Mine-ish

Am I allowed to
Miss you, though you weren’t quite here?
But you were mine… ish.

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Growth of April

The old oak tree,
In all its infinite wisdom,
Sprouted out
Of the ground,
Just like everything else.
It began a seed,
Hopeful and full
Of energy, of future,
Of life.

It grew and it grew,
Happy little shoot,
Its path clear as day.
Soon enough, it stopped
Growing on its own,
And began to branch out.
Little did it know,
That young oak tree,
That it was diseased
And spreading
To every branch, twig and leaf.

The old oak tree,
In all its infinite wisdom,
Stands tall and alone.
Its branches are twisted
And its bark is gnarled.
What an ugly, awful, old tree.

The Liar

I feel it for days
In a million ways
But the outburst won’t come.

I feel it for weeks
As I lie under sheets
But the outburst won’t come.

I feel it in the seconds
When I’ve just learned a lesson
But the outburst won’t come.

I feel like it lies
When I look in your eyes
Because the outburst won’t come.

I think it’s a liar
Because I do feel the fire
But the outburst won’t come.

I think it beguiles
Because I love that smile
But the outburst won’t come.

I think it deludes
Because it’s stronger than blues
But the outburst won’t come.

I’ve felt it for years
But there are no tears.
The outburst just won’t come.

Collision Course 

Halley’s Comet comes around
Whenever he wants.
He visits the Earth,
Says hello,
And Earth smiles back,
Always.

Halley’s Comet comes around
Makes Earth feel loved,
Makes Earth feel special,
Until off he goes again
And Earth remembers
She’s just a weird rock.

Halley’s Comet doesn’t ever stop;
He won’t be tied down.
Earth is too constant,
Too stable,
For Halley’s Comet to stick around.

Should Halley’s Comet decide,
That the Comet life isn’t for him anymore,
He might circle back to Earth
And settle down
But let’s think,
How well could that go?
Boom.

First of the Month

It’s not even one of those
Deafening silences
You hear (or don’t) so much about.
It’s more like
A muffled mumbling,
Constant,
Frustrating
Because it never makes its way
To the surface,
Never gets louder
And never dies out completely.
It’s like seeing everything in watercolour
But not in that
Pretty William Blake style,
But simply for the fact
That it’s so fragile.
It’s barely there
But at the same time
It’s there all too much.
It’s just an incessant
Irritation
Irritation
Irritation
You get stuck on.
Everything kind of fades
Even more than it already had
Because the only thing in focus
Is how fucked up you are
And how much you hate yourself
For the things you did or said
Last week,
Last month,
Seven fucking years ago.
Who knows which incident
Your brain will choose to fixate on today?
Who knows?
Who knows?
Who knows?
Unless I tell them
It’s not really all that clear,
Because “high-functioning suicidal”
Is a thing, you know,
And it’s scary to know
That at any point
If I lose my willpower,
Like I have done before,
I could just let go
And be
No more.
No more.
No more.

Part V – Burning

I tried so hard to get her out of my system. I tried to get as far away from home as possible and start fresh where nobody would know me, but life is a cruel bitch and I’m not the only one who wanted to start over. She seemed quite pleased by this, said that she was finding moving so far a bit scary and she was glad there was a familiar face. 

She’s sitting on the kitchen counter, singing terribly, only stopping to giggle at her own wailing; my hands are shaking, trying to unwrap the stupid stock cube. I end up chucking it in so awkwardly that boiling water splashes onto my hand, it scalds me, I wince. She stops singing and jumps off the counter, her eyes widen, she brings my burnt hand to her mouth and kisses it. Her lips are as soft as I’d always imagined. 

I pull my hand away and turn back to the pasta, finding myself leaning back against the counter she was sitting on, my knuckles white from having to clutch it so unexpectedly. Her arms have snaked around my waist and she’s looking directly into my eyes with an expression I don’t recognise. Her lips are as soft as I’d always imagined.
Fin.

Part IV- Leaving

I’ve literally had it up to here with mum. So what if I was five minutes late home last night? Five minutes is hard the difference between life and death, is it? Okay, that sounds stupid, a lot can happen in five minutes but it’s not like we live in the bloody slums. Surely they should just be grateful that I’m not an idiot who comes home literally off her face like my sister.

I don’t know what I’m going to do about this whole Ben situation, I can’t believe I kissed him. Well, no, I can believe that, but I can’t believe he thinks I’m his girlfriend now – it was literally just a silly kiss at a party! I don’t care how much you look like a Ken doll, I don’t want an actual relationship, especially not now as we’re all about to literally disperse across the country.

I can’t wait to get to Dundee and finally start the rest of my life. I know it’s far and that’s a bit scary but what’s the point in leaving home and literally only going half an hour down the road?

Ben’s just sent me literally the hundredth message this morning, it’s not even eleven yet…I need to speak to Holly, like, now.