I think about never kissing you again,
And I can feel my teeth crack,
One at a time,
I think about never smelling your hair again,
And I can feel my lungs collapse,
Quickly, all at once,
I think about never holding you again,
And I can feel my ribs break,
With a slow crunch.
There are no more letters to re-read,
There are no more phone calls to have,
There are no more afternoon tea parties,
There are no more trips to the thrift store,
Our pockets half empty,
Our gas tank, half empty,
Our conversations half empty,
There are no more texts to return too late,
There are no more dresses to lend,
There are no more dates to keep,
And you took part of me when you went,
There are no more tissues to catch me,
There are no more words to scream,
There are no more wrists to slice,
There are no more spaces to clean,
My bedroom half empty,
My body half empty,
My life half empty,
My poetry half empty.
it never stops
I’m going to open a store called “Anxiety Embroidery,” and just sell everyday objects with sad things hastily embroidered into them. Some things will have blood and tear stains. Some things will be indecipherable.
This was a brilliantly bad idea.
Oh, by the way, if any of you lovely people have snapchat and want to see lots of pictures of food and my myface and of me stuffing my face with food, add me: UkulEllie
Someone come bludgeon me to death with an anthology of poetry,
I don’t want to be alone tonight,
I don’t want to be alone,
And words will be good company,
And bludgeon is one of my favourites,
And god, what a way to go,
Someone come drown me with peppermint tea,
I don’t want to be awake tonight,
I don’t want to be awake,
And tea makes you sleepy, right?
And mint is one of my favourites,
And god, what a way to go,
I’ve come to the conclusion that second-semesters are always just a cocktail of apathy and insomnia.
I can’t scream loud enough,
I can’t hear over my heartbeat,
Do you hear this thunder?
Do you feel this earthquake?
Tonight, I’m drowning in your name,
Tonight, you’re flooding my body,
Is this my pillow talk?
Is this my panic?
I feel your hands on my skin when I’m sleeping alone,
I taste your shoulder in my mouth when I’m dreaming of home,
I have a pocket full of words you whispered to my lips,
I’ll have a hard time coping when I awake from all of this.
If my tired bones finally snap,
Would you break your weary back,
Bending over pages,
(Denial’s the best of the stages),
And would you bleed me back to life,
Every stroke of your pen, a skilled surgical knife,
Would you throw yourself into your work,
And make of me, something of worth,
Or would you buckle under my weight,
If I finally took that bait,
Would you curl up into yourself,
Feed your emptiness, deny your health,
Would you flinch at the sound of my name,
Would you never ever be the same?
I wonder these things in dreaming state,
My mind so bizarre and full of self-hate,
But when I come back to the living world,
I know I’ll never be your baking soda girl.