I am sorry I am interrupting you.

But why did you take so long

To talk about your therapist?

About her words to explain to you

That saving a little boy who needed to be pulled through

Wasn’t your duty?

That his name and his home

Became so suddenly real and haunted

That you threw them like stinking garbage

Like an unused plastic bag

Too heavy to carry the weight of your guilt.

Why on earth are you talking about movies,

When you could be talking about

Wet, soggy rags of lovers

Whose tattooed handprints

You still carry as trophies

Of tempestuous battles?


Why are you asking me how many siblings I have?

When we could be talking about our parents,

And how best they could teach us

Were broken remnants of their own mistakes.

That they tried hard to make us into darker versions

Of themselves,

But ended up fucking us up beyond repair.


We have little time.

Don’t you see the skin on my hands

Is so ashen and cold?

That all the sun-coloured warmth in me

Has seeped out onto years of pills and estimation?

That now, and for a long time to come,

A cup of coffee will just not be enough.


Oh Lover,

Don’t you see how we battle?

Oh how we will battle,

Spending our twisted mouths

To sharpen every deep track,

Every sandpapered muscle,

To finally open ourselves

To reveal shame so magnificent

That we will remain giants packs of black filth

Roaming the streets of a dark city.


Oh yes,

You hear me right lover,

I am telling you we have no time before you can breathe this air into me.

There are so many things I need to tell you

Before you decide that I am just not worth,

Walking in the rain with.

Destroying yourself with.


So let us spend this little time,


Battling to find parts of each other

Hiding under the sheets,

That haven’t been touched yet.


There isn’t enough time.




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