#spr21

your breath sinks into my shoulder

and carefully grasps my neck

it crawls to the base of my spine

and it paints me in a sweat

drink me or i’ll drown us both

in a coffin, we are bound

is this the tower’s pinnacle,

or are we underground?

your arms are tight, your skin is hot

so i know you’re more than dead

in the chapters of a horror story

guess i'll throw it out there

i don't wanna live with you

i don't think it'd be living

even if i really wanted to 

we've got problems babe

worse, i think it's just me

you don't even notice them

if you cant feel, you can't see

i spend so much time thinking

and even more crying in bed

we talk but we don't say much

no idea what's in your head

maybe you just go along

and you don't really care

you're fine, you dont mind

this isn't a burden we share 

i make you happy enough

i kiss you, i cook, i clean

don't you ever wonder, is

this the happiest you could be?

what would you say if you 

knew i wondered that a lot?

would you ask me to stay?

would you believe it or not?

guess i'm asking you babe 

to tell me something nice 

do something nice for me

i'm tired of asking you twice

this isn't what i want and 

i'm realising that slowly how

i don't have to feel this way 

it's all down to you now

i love you, of course i do 

but am i loving a tin man?

i don't see myself in you

i don’t understand

tick tock tick tock

where's your second hand?

what time do you finish?

i have you by the hour

only as good as your minutes

twelve times a day

i worry and i fret

wishing my life away

where does the time go?

occasionally, you smile

i must have missed it though

perception shatters

you don't love me at all

do the years we had not matter?

like a terrible intention

midnight strikes again

but there's no grand attention

just the watching wait

the clock goes by

the morning is disparate

as every second goes

i know now

what’s not to like? freckles on paper, soft shapes, no edges, bring-you-home saviour

sixties magazine hair, couldn’t be sweeter, angel eyes and teeth, one eighty centimetres

you’ll see me around, dressed for a place, a world i hoped to live in, all inarticulate grace

tender tears, watch me red like a cherry bloomed like a mum, lament every february