journalistic self-indulgence

Slow down with the glass, don't drive your fingers through your skull.
Cease pulling strands of hair so short, they hardly seem yours
So little feeling you produce from the yanks.
And let him tell you about your last sunny day, and how if you'd only known...
And don't tell me these jarring piano sounds remind you of home?
A shiver runs through your cotton-clad self, and you could almost be poetic
Except you lack the inner strength.
You regurgitate words from those times you gazed into literature, hoping
To see your reflection gazing back. Narcissus digesting lines.
You long for the days.
When your arms were scarred, your legs were weak but they could carry you
Across miles and countryside on an empty stomach.
All he had to do was kiss you and care for you, a little
And you were his for the taking.
Remember feeling as if a touch could even save you?
And how squeezing your hand could claim you.
But dark thoughts sprang from depths unknown
Only her, confidingly, seeking you from the darkness
But her light gave out.
Through watercolour paints you tried to speak
Through words even, although they failed you.
Eventually you spoke through liquids alone
But where did that leave you?
Falling through cupboard doors and midnight sprints
To taxis - Smith.
Because you couldn't breathe.
And you've been unfair, you've been too wild
You've said hello when you meant goodbye.
And all you can say is,
I've tried.

Reviews

[amiri]

im f*****g in love with this