I used to love my house and the welcome smell
it seems I fell head first into a cosy well.
The wine drunk hello’s to anecdotes
we’d tell
when I told you I fell, I fell onto the shells.

I’d forgotten I was living with strangers
a musician, a dancer, a model and a painter.
The one who kept plants, I really liked her
until her sun crisp face got fainter and fainter.

If we’d met somewhere else we would’ve been friends
It was too soon to share my rainy split ends.
The walls were venus traps, days began to blend
my pretending was too strong to ever make amends.

She cradled the stars before she died, she lured them in like she did with me. Pale landscapes, darkened hands, this is what she did, this is what she loved.

She investigated the way the love of her life moved like a tendril
that didn’t have the same devotion or patience that poured like finger ink.

She had no time, she didn’t understand her crescent moon mind and so paved away the thick red lines, as if the madness would vanish.

But the madness in her clotted like a hazardous playground,
all she wanted was to be loved in return by the one she called her saviour.

She was forever quizzical; ”why are you like this?” She would ask. Knowing she had seen her love freaking out on the bathroom floor just the day before.

She tried to control the flow but there was a barrier between abnormal and well. It didn’t stop her from craving a kiss but the kiss was stale, it was dead.

She deserved someone who wasn’t evasive. Not a curer but a good conscience that wouldn’t even help undo; just indulge in the sodden and non sodden parts.

And if she had’ve let me, I would’ve liked to be that person. I could’ve done anything to see the untroubled moments and the realisation that she is worthy of this.

And when I come to think about it, she really does suit death. One day I’ll be dead too, maybe I’ll see her linking arms with it, telling it a joke. Yeah. I like that.

I think I remember back to something
but I’m not sure.
The day that it happened I was young
but it’s hardly even a memory.
I know that there’s a part of this that’s wrong
but nothing rings true.

I think he gripped me, no he didn’t, did he?
slow or quick
or has my mind slipped, it’s always slipping.
was it abuse,
the point of being so abnormal that it was normal to live by the coral.

I always imagined i was a sea creature
we can’t reach her, they’d say.
she’s too far away fading it all out
and I always wondered why
no one even asked me what it was about
when all the time

they were trying to clear the ******* drought.

I think I won’t remember and perhaps it’s for the best,
can i please now rest?
I love and I can’t stand the ocean in my head,
sometimes i wish i was dead
and honestly, would that really be so bad
when these stills are always so sad?

They’re so raw and you’re all so painted,
it’s not me being opinionated.
I remember my life being so bright but now I’m in bed
and again, it’s crawling in my head.
I’m making it up, none of this feels real but...
It might be. And it scares me.

Melodramatic.

Melodramatic,

Just because I’m in pretty lights doesn’t mean I have a pretty mind,

just imagine if I was socially better, imagine if I died,

melodramatic.

Melodramatic,

I stand on the stage but I live beneath the storm.

I am counteractive when I give my all,

melodramatic.

Melodramatic,

If I didn’t moan I would be bright but I didn’t ask him to bite,

it’s the nice “girls’” tactic,

melodramatic.

Melodramatic,

I’m losing my hair to a monster in a pink disguise

I’ve been dipping it in drink and ****** thighs,

melodramatic.

Melodramatic,

Sorry I’m not intelligent; sorry I’m not a woman

sorry I’m not quiet; sorry I’m not a man.

Melodramatic.

She was a skeleton inside a snakeskin canvas;
the smoothest of hands to hold it’s madness.

She punctured the cliffs edge
but she wouldn’t meet the venom;
too dull, too grey,
pull at the tendons and never see heaven.

Did the momentum fade with the rain, was the rain golden?
Was it frigid, did everything stand still or was it fallen?

The more I reap the details in which mystery was apposed
the more I sew the waves with my narrative and dizzy words.

I picture a youth in my arms; squirmed in me and yanked out.
I’m too much of a charcoal cloud,
raw, cold yet loud.

Maybe it’s me above the harbour,
I’m curdling on the brink
like pale suns in vintage skies;
there’s nothing else to live for.

She bathes below the faucet of the sea and takes in discolouration.
When the windscreen wipers stop, breathing stops in full acceleration.

I’m sorry that I don’t come across
as being as lovable as you are.
My days consisted of hesitation,
building me a wall between
what I used to feel so heavily
and what I push away to the point
where it’s hurting me.
I see the breaths of silence dancing
on the screens that part us.
You might feel it blowing through,
I hope that it’s not hurting you
because it would make me wonder too.

I sent you my daydreams
we travelled the world.  
I took your cold hands
exchanged them for lights.
Talked into divinity,
I let myself be open again.
Reconciled with loving.
Then you left me.
It’s how it always goes.