i know this isn’t healthy, so let
it be
known that i
shan’t,
can’t stop looking at your photo

into your       eyes

feeling a sense of regretfulness

feeling like a sailor lost at sea

i’m a              mess

      but im your mess
     unless                   you
     don’t                    want
this mess to be yours.

august approaches, and i’m
                     still hung up
about your stupidly pretty face

love is alive and well
but it plays dead for me
what a cruel rosebush to sell
when an end to the tunnel i can’t see

how could this be? i hear you cry
and let me answer that for you.
love doesn’t care whether you cheat or lie,
it cares if your mirror doesn’t shatter into

a million pieces. a shattered icon of
human despair, and society as a whole
delicate, fragile even. but it cuts you off
like a blade of his brilliant earthy iris lulls

‘i love young love’
i say to myself, only sixteen
years of age, the words like a loose glove
on myself, as my eyes water and i lean

on a cobblestone wall, each crack and dent
showing not what has happened,
but what will happen, my heart lent
freely to him, broken and saddened

i’ll probably get over him, i say,
echoing his words in my head
on the cobble floor where i lay,
blood trickling out the thread

that passion for gods house
which consumes me
scorches me like a walk-in freezer
cools me like a burning effigy

my passion for where his spirit lies
swallows me whole,
as if it is a whale and i am jonah

i will fight for his spirit’s sanctuary
by any means, valuing my life
over it

i will fight for who it lies in,
and who he is

there we sat on the sports hall floor
talking about everything and nothing.
silently stoking the flames of
my heart, with every glance and side eye,
like throwing a bone to a hungry dog

i know im not what you wanted,
and for that, im sorry.
but can’t you get it, i need you
more then i ever thought i would

need you, i need you
i need you to understand that
you can’t just run away from me,
and expect me to move on.

you may put up your walls,
and i don’t blame you,
but have you considered what the shadow
would do to me?

starve me out of your light,
burn me with its darkness.
cut me with your sword -
it’s better then those words.

why was i so vain
to imagine a future with you?
you wanted to be a forensic scientist,
or an architect.
you wanted me to be a journalist,
say ‘i’d do well in it’
but truly all i want to do is
lay with you in a flat
we had to leave everything behind
to get to.

and i won’t ever
step feet in copenhagen
again, never
shall my feet walk on
those cobble roads

i see your eyes in its water,
i see your hands in its branches
i feel your spirit in my heart
and all i can do is cry in

a vain attempt to get it out
to purge myself from the pain
that’s in the form of an angel