#abstractnoun

it creeps up on you, controlling the tide

of crimson cheek, which washes over

and you feel so hot your face might ignite

it smells acrid, like bile worming up your throat

like the stench of piss and sweat from

the last time you wet yourself in nursery

it’s there in the places you go to escape,

blocking the way out, the corridors at parties,

the bathroom, the garden shed

it doesn’t hold your hand or stroke your hair, it points

and laughs, while you wait for the cackling to die down

it desperately wants to be felt, prodding and intruding

the dark cloud following, the unwanted reminder,

that you aren’t what you pretend to be, 

its the problem relative, everyone tries to forget, 

clawing it’s way back up from under the rug,

bruised drunk and yelling at every family reunion

in the early hours of the morning,

when you’re on the verge of sleep, it visits

unexpectedly, the skeleton crawls out of the closet,

ever nostalgic in the alarm clock light

filling your head with ‘remember whens’

it’s the sting of soap and shower water filling

eyes and mouth, after you tried in vain

to wash those shuddering memories away,

I touch you to feel an unbearable prick,

sharp and icy, like dagger stick.

From one lip to the next

you spread as a disease 

intoxicated by the tongue, 

continuously flowing through my bloodstream.

A whisper, an echo,

it travels to me

beholding your past i don’t want to see.

For now i am owner, ruler of all, locked in a cage

where no one can go.

Behold in my locket, safe round my neck

is all that you cherished,

with the key out of reach.

I surround this with a blanket, a mask, a disguise.

so no one can see the true that shall be.

Unless i tell…

For your a wind and a bluster 

a screech in my ear.

silent as I am,

I hold plenty of fear.

Flowing as you are

no time to release,

but during the night, i do not ever ease.

For i do not feel the safety you feel.

A contract made from a kiss, a handshake or simply love.

Words passed from a person to another, locked with a key in the air.

A scent, I guess, of sweet perfume or Lynx spray, turned to burnt paper when broken.

Hard, durable and metallic at first but it will soon turn to a soft, fragile, ripped piece of paper. 

Its an unpleasant taste like food left alone too long, turned to poison from the heat and mould in your mouth.

A fox trapped inside a box, ready to pounce, to hurt you in the back so it can hiss and shout 

Broken!

Its spring, its autumn 

Its a cardigan pocket, 

A necklace with a locket 

12am, 12pm

A fix that can turn to fly like a dove, 

To honest lands above 

Happy,

Peaceful,

Broken! 

Hurt,

2:55am

He taps your shoulder so you’ll look the other way,

Chases you down alleys you didn’t know you feared,

2:56am

He’s every loud footstep,

Every siren,

Every heartbeat,

2:57am

He’s sweaty, and clammy, and damp,

Yet his touch turns you to ice then fire,

2:58am

He’s an electric shock,

He’s a brick wall- he won’t let you climb over.

Engulfs you. clouds your eyes,

2:59am

He’s an itchy sweater you can’t take off,

He’s a labyrinth you can’t get out,

He’s a belt fastened too tight,

3am

He’s every black cloud, a black sheep- you can’t hide.

He’s a blur of anxiety and heavy breathing.

3:01am

The kind of bitter that never leaves your mouth-

The sort of sweet that’s sickly-

The sticky you can’t get out your teeth.

3:02am

He’s an interval that lurks in the wings of the performance of your memory

Here I am

here’s that metallic taste

a long plain t-shirt and

lying on my side

inspecting my hands

no-one’s calling or talking or typing or crying or laughing or bitching or singing or watching

we’re all just here

but separate

lying on our sides with our backs to the room

inspecting our fingers and wondering

where the hell everyone is

a strip of grey light

dust

It creeps up on you, controlling the tide                                                   of crimson cheek which washes over                                                     and you feel so hot your face might ignite

It smells acrid, the bile creeping up your throat                                   the stench of piss and palm sweat from                                                 the last time you wet yourself in nursery

It’s there in the places you go to escape;                                             the corridors at parties, the bathroom, the garden shed                         holds your hand and strokes your hair while you                               wait for the cackling to die down 

It wants you to acknowledge it, the dark reminder                               following, the scarlet letter                                                                       the problem relative everyone tries to forget                                           but is there, bruised drunk and yelling, at every reunion

In the early hours of the morning                                                             when you’re on the verge of sleep                                                           it visits unexpectedly, ever nostalgic in the alarm clock light                   filling your head mockingly with “remember when”