Kind hatred, my saviour,
Keeps me from falling too enamoured of myself,
Every bad part cancells out the good.
Mine eyes, glazed with sadness, shroud mirrors in discontent,
Slowly pouring salt from icy fronts.
In a world of lusty starlets,
Grave critics,
Plastic mannequins,
Its a wonder I've survived at all,
Still atop a mountain built of falseness.

It wounds to see a body envied
Not posessed, not decorated,
Not appreciated -
I compare like a woman agrieved.
Lambasting luck and stirring thought-punishment,
I slight myself further for slamming the hammer on nature alone,
All learnt riding home in second place
To things I can't control.

Seed-doubt harvest field of questions that
I reap and store in places deep and cold,
Products of an affliction woven into beds and into baskets
Holding, resting little devils and their sins
Until I push them
Into bins.

Crying from one unrest to another,
I talk down too much
And deny what is good and what is sacred,
Spirit of a strong woman downtrodden by herself.

'Diminish' isn't a word for me and I wonder why
I struggle to hold it all together.

Loving you is easy.
I sink deeper and deeper,
A downward spiral,
I'm drowning.
You suck air from my lungs
And choke me with pillows.

Curtains close around me,
Red velvet blackness,
Paper happiness.
I see nothing but you
O hydya;
Little boy,
Old man,
Cherub, Angel, Octopus.
Eight arms squeezing me tight.

Yours is the voice through the floorboards,
Yours is the smile that lingers,
Finger touch burning my arms forever.

Yes, loving you is easy.

A dream holder, and I, resting on it daily.

Ha! Idiot, thinking this a place of comfort!
My heart spilled onto a lumpy bed
Dressed up with frills and satin!

I am no more alone than you, and
That
Is something you'd best not forget.

You are as fake as the neon lights that fall through my window,
Nice looking but empty and cold,
Ten-a-penny concept.

Who will help me now the sun has gone,
And in its place only twinkling lights
And fast food signs.
My god. You've done it again.

May, I said to myself in a quiet voice,
When May is done I move on from you.
When May is gone, so is the thought of you.
When May has passed so have your chances.
Not so much a call for you, but a decider for me,
I chant this like a mantra when tapping up your number once again,
With you it seems I am infinitely weak.
But no, not after May.
When May is over so are we.
And what is this mythical 'we'? I remind myself,
Shaking belief of a connection out of my hair.
I need to prepare for detatchment, at least.
Each time you don't answer I push its significance
To the back of my head, and get on with wherever I was.
I couldn't go back, anyway, I tell myself;
You are a million miles removed from what I have become,
And it never works a third time, does it? A fourth? A fifth?
No, my mind is made up.
After May I wash my hands of it.
And in the next eighteen days I try to manouvre a solid goodbye,
A final line drawn underneath this soap-opera saga.
After goodbye you shall cease to exist.
After May I'll move on.

'You do something to me, something deep inside,
I'm hanging on the wire for a love I'll never find.
You do something wonderful then chase it all away,
Mixing my emotions that throws me back again.
Hanging on the wire, I'm waiting for the change,
I'm dancing through the fire, just to catch a flame
An' feel real again...'

You called. You came. You disappeared again.

It almost hurts too much to remember lying with you, my head on your shoulder. Your left hand strokes my hair, the other strokes my back. Our feet nestle with each other. It feels perfect.

It almost kills to remember opening my eyes and seeing you still asleep. I analyze every inch of your face, and think how perfect your mouth is. I marvel that at last, you're actually here. I never want you to leave again.

I wonder if you had a plan to wound me, I wonder what was my mistake. All I ever did was love you.

All that is left is a lingering smell on the duvet and the echoes of false promises in my ears. Once more I'm left straggling in the wake of unfinished business.

And I just know that next time will be exactly the same.

Oh my.
A fleeting shape moves at the edge of my vision.
Its back again. First just on the left, now on the right too.
Something is waiting by the window.
Someone runs round the house.

My legs tremble and my eyes shudder. Jaw juts out, not wanting to be controlled. Time ticks on so slowly, waiting. When will you be back?

A billion beats blast at me; I take them all in, every one. Wide eyes won't shut to imagine better places. A stabbing abdominal pain irritates again, and still I chew my lip.

Thought trails slip in and out of conscious and subconscious thinking, one thought leads to another, my mind is like a maze. All thoughts neither subjective or objective, just empty and careless. Long mental conversations with myself to fill in the time.

And there it was again. On the left this time. Oh my.

I like the city in the twilight sun, bold buildings jut out of the skyline into foggy haze, a mixture of heat and smog. One brave ray of light pierces the grey smudge. New shining metallic structures contrast with dull 70s mistakes and crumbling prehistoric courthouses. As I slip further down the tracks I pick out landmarks, counting them off one by one. Looking at it like this I have never felt so at home, and yet the metropolis bustles on and away from me, the hub of everything; life.

I move past rows and rows of terrace, roughage, hard times and sorry lives. Dead industrial sites, steel works, scrap yards. Scraggy allotments and sections of unused canal, trade trucks with stacks of coal. To me its all so picturesque; I loathe to leave it behind.

And yet ever onwards, suburbia encroaches. Neatness. Order. Red brick prisons stamping out all that seek to be different. Stifling ideology shackles striving to contain me, ironically chosen as safe by those that wish to free me most. This town, this hole, this deep, deep well that few escape or conquer, has caught up with me once again. I have evolved from the crysalis and wait to fly away, yet the memory of this place remains, stained forever into me, lest I forget.

Oh, I remember this town. I remember those not worth remembering, and lessons learned too soon. I remember feeling lonely and always a false sense of spirit. This town, with streets of hurt. This town, easily traced like the back of my hand, every place a reminder. Looking back I find unease at things I did, too fast, too young. I remember being different. I am different.

Past this town the world awaits. Gall, nerve and courage are tickets to freedom. Finding myself is a lifetime quest. The city calls; a plan, a gamble, a mission. This town is only temporary. Quietly, I wait.

'Haven't you wondered
What we could've been
If you'd only let me in?
I want you,
But I want you to understand;
I miss you
I love you'

This girls words burn holes in my head and my eyes fill with tears when it overwhelmes me.
Yesterday I tried to call again, twice. I think your number is void now, there isn't even a tone.
You changed it and didn't let me know.
I guess that means you've moved on.

My head contains no seratonin today and I am low. Somewhere in a dark haze my usual self whispers that its all because of drugs and not to cry. You're beautiful, love. And it doesn't matter anyway.

Small, scared, alone, hurt, beautiful. Depth of feeling brings a new level of understanding. Being at one. Facing the unknown.

Come back, seratonin. I miss you.