I don’t know what to say to you. There are words rotting in my throat that I can’t let go, and they burn my lungs as I hold them. The fire you carried on your skin lit my eyes, but hell bloomed from it when you left..

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Unmummied

A while ago, I turned myself into a mummy. I wrapped my body in a white ribbon; eyes and skin, lips and fingers.

You found the end when you came. And you pulled hard, so I spun. And I spun so fast, and my head fell back, and I laughed…

But my eyes were closed and I didn’t know that with every spin, and with every laugh, you got further, and further.

Now the ribbon’s gone and I’m naked. I have eyes and skin, I have lips and fingers; And for what?

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Reflections

It was closure we sought all those years ago. We didn’t find it. Instead, we found a door and pushed it open, so widely – it may never close. But my body crushes against it every time the reflections cling to my eyelids.

I am not ungrateful, we did it! Against life and the world we made us happen. And god, how we happened. But now I grieve your absence like an orphaned child; as if I’d never known it, as if it had been us since time itself, and the clocks have just shattered.

It was your concern for my happiness that turned the blood cold in my wounds. (I didn’t miss the indifference, but chose to ignore it.) Perhaps I’m selfish that I want to cause yours when you wish mine, severed and away.

I’ve propped my eyes open with rods and every word I write breaks another bone. I’ll write them until I’m flesh and splinters, so that your fire turns me to ash as it dies; isn’t this the only way I can kill it?

But the reflections will remain, carved on the grave and no fire will fade them. They’ll haunt, and haunt until there’s nothing but madness. Perhaps in madness there’s freedom. Perhaps in madness I’ll escape…

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Don’t bow your head when you stand by this tree. Smile, and remember the steps you took through the forest, skipping and singing down the old path you re-build every once in a while, forever knowing where it leads.

Don’t bow your head when you stand by this tree, but close your eyes and slip through the noose. Forget the struggling limbs and the bulging eyes, and picture his tightening hands on your burning skin as your body gives up its search for another breath. It’s not coming.

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Worship

You’ve laid my body on the cursed altar, and the ritual’s about to begin. This warmth is the start of the fire. Can you see the flames on the edge of the glass? Can you hear the screams, smell the burnt flesh?

Tomorrow the church will have turned to black smoke, fine ash drifting in the wind; and the shattered altar will shine glimpses of a wicked God.

But we are here and the church is sacred. It’s us..

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It has to be you

It has to be you. Ever since you came back, I can’t be if it’s not you. There was no touch, no held breath you have missed. Not once was my skin burning without your name on my tongue.

He wonders why our eyes never meet, the fool. But it’s never him, no. It has to be you.

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Because I can’t hold on to the illusion. When I almost believe, when I can almost touch your face, you vanish and leave me like a held breath. And never do I feel colder, lonelier; never do I long for darkness more than when I wish I could stop fooling myself..

I grow and I laugh at myself, and then shrink back into this girl, too small for my shoes. You grab my hands and spin me around and I let my head fall back, and laugh like a maniac, drunk with your madness. I keep waiting for the day you’ll let go, when I spin so fast, and I fall and hit my skull against a stone and split it apart. Perhaps you’ll leave it then, my twisted mind. Perhaps you’ll set me free.

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The unbearable hours

She was staring at her red, swollen finger, hot water running down the plate in her hands. She couldn’t move. Tears wanted to form but she wouldn’t let them. Crying was accepting; and she still hoped.

He saw the steam rising and run to the sink, pulled her burning hands away, bewildered.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you, J?’

She shook her head, evasive, and walked away. Stalled at the door, not knowing where to go, what to do with herself; the words in her head like a broken disk ‘I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it!

She squeezed her hands, welcoming the distraction of the throbbing pain. Why was the flesh so easy to endure?

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Yours

What is it all becoming, if not sorrow?

The nights wonder how his breath feels on the back of her head; ache for a touch, a gaze. The mornings cling desperately to a fading dream..

Perhaps amnesia is all you’ve left to wish for; forgetting his name, your own.. his maddening words. ‘One day’ he says, but you can’t bear it. Your whole body turns into a wound and you keep waiting for the skin to fall off so you could breathe again; but you know his absence shrinks around your neck every time your heart beats amiss.

Let me be! you beg. Let me be yours..

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