the waiting room is coldand I am empty on the worn couch, resting against the clinical wallI sit next to a blue man his eyes match my shirthe stares straight aheadto two glistening pools that shift he searches their reflection for a memorya girl called Hopewith eyes that smileand lashes that kiss apple-d cheeks we…

I hoard wordsgather them up, uneven – watch them spill overdribble as they want down my chin possessive, I am – jealous and cheapan angry guardian keeper of what is mine to give but you own the words I whisper to no onegrowing drunk on your image, drawn in the darka colourised memory, you live…

“a riddle,” she whispers, and hands it to youpressed into the hollow of your palma folded-up sunset you hear it before you see it, and even then – you’re not sure you dothe light press of a kiss behind your ear close your eyes to see clearlywords cut stark against the glare: but it leaves…

course eyes, paper lidssanding smooth, your numbing gaseats my chest, slow, dull fuelled by a wailingthough I can’t locate the sourcewithin, without, or – woven. that’s right, youretrieved your tooth from her mouthto make bone for the needle, needy, needyour need, it’s exhausting whenI need to breathe, and I still want you, oh –sorry, an…

beneath my woman-shaped coat lives a girlyou met her, once – you laid beside her on the floorshe’d been sleeping, but you woke her, and she’s not rested since. she’s an angry girl, the one who lives in my coatshe resents you, I think, for speaking hope into existenceshe’s made of pride, and cries justice!…

words come easy, I never struggle to speak butconversation is cold, empty, hollowangry and mean is the maskpressing against my face me, I want to scream at you, make you listenyou won’t hear me, you’re gone are your words and wishes, blown to the wind, lostyou thought you were in love isn’t somethingpeople feel for…

And then I thought – to fall in love is to staggerto trip my way across a lonely beachsquinting, as thought I might find your windy beauty there, that when I held my hat to my head, with all my might, warding off the sharp sting of your smile – there is a version of…

Salivating, thesedeer in silk dress stained with me, I’m overflowing – I’m so sorry, I keep spilling everywhere, fingers and thumbs, rot – and decay is sweet, like scent of jacaranda, and that could be me – but I’ve more flowersthan branches, and they’re falling, too loud, purple sea.

And one day, happiness will find you. You will try to articulate it (you will cry every time). It will curl up in your chest, like it never left, and it will hold your hand like you held mine.

I have been thinking (like usual) about love, why we are so obsessed with it. Why we keep coming back to it, when it is proven mediocre again and again. I have never wanted something so much on the basis of so little. Growing up, I was taught that the human race are endlessly unsatisfied.…