oh, he’ll be there
for the good times
for the falling in love
over a bottle of red wine times
for the holding hands in the woods
and for the wishing on should
an eternity, a whole,
two bodies, but one soul
oh, he’ll be there
but not for when things turn sour
when minutes feel like hours
across the dining table
the candle light a token gesture
and not a word has been spoken yet
empty promises of, i’ll never leave you
but he won’t be there when it’s needed
punching, kicking, scratching, screaming
he won’t be there when the tears come streaming
he was there for the good version of you
on your best behaviour, you
for the confident, happy, exciting you
but when reality came, like an awesome wave
he couldn’t see it through
after all, i’ve come to learn, i was nothing more than a getaway car
that drove too fast
and eventually took us both tumbling
off the path
yes, i am talking to you.
you unbuckled your seatbelt and leapt
from the impending wreckage
and you ran
without a second glance over your shoulder
to see the flames
that you’d left.
(he won’t be there)
the bruises are lingering
on my chest, my hips, my back
a reminder, of candlelight dwindling
and silk ties
and too much pink wine.
but there are bruises still
on my self-esteem
on my heart
deep in my soul
and love’s keen sting
has left its indefinite mark.
does this mean i’ve remained soft, like i wanted,
through this tempest?
still easy to bruise and still tender?
we both sidestep 3 consecutive manhole covers
wish on eyelashes
wish on 11:11
cross our fingers and pinky swear, we’re lovers
and love bites, but
is this it?
and am i finally doing it right?
I wrote this a few months back
Tomorrow should be our 4 year anniversary.
Four years since that night we lay on my bed,
hands barely touching,
Maybe I should reframe this. That’s what a therapist would do.
Four years since you cheated on your girlfriend of the time.
Four years since you were weak.
That kiss was you being weak.
Not owning up to how you truly felt about your then relationship, and instead letting it blow up.
Four years since you broke someone else’s heart.
I really hope she’s moved on now and has found someone who will show her more respect than you did.
I hope she’s happier now.
I hope tomorrow passes without her even thinking of you, because she’s managed to put it all behind her.
You were a coward. You still are.
You shy away from all emotions until it reaches breaking point and then you let it all blow up.
Without any warning.
I bet she didn’t see it coming either.
The way I didn’t.
You did exactly the same to me as you did to her.
You didn’t speak about your feelings, you actively lied about them, and then you threw a curveball out of nowhere.
Poor her. Poor me. Who’s next?
Was I always just a getaway car for you?
Was the magic exactly that – just an illusion?
A trick of the light,
sleight of hand.
I always look back on 13th January 2017 with such fondness – because I thought it was the start of something really special.
Maybe it’s time to take off the rose-tinted glasses?
in the beginning, there was a time
when we were the talk of the town
a twisted love affair
but, in the end, you let me down
our days filled with conversation
i wore our love like a crown
our nights filled with tenderness
and still, you let me down.
there were months when you
were the only person i wanted to be around
my knight in a plaid shirt and slippers
and yet, you let me down
the cracks began to show
the crown fell to the ground
and you didn’t want to be there to help pick up the pieces,
that’s how you let me down.
and now i look back and i’m angry
that i turned my life upside down
all in the name of what i thought was “love”
and then you went and let me down
was i not worth fixing?
was i worth leaving to drown?
in the blackened waters of my mind?
was it easier to let me down?
i ask because you did it so easily
maybe you were on a huge comedown
of the idea of me
not the reality of me
and that’s how you let me down
what was once our palace
soon became a ghost town
but i will rise up from these ashes
and i won’t let myself down.
a profound loneliness
and chronic emptiness
a sinking feeling in your stomach
waiting for the drop
a heaviness in your chest
but of what?
an outline of a person
no one’s coloured in between the lines
every movement feels like effort
and is painfully slow
who do you turn to in these maddening times,
but to a face on a screen?
it’s no replacement for human contact
resisting the urge to desperately scream…
CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?
I AM ALONE
AND IF I WASN’T HERE
WOULD ANYBODY KNOW?
pour the whisky, pour the wine, I’m hollow anyway.
i’m anxious about my new job.
and where are you?
i’m crying because my anxiety has become so overwhelming that i don’t think i can go on anymore.
and where are you?
i’m questioning all the life choices that led me here, wondering at which turn it all went south.
and where are you?
i’m looking for a hand to hold beneath the sheets at night, when terrors wake me.
and where are you?
i’m searching a sea of strange faces for your familiar gaze that feels like coming home.
and where are you?
i’m looking for reassurance that i’ll be okay on monday; i’m looking for your support.
but where are you?
where are you now?
seven hours ahead.
almost 6000 miles away.
i left you.
on a different continent.
but how i wish things were different.
how i wish i’d never had to leave.
i’m so resistant to the idea of monday because it means that i’m definitely moving on with my life. it’s the next big hurdle.
and you won’t be there.
beside me. telling me everything’s going to be okay and
squeezing my hand.
it’ll just be me.
and who am i?
i thumb through the pages of our old life.
on the pages
where i’ve folded over the top corner.
to revisit those memories again.
ten y fan.
non-descript evenings spent listening to music, drinking red wine and putting the world to rights.
but i can’t keep doing it.
romanticising the past.
religiously reading back over the pages of the life we once shared.
those chapters are closed now. i know.
and i need to move on. i know.
the more i thumb through the old passages
the words become;
i’m misremembering them.
it’s like rubbing salt into a wound
that i was tending to
it’s like ripping it at the careful,
and leaving it
ugly and gaping.
i know, i should pick up the pen and start writing
for my new life now,
not defined by him.
or anyone else.
but defined by me.
i choose the narrative.
i should grab that pen and start writing immediately.
but my hands drift back to the old chapters.
the warmth of an old flame.
I feel like,
what’s the point in continuing writing,
when your best work is already written?
when you’ve already peaked?
i feel like i’m starting to move on,
i don’t want to jump the gun.
but i think of you less.
and when i do it doesn’t hurt so much,
or send palpitations into my chest.
i see a picture of you now on facebook,
and i think the rose tinted glasses have been lifted, ever so slightly.
and instead i see a fully grown man
who still hasn’t learnt to be open with his emotions, and show sincerity.
and isn’t that sad?
that 4 years on you still handle your emotions the way you did with your ex, before me.
bury your feelings and hide from them,
until it reaches boiling point,
and it all gets thrown out to sea.
the pain in my chest has lifted,
ever so marginally.
and i’ll take that
because it’s taken a long six months to get here,
and i’m not even half way there yet,
not even close, nowhere near.
but i’ve put my foot on the path in the right direction,
and i feel like i’ve made a decision,
to get over,
move on from
such heartfelt deception.
On our final night together
in a little Italian restaurant we’d made our favourite,
we raised our glasses
Just those two words.
That’s all either of us could manage
without crying in public.
But what we didn’t say was this;
To all that we were.
To all we could’ve been.
To every time we made each other laugh,
and to sweet Nepali tea.
To every cycling holiday
To all the memories we made,
To every happy polaroid
I pray that time won’t fade.
To every “I love you”
To every stolen glance,
to every morning coffee in bed, every debrief cup of tea,
and to every ceilidh dance.
To every adventure that we’ve had,
to every argument we’d right,
to every sweet guitar melody,
and to putting the world to order, late into the night.
To every birthday we made special,
to each and every kiss,
to every mistake we made,
it all came down to this.
So I hope you still remember us,
before we said adieu,
thanks for all the memories,
“to us, to me and to you”.
Silence never sounds like it’s supposed to.
Silence is an echo chamber
of words unspoken,
and anxieties welling up to the surface.
Bubbling, bursting through the millpond of the mind.
Silence is an empty dancefloor
once the music has been turned off
and everyone has left
You’re left with the ringing in your ears, and a scratching in your throat
from screaming to be heard over that
Silence is an empty railway tunnel.
Gaping and anticipating
the next train of thought, coming along
bulldozing it’s way through the temporary vacancy between your ears.
Silence is a forest,
full of moss-covered rocks just waiting to be overturned.
Patches of fog hang despondently between the listless branches
Don’t peer too close, you might scare yourself
with the weight of all the things you do not know
that lie in the gloaming.
Silence is the gap between the thunderclaps.
That is all.
The rain it still pours.
And the echo of the last distance rumble
tumbles around your hollow head.
Silence is the torchlight of the interrogation.
Why weren’t you good enough?
When did it all go wrong?
Why are you like this?
Why can’t you just move on?
it never stops.