At late it settles in

-
At late it settles in,
The feeling of your cold skin.

 You, pale, reach for my hand.
I shake crying, wondering if that's you
6 feet under, and I try but I don't understand.

 Only Wednesday we last spoke,
The cue,
For a blossoming friendship that awoke, alive.

 I keep thinking I could've saved you,
Like I saved myself,
It'll be a hundred times, reaching for silver tongues on a shelf,

 You learn to have bled by not bleeding,
Stopped pain from not feeding.

 I'll leave this year,
Because it's impossible to stay when the thought of your dead body still lingers near.

 At night it settles in,
When I move my black and white jacket from the rack,
It's shoved at the back of the drawer
Because every time I catch it with the corner of my eye
It reminds me of your hair and face, more and more.

For my writer friend.
11/11/2015
"Are you alright, by the way. Sorry I didn't ask before, I didn't want to pry into your personal life."
"It's fine. I'm having a rough time due to a buttload of repressed trauma, but I'm getting by."
"Ok good. If you need a coffee, I'm down."
"I'm always happy to hang with a friend."
04/11/2015

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The walls are thin in DRA

-
My first year at university was a struggle to say the least; I dragged six suitcases, a guitar, a bunch of useless adapters, and a ukulele across an ocean. I was allocated to a hall of residence "DRA", the big one outside of town. The soulless one, devoid of heart. It was also quite expensive, a reminder that weighed on me now that I had been attributed the fear-inducing "International Student" status despite being a UK citizen. My punishment for being forced abroad, for being exposed to cultures, plural. It would be an understatement though, to say I was excited. It's university. My first roommate seemed really sweet, and she invited me to a party. Maybe we could innocently tease the boys in our flat, complain about their lack of cleanliness, organise flat dinners, become a real girls group. A feminist trio, because we were three you see. Though I learned soon enough that we were one, me, and they were two. I missed the party I had been invited to, a
Read more

Scream of consciousness

-
Fuck you for all the things you ever made me think. Fuck you for thinking I wanted to think that I caved in,  Fuck you for not trying.  For not waiting, and for lying.  For cheating, and for breathing.  For leaving,  And for being.  I wish you’d just give up trying to do what you do best.  You test me,  And bend me, So far that no one can mend me.  You play the same game played for decades But somehow you make me want to make myself stay. Fuck you for thinking you’ve got control, That’s the one thing to me that you owe.  Fuck you for trying to break me, Take me, For pretending to want to save me.  Fuck you for staring when you don’t care and, Fuck you for trying to rid me of my secrets So you can keep them. Fuck you for trying to take everything that I have Because you know that it’s that bad,  And that I’d tell you,  Because I left you because in some ways you left me too. Are you listening? Attraction to
Read more

SINE QUA NON

-
      It was cold in England, and it was a Wednesday. It was December, and it was 2012. The road to Wimbledon Village had been entirely blocked off by the snow. London, in its entirety, was frozen and disconnected. No one would be visiting tonight, it seemed. Outside, the rain poured down. Seven thirty in the afternoon. Her cracked fingers were running across the broken wood of the walls. The red paint that had once masked the deterioration already present in the house long before it’s renovation was peeling off at the slightest touch. The furthest window at the end of the east wing hallway had been stripped of its glass by the storm last winter. Occasionally, the breeze would whip back her uncombed hair and her face could be seen, which was rare. It was dark now; although the sun would do her face no justice. She was beautiful, but in a distraught, tormented kind of way. Her eyes had been perpetually filled with sorrow as if they were small teardrops in glass cups of psychologic
Read more