It was the way you mentioned her name,
Every comparison to my movement.
You spoke with pride and sadness,
Knowing I’d never compare.
Sinking lungs and a sinking heart,
Constant regret in my tears.
Hoping I would transform into her,
Even after all these years.
Stinging like the vodka still in my throat,
My wrists singing songs of love and lies,
Staring blanking at the pills in my coat,
My happiness’ final demise.
Monochrome photographs hanging in the wall,
False memories screaming at my eyes,
Every drop that does fall,
Failing to create another disguise.
Scrubbing at my skin to erase the night,
No soap in sight.
Drowning amongst surrounding doors, closing quickly one by one. Deafened by the silence screaming in her soul. Exchanging sorry words with her heart.
“You are ready.”
Standing poised … staring blankly into the glass of every door that faced her. Her reflection melting rationally as the moon kisses her cigarette burnt skin.
The stars in her eyes glisten like the bubbles in the champagne glass waiting at table seventeen. Again.
“He left you. You can move on. Right now.”
Lighting a cigarette to inhale the calmness of the ocean breeze. His face lovingly stares through the restaurant window. Eager.
A new love, as clean as fresh sheets on a Monday morning.
Angel opened her heart when she met you,
She embraced every touch, every inch of skin,
Every hit you threw.
Your darkness was consuming,
Like black lace on a size eight model,
clinging to everything.
Angel wanted to be the answer,
To every question you would ever have,
Secrets haunted your soul,
You let Angel be your ghost.
Blow the candles out,
Blindfold her heart,
Turn the lights off,
Let love grow.
What if the night sky never fell,
the stars became extinct,
questions formed on bending knees,
praying to a blank canvas.
What if your eyes cast upon my face,
witnessing fire within my lungs,
swimming pools in my eyelids,
and you drowned.
What if the power cut out,
bleeding tongues spilling memories,
the truth seeped out through fingertips,
dragged across broken skin.
What if you still loved me,
how the wind and destruction intertwine,
how the sun kisses snowflake skin,
like the day we first met.
What if you still loved me,
the way I still love you.
Lay me down to sleep.
Across the river or in fields of green.
Cammomile skin too cheap.
Daisy chains to trance between.
Dead dandelions borrowing space.
Resting on broken branches.
Trespassing thoughts on a twisting chase.
A fairy in the woodland dances.
The nightmare inbetween your dreams.
Dressed in bedroom sheets.
Ignorant to the edge of schemes.
A thrilling death note repeats.
With categorical best intentions.
Independent limbs committing sins.
I hate to think of how many thoughts I’ve forgotten about you with each shot of whiskey I take.
Every memory drowned amongst a crowded room and my face plastered in too much make up. Just one more shot of whiskey.
Somewhere behind the locked door, the fog begins to lift. Creeping in is the morning sun and the hangover of you begins.
Your toothbrush remains on the left side of the sink, abandoned.
Your comb remains stuffed down the side of the mattress, alone.
You, in a photograph, in the first ever suit I bought you, down the back of the sofa, dusty.
Just one more shot of whiskey.
You’re just a ghost. You abandoned me. You’re just a ghost.
I open another bottle, stronger than the last. Ripping the cap open and bruising my hand.
Filling up a lonely glass to feed my lonely heart.