call me up i'm always home

Again again, that moth wing flutter

as it beats itself to death against the glass.

Again again I drink down my masochistic victory-

heartache pride that leaves me

confused

I’ve been caught up in the post-incident way of thinking and you

                  are always walking back and then away again again

let’s get married and live by the sea, let’s turn a blind eye to the teeth sinking

sensation of all

                  those dog bite remarks.

                                   

                                   

                 let’s forget

                           each other

                                   and learn

                              a new language – how to love

                                                              without hurting.

And the crowd goes wild.

Anyway.

Who am I to bat an eyelid, teeth marks of my own and there

I was dancing being shy and drinking wine

biting my own tongue, again

and now

I’m wearing armour built by a subconscious need to

                  destroy

don’t you know me by now?

I’ve been rattling through my days watching evening sky turn grey and

waiting

                  for something to happen.               Who am I

to bat an eyelid

thinking of flesh and perfume.                         Who am I

but a very normal pile of bones and yes I’ve got potential

                                    to inherit arthritis perhaps

and I’ve been wrapping daisy chains around my family tree

and my date of birth just

happens to be the number of shock treatments she

                  incurred and I’m wondering

where that leaves me, sitting under it all

the weight of waiting

for something to happen

                                                                        something.

And the crowd goes

silent.

Anyway.

I’m stuck again in a dream-like memory of winter at the beach

                  and the warmth of your limbs around mine and I’m

                  writing a story about how much I hate

                  thinking

                  about it all and all it does is make me

                  think some more. You know

                  you should have known better. Didn’t anybody tell you

how to love without hurting?

Your words unceremoniously left 

your mouth without a backwards glance and 

being on the receiving end is a bit like 

holding a package of hate mail that the sender 

has no memory of posting. Hello, how are you? Fine thank you -

except I feel like chewing off my fingers. Yourself?

I’m left here holding these dirty knives.

Bits of conversation stuck to cutlery

lipstick smudges on ceramic and insults in an hourglass

flipping over and over, moth wings against glass, played out on repeat

in that little part of me

that likes to feel (despite it all)
i like to feel

again, again.