I am haunted by a vision of you
that I can't describe.
Can barely look at.
Day drunk and reeling.
Repeating the consonants you said to me
Over afternoon tea.
Your partially obstructed breathing
sticky and sweet
Congeals into phrases that conceal your meaning.

Be true to me.

For I can't bare to look at you
anymore.

That ache you feel
when you
leave,
that is the very heart
of me
beating a hollow sound,
vibrating each tendon
like striking the keys
on a piano.

The dissonance of notes
as they fall
across the precipice of my collar bone.
The pattern my breath makes
on the cold tile.

This is how I remember you...
That ache when you leave,
it's my favourite song.

"Oh love," I just want to write
on whetted stone
"I'm just the right amount of torture
in just the right time"
Blood heaves near my temple
waiting for you
to carve scripture
across my bones.

Dearest your unholy scriptures
Are written for blind eyes.

The things he says
I might as well be
adrift in the ocean.
His tongue is sharp
but I don't believe it.
The wreckage is too bent
and broken to salvage,
The hurt too great
to bare bruised flesh,
And the waves they whisper
Let it drown.

Your words are too heavy to carry
When you drive them into my back
Humming a tune that makes every fall of the hammer lighter;
My airways shallow depths
That conceal her lies.
The ones you spoke to yourself
(they crush her, contort her spine)
far too many times.

Let's keep the demons at bay
by lighting matches and burning effigies;
We watch ourselves aflame.

A fine mess we make.

Our hands are an island,
and your heart is beating over the sound
of blood rushing in my ears.

The pyres are laden with our sighs.
Heavy lightness sprung from ashes
and our paper apologies.

There is too much we left unsaid
in the drawers and cabinets of your childhood.
They flicker and catch
as our eyes follow the words we could not speak,
focusing our attention on the syllables
as they crack and hiss.

I miss you already.
I hate it when you leave me for so long.

There is something we don't speak of
You and I.
The glass cuts your feet
As I slip behind the balustrade.
A careful hush.
I'm gone and your footprints echo,
A resounding heartbreak.

At night I crash into your quiet.
A stumbling drunk,
marred by frivolity and words
I am unable to possess.
A darkening hallway,
A broken crown,
And the moments before you leave.

She speaks in tongues,
while his words;
They are my bedtime stories.

Here I reside
Waiting on you to exhale
So that I can be breathed in again.
How can I be whole
When you stand there with both feet planted
And I lean into the crosshairs.

And I'm replacing one obsession for another.
Faltering across your ribcage.
Each breath comes heavy.
The weight of your silence
replacing the weight of your bones.