectangular
i remember the chairs and the door that just wouldn't latch

the walls had shrunk into themselves while i'd been away
i could barely see the etchings of my dreams on the curtains

cigarette butts deteriorated on the balcony, and my books
still had creases in the corners where i had left them

this place had almost been home, even on the days
i wanted to burn it to the ground with myself in it.

sickness and art

it was one of those cold evenings in november 
where rain spilled against the windows
and the sky lit up with shards of lighting
ambient music ricocheted around me in pulses 

and with every hit and every swig i could feel
myself becoming less of an artist

i could feel myself collapsing and thawing 
into an avalanche of wasted adolescence
i had chosen destruction over artistry 
and sat in my dark room still on rising high
i couldn’t help but think about the regrets
that were creeping up into my airways
and smothering me into mediocrity. 


deviating excursions

the sound of emptiness is brighter
inside loops of time and synaesthesia
colours build foreign associations
greens cling to mints and assault
the air around me into linear catastrophes
the rain outside refuses to settle me
static beats out of sync and whirlwinds 
of intoxicated numbness settle inside my bones
until the chorus of manic frequencies 
distract me back into my carcass. 


cigarettes on the bedside table

i couldn't feel the bruises
from the night before last
with your skin against mine

we were illumined in dim reds
and silhouettes of blacks
from the gaps of our negative spaces  

i couldn't remember
how much i’d had to drink or smoke
in the vapours of your scent

with your self-constraint
you engraved an imprint on my forehead
and left me on the edge of sleep

and in the morning there were cigarettes
on my bedside table because you knew
how much i liked to kill myself with smoke. 



lately i’ve been able to string sentences together
and look strangers in the eye when i pass them
i no longer need mental coaching to step outside
or litres of coffee for my limbs to function

but i am emptier, my passive aggression is doormat
my skin is no longer a restrictive cocoon  - but a mirror
and it reflects my sadness into dark folds inside of me
that my medicated brain can no longer reach

i am not serene or content - instead i am sterile
of an illness that has been eating away at my memories
and colouring all of my days matted reds. but in the process
of recovering i have somehow become less human. 


confessions of a self-preservationist

i think i am a constant
sort of a shattered epilogue
of badly chosen lovers
with intentions purer than mine
who have willed my heart
to collapse into itself

i remember i used to fit perfectly
inside some of them
resting in crooks of arms
or inside folds of fatigued eyelids
i could quite happily choke up my lungs
in their amorous vapours

i wore them all like beautiful dresses
for an extended evening
sometimes they clung
sometimes they slacked
in drapes of black at my feet
and threaded me into the ground of their need

i tried to love them
but i am a series of chemical imbalances
contained between intervals of numbness
and cocooned in a hate
that was shredding my self-preservation
into ribbons

i held on regardless
held on until they bled out my name
i watched their sacrifices clot
into a vast wet ball of redness
that for a while subdued me
into a lover capable of reciprocation. 


you were

you were
the circular pills
i needed to
and hold down

you were
the dry heaves  
of all of my
negative calorie

you were
the twenty pack
i smoked 
in an hour
out in your garden 

you were
the tightening
in my chest
a panic attack  

you were
the winged bruises
that clustered
under my

you were
the numbness
between my legs
and the blood
in my bathtub

you were
the taste
of a metaphor
i had to sever
from between my lips.



the world was not a place i wanted to explore
i’ve become well acquainted with these infrastructures
and the way chemical wetness hung in the air
after it had been raining for a while 
and baby, it suited me just fine

i did not crave to be under permanently blue skies
or shadowed by silhouettes of unfamiliar skyscrapers
the ground beneath me held me erect 
inside these walls i am a complete mosaic of squares
and my memories gather like fallen petals 

under intimate slants of light i am deja vu’d
by places i had visited but never really seen
i am under no constraints of godliness
the world will modify without me
and darling, i don't mind.  


liverpool street station

i remember standing by the station in the cold. waiting for you.
i could see your strained features from a mile away.
i watched the lines of your shoulders cling to your shirt
as i followed you blindly down an alley. hoping
you would turn around and smile at me like you used to.

your apartment looked smaller than i remembered.
the mess i thought was once poetic now just gave me a headache.
your eyes were vacant and the sex was cheap. 
i wouldn’t be able to get the smell of you off me for days.

i didn’t want to be in this room anymore. i left for the balcony
while you were in the bathroom. the smoke from my cigarette tasted bitter,
maybe that was because i wouldn’t quit even though i knew how much you hated it.
i ignored you opening the glass doors and tried not to break down
as you pressed yourself into me and placed your chin on my head.

goodbyes were meant to be worth something.
but i left without a word before you could see me cry.
you looked so old with pain engraved onto your face.

i wanted to be a great love that you had lost.
but the truth was you didn’t give me much of a chance to love you.
you discarded me before i had the opportunity to get comfortable
inside a mind that i had gotten to know better than mine.  
i took the train home and slept to forget your face.


sweetheart it’s dark here, and i’m dying

i would like you to know how sad i feel when the world dims,
i don’t know what it was about the desolation, but it breaks me.

i wanted to expire and drift towards the star spotted skies.
maybe up there i could find a home in your scarred arms.
but i am marooned on the ground and the night hangs over me.

i am hollow and dusty. i sometimes forget that i have a heart,
but i am reminded by the tightening in my chest when unease
streaks its way upwards and i cannot escape from my thoughts.
i am paralysed by despair that i cannot remember acquiring.

i can only function in dark rooms, empty of bodies and eyes,
they strain the banks of my conscious stream. i have sunken there.
i have drowned all the hands that have held mine in this place.
and immersed all the bodies i had traced with my tired eyes,
until they stilled and i had forgotten how they had tasted at 2am.
the silent hum of apocalyptic evenings sits heavy on my bones.
i wanted nothing more than to lay on my own in this black,
and pray my curtains stall the cold light for a little while longer. 



i didn’t know if it was the smoke in my lungs
but i wanted you to wear me like a second skin

i could feel my inhibitions shredding at your feet
and my rationality digesting itself

i could taste your metallic intentions in my mouth  
and feel it pressing against the back of my throat
like a gun i hadn’t concealed well enough

i couldn’t tell if you needed me to be a recollection
something you would retain amongst your thoughts
and replay with your own alterations

darling, i refuse to be temporary
and when we ultimately expire 
i will be an engraving on your chest
you won’t be able to burn off.


colour palates

today i am scarlet veined
and swollen
compliance has numbed
my indifference
into swatches of passivity
and exhaustion
my stench of dissatisfaction
is barely masked
by dabs of chemical laced florals
and cheap tobacco

yesterday i was maroon
and unreflective
like a boat
on murky nautical waters
i have tried to subdue my agony
in shallow blues
but all I have managed to do
is smudge the corners
of my greying displacement 

i have been compressing
into absence
and soon my layers of excess
will start to flake
i hope i shred
into sharpened points of colour
so i can tear open
the heads of neon coloured men
who ask to be ingrained
into my ashen hues.


absences of light

the sky
changes colour
with my curtains drawn

  daylight blinds me into submission

you descend
in shades of blue
confused by my aesthetics

  i am rotting flesh on the inside 

on intermittent thursdays
you would try and mend me
with kindness  

  i hated you for that

but i am absent
and my eyes are dimmer
than you remember

  i am almost opaque 

within the mist of my obscurity
your defects couldn't be measured 
against a light spectrum

  and maybe that was the problem

i have sunken too far
into this maelstrom of darkness 
to resurface alive.



sometimes i can’t breathe at 4am
because i’m thinking about how bad i’m getting
and today i think i am glad about it
because hurting is one of the few things i do well
i've been pulling the flesh from the parts of me that are decaying
could i sit by your bed for a while?
i’ve been hoping that your stillness would settle me
and you would collect the parts of my skin
i had torn from myself and scattered on your bedroom floor
maybe you would bury them in your potted plants
so i could flower into the girl you've always wanted
because she was never me
and it hasn't been making me bitter
baby it’s been making me sick.


infatuation at arms length

early morning intoxications and perpetual insomnia
from the evening before were clouding my judgement

you were driving me mad with your hardened features
because I wanted to ease you out into the daylight

I could see your vices crawling out from under your skin
and eating you alive because you didn’t know your worth

you’ve been rattling around my head and burning ulcers
from my heart with thoughts of the taste of your mouth 

I couldn’t remember the last time I ached from wanting
and I'm caving into myself and redefining all at once.


I didn't belong to you

I belong to the misty haze around the moon
when the sky darkens and I haven’t slept for 48 hours.

I belong to the smoke that streaks from the end of my cigarette
when my head is empty because I haven’t talked to anyone all day.

I belong to the ambient sounds radiating from my speakers
of musicians devouring my soul and replacing it with theirs.  

I never belonged to you. I never belonged to anyone.



I needed you to be abstract
a concoction of double negatives
spilled on plots of graveyards without headstones
where I would sit to adore your memory
while listening to the ambient sounds
of lost souls regretting their choices

but you are simple to define
you are the weeping willow tree
in a artist’s discarded work
that was too mainstream
for the misogynistic art collectors
with eighteen year old kinks on the side

your challenges came with upside down answers
where my playing cards were matt black
and my tell was hidden in the trinkets
on my mothers shelves
protected by specks of poisonous dust
and my hard headed telekinesis.


withdrawals and indifference

darling, I need you like a bullet in the head
I could live without your civil attempts of consenting rape
when you grind your teeth it drives me mad
and I tick like a vibrating clock right off the edge of the table top
on the occasions you see past my mask of consideration
you suffocate, while breathing normally, on the atmosphere around you

sometimes I imagine you spiking my coffee with cyanide
on those days I would barely say anything because of constriction
and I hate it when you’d ask me if I was hungry  
I could count the things I’d eaten today on one hand
and your willowy form was number three
fold me into a lantern and set me alight; fold me up and let me die.


kill her, kiss her

you looked better when you were miserable
I would embed myself into the creases under your eyes  
when you fell asleep at half four in the afternoon

your guilt and all the psychotic thoughts in your head
were superior to mine because you put them there

I never loved you but I was glad for your slow burning
poetic misery that grabbed me violently by the throat
and put knives in my hand for when you eventually left me
for the beautiful cunt who would make you cupcakes
when you were sad and love you because she was capable of it   

I wanted desperately to be your demise
but I’ll just have to settle for creating my own.



the winds attempts at tearing me apart
were exhausting on my tired remains
but it was masking the smell of alcohol
a drunken stranger had spilt on my jeans
my red eyed lack of sleep warps your form
into static blurs of misery I was responsible for
the soft edges of your haunted glare were burning holes
in the back my throat and I wanted to die
or pick up a sharp rock to split myself with
for a while you kept my blood settled
but now I'm spilling at the edges 
and trying not to drown in myself
or the hatred I could see sprouting
like sharpened thorns from your chest.



Things are colder when you’re waiting
The glacial air bleeds its bitterness over me
Cocooning me in dense hollowness
That preoccupation couldn't cut me out of.

You are the parts of my skin that are untarnished
By shards of ice shot down at me from the Gods
I am metal scraps of a person contained in a shell
If you shake me hard enough by the shoulders, I rattle.

When I fracture apart, slash me into smaller pieces
And throw my scraps into the closest river you can find
So I can rest at the bottom amongst my discards
And stare eternally at the liquefied sky.


Contortion of a Sociopath

I could arrange you perfectly in naive sequences
Like a helix I unravelled with a first encounter
I wonder if you ever think about combustion like I do
Cremating into yourself and forming a new complication
You’re the pebble-stringed choker I've put aside for strangulation
When the clouds are no longer able to asphyxiate
Your guarantee of destruction is the clasp around my ribs
That sever until I split evenly down the middle
A double negative walking around in a dress she’d like to be fucked in
Even if she was incomplete and dreamt of massacres
The time will come even if it doesn't drip the way you want it
When the walls will splinter apart and retain all you've elapsed
Like a corpse that couldn't get rid of the memory of its executioner.