I hope to sit with you one day,

in a content sort of way.

Sometimes thing are okay and sometimes they’re not,

But I’d love to have you as a constant, even though you can’t be constant,

Because one day, after you’ve become my constant, my comfort, you’ll die, or I will,

And the other will be left in a constant state of grief and loss, which will in some way ease but never go.


that grass-roots feeling of loss

that cliched unsaid unfinished shiz

that heart-worm burial

that digging notion of things gone wrong

the unfixable memory convoy that won’t leave and parades up and down my mind

aisles and the corridor’s tight and the squeezing march grates on the sides and drags

me down with it

that corn fed turd that is you

a handprint on my psyche

a snow angel on my lawn


untapped texts ache my skinny fingers and my back is a cracked mess

my muse is a twat i once met, so often

grinding feelings need an outlet

and i’m the flour between stones, it’s not foolish because it’s not something i think about

it’s bondage around my innards,

it’s a grasping feeling of loss that is so resilient and wiry and it’s all strung up inside me and it worms around with hooks that rip my muscles and it spreads my feelings thin

i have to look through a ragged pinhole, the sides are so heavy and i’m tired

memory blue

loose visions of you

blue and darting

you’ve thickened up since i left

awkward feeling

rosy memory

a hazed border between what really happened and what i think of when i think of you

a memory that’s darting

a memory that’s blue