I wish I had kept a piece of you now. I wish I didn’t rip the skin off where it smelled like yours. Oh God, I can’t believe you’re gone.

You were the one who stayed, the one who came back.. who wrapped my wounds in your whispers when my flesh was falling off the bones. You weren’t supposed to leave me floating but to pull me out and throw me in again.. and again.

You know I have witchcraft and Satan. You know that I can bring you back yet you know that I won’t. You believe that I’ll ask the goddess for your joy and not for your return. And you’re a fool; she told me that joy doesn’t wander through the world anymore, not since December. She told me that you’re wasting your time searching, since she hid it in the palm of my hand when I was twisting your hair around my fingers.

I did ask that you are forgiven, that your sins be washed in the salt of my tears but she laughed. We’re both fools; yet I was the one who stayed, the one who would have stayed for eternity.

I burned my tarot cards with your letters and there was black smoke. It smelled like hot bodies and sin, it sounded like mirros cracking into a thousand pieces. I blew the ashes in the ocean between us and prayed that you forget. But the goddess laughed a wild laugh and blew them back in my face.

I’ll let you walk in circles for a while. I’ll let you stumble on the words you refused to say and choke on the breaths you held when we fucked. But I’ll come to you in your dreams; it’ll be my only revenge.

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At the end

He was writing for me, not for him. Dead cold, a shield of lead behind the bow.

I had been walking through the sky for a while, the coast ended a while back but as long as I didn’t look… God, I didn’t think the land was so far down, I didn’t think it was concrete.

And I don’t remember how to move now that he’s gone. My limbs twitch, my head falls to the side. The endless waiting I could deal with, but the end?

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Set

I sit, staring at the horizon, counting the waves and the flickers of light from another sunset. I gather my limbs and wrap them around me to embrace the approaching night. They walk past; children, couples and dogs, dare not look at the body turning to beach, but stare out to the same sea. Their eyes are not searching; they see the sun and the coast; they don’t count the waves.

A few nights ago, when my lips crumbled, I had resolved to leave. But I saw a hand out there by the ships; or was it a bird.. then I noticed the seagulls flying off with my feet and I resolved to stay.

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There’s a beach near St Ives where we sat one clear night in September. You won’t remember it, but you were there, leaning on a rock too close to the waves and the water filled your trainers and I laughed, alone..

There’s a bar in Naples near the gulf, where we sat drinking Merlot one rainy afternoon. You won’t remember it, but you were there, the wine left crimson marks on the corners of your lips and I laughed, alone..

There’s a lake in Annecy where we hired a boat and wandered. You won’t remember it, but you were there, it started to rain and the water dripped from your curls and I laughed, alone..

I’m still chosing the place to let go of your ghost..

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And slowly, like the movement of a living statue, the feathers began to fall from her wings; Each floated and danced through the still air, until they were all gathered around her feet and covered in dark blood, leaving only frail bones extending from her ribs and hanging ghastly.

In the same manner the stars began to flicker in her eyes, then bursting and dying one after another, some left unnoticeable brown and green nebulas across her pupils, while others only deep patches of perfect darkness.

She began to rip out and break the fragile bones hanging from her back , and when she finished, she stepped out from pile of stained white as if it were a discarded dress. She blinked,wiping away the marks of late stars from her eyes.

Naked and blind, she began to wander .

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One of those days

When I wake from the dream and wrap my body in the fading warmth of your ghost. You bleed through my pores and my limbs tense as I wait for the longing to fade..

I stare at my naked refection, see your hands on my neck and grasp them, but they fall through my fingers like sand. I see your head on my shoulder, your lips curved into a tortured smile and my body trembles and begs to shake you off.

It’s one of those days when your name lingers on my tongue like warm honey, and your resurected whispers turn the air to black smoke in my lungs.

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I can’t hear the song in my bones anymore. It was loud when you came and it screamed through my veins when you left. Now it bleeds, faintly, from my ears when I hear your name and I shut it out.

I kill the violins every morning when my arms search my body for you and they find the tune in every piece of skin you touched. I wash it off, I peel it away.

I believed, like a fool, that I could make you go since you left. I believed I could be rid of you. But you live in the corner of my eye and in the tips of my fingers. You live, devil, and I fear that death itself can’t be rid of you.

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Fires burnt out, the silent warmth of settling ash thaws my fingers – at last. Brown eyes, released of their redness, turn green..

I can finally breathe with your name on my lips and my arms no longer beg do dig your grave. The grieving ends, and having passed through its stages, I can hang the enormous picture of us on the wall and stare at it filled with nostalgia, and not fury.

I reclaim my heart, then wrap it around you – thankful for its strength to hold, and to let go. I welcome the longing as my eternal companion and joyfully drink in its honour.

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Heartbeat

And there, on the edge of the high hotel bed – holding your head against my chest, curling your hair around my fingers – my heart learned a new rhythm. It’s a strange beat, uneven and convulsive. It shoves the blood to my head and halts the air in my lungs, numbs my fingers.

When I remember the look in your eyes or the reflections, the damned thing beats as if it wants to come out. It rings in my ears and shakes in my limbs, turns me stupid. I stand and I stare; I wait for the madness to ease, but lately it seems to grow longer.

I wish I could restore the old rhythm, but it’s lost. I left it at the door when I couldn’t knock. I left it on the bathroom sink when I sprayed your perfume on my arm and it burned; it still burns…

That night – our last – I cried in the shower, watching you wash off my burning skin, not knowing that you had crawled under it. I can still smell the perfume in the same place, where the skin is now peeling.

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