FiftyThree

Shoes. They tell you anything that you want to know.
Flats, and boots and heals and trainers.
I look at shoes first, I want to see your sole.

Your soul.

Hers is coated in laughing and standing up for what she believes in. Kiss it all better.
His is etched in something strange, music and angst. Rebel, Rebel. Kiss it all better.
Mine is...
Mine is...

I don't think I know.
I can't kiss it all better.

FiftyFour

19. 19. 19. 19.

Rum, no Vodka. Vodka and lemonade.
One Fifty. Down, trickle down my throat.
I hate this place, but I love it now. I love this.
Taxi? Freakin' Taxi?
Hello? Who are you really? No, really?
Hello?
Hello?
Wake up. WAKE UP.

FiftyTwo

I've never had a present like it, I don't think I ever will.
I don't think I want it.
I can't have it.

Really, I can't.

But....

Oh how I love it.

FiftyOne

Hit me, Hit me,
Hit me with lightening.


Checking my watch and seeing myself in the glittering gold.
Stuttering over grotesque words in the dim pages of my newest adventure.
Keeping the music out of my ears, keeping it locked away.
Twisting in shimmering lace and soft cotton socks.
Tiptoeing across white snow and mumbling secret codes.

It's everything I need and everything I must resist.
Gasp.

Hit me, Hit me,
Hit me with lightening.

Fifty

Blake and I sit in a comfortable silence, it blankets us.
Keeps us warm and lets us think.
When my phone flashed his name that morning, i knew he needed to sit st the old wooden tables and sip on gingery lager.
I dont like that taste.
Make jokes, say words like "dire" and "fail". Eat chinese food and swap gross stories.
Talk about that Wandering Dragon and music and uni and anything.
Everything.

Oh Blake, i needed to sit at old wooden tables too.
Dire.

FortyNine

My routine for sleep goes like this -
Take off clothes, stand in underwear and avoif eye contact with the disappointment in the mirror.
Wipe away black paint and powdery blush, rub cream onto my skin and gaze at the photos on the wall.
Take off underwear and put on my boxershorts and tshirt.
Pull back the bedcovers, swith off all light.
And find the right headphone for each ear and listen.

Let them sing me to sleep, shape my dreams with their artistic rythms and delicate phrases.
I've became dependant on a stranger, a stranger needs to sing me to sleep.

Tonight my routine is different.
I lie in bed now, worry weighing down my chest. Your friend, our friend had to phone to say how Gone you were.
Man, boy, you. I hope you're ok.

No stranger will sing me to sleep.
I can't listen anymore.

FortyEight

Why do you think this is ok?
To text and be drunk, when eyes are there.
When hearts are around to be broken.

I need you to make a decision.

FortySeven

Let's pretend we're older and qualified.

Our house is quaint. Everything is soft pastel colors.

In the morning we pick clothes and before we go for cocktails we pick clothes.

Small trinkets and tea cups sit on gentle shelves and piles of old rustic books.

On sundays we sit in the one bed and read the papers, laugh and talk in the sweet morning light.

Before walking along to the pub for the usual.

When I cry at night I stumble into the room and you're there, and before long we're joined by the other one.

We lie in silence.

And I wake up.

Happy.

FortySix

I think I might have had a break down today.

A proper big one, when your whole body shakes. And your eyes do that odd thing of zooming in and out of focus.

Everything hurts. Even my bloody teeth.

I'm so disappointed in myself.

I feel this big.

FortyFive

But the trouble with dreams, They're not they seem,

'Cause when you awake

They fall through your fingers in Flakes.

This is my stressed out song, the voice drags and whispers and tells me to breathe. It has made me realize after playing it for the millionth time in the last 2 years that this, is not my dream anymore.

This is someone else's.

Running fingers through tangling hair and telling myself that all this hard work will pay off. But it won't.

Leave me alone, to think and compose my thoughts. Of running away and telling you all the absolute truth.

Take.

Deep.

Breaths.

FortyFour

It's a sad story

Of forbidden Lovers.

It would be nicer to hear you say it in person. To watch your lips make the movement for the noise to flow through. But you aren't here, soon though.

I've always liked the way you say my name. A soft noise, sweet but not sticky, sing song not clattering.

Say it out loud. Perhaps if you say it so many times. I will appear. Flutter to you in a cloud of pink smoke.

Please try that. Please.

FortyThree

Laugh and joke.

It gets quiet now, and we talk about other people, our friends. Our foes.

You push the hair away from my face, and I can tell that you mean what you say, screw up your nose in disgust and tell me not to listen to them.

Kiss me soft.

Bed covers moving, and hands sweeping, sweeping up fabric and heat and lust.

Lips parted and brushing. Breath swapping and moving. Eyes open, lids fluttering.

Hot stomachs and warm chests.

Pull me down, and move me over. Grab me close and kiss me harsh.

Just keep kissing me.

For another 5 minutes.

FortyTwo

Today I am old,

I am aging and crippled. Eyes are heavy and my mind is losing track of who they are and where I am.

Everyone is blurred. Speak, clear and whisper silence. Tell me every dirty lie your teeth can push and form.

Let me tell you nothing, and when I cry tell me I will be Okay.

Even if you lie.

Tell me that you need me.

Even if you lie.

In heaven I see their faces and they are smiling, it is warm and my shoes and clean. My teeth are pearly white and I can feel my smile radiate my skin, make me gentle.

Even when they lie.

FortyOne

On the wall beneath the bridge, it says in clean white, against the grubby grey.

Is Romance Dead?

No my love, it isn't.

Forty

My young bride why aren't you moving.

My bones are tired, but my mind is happy.

One sleep till my eyes can rest on yours. Sigh, and a smile tickles my lips.

I like the click and whirl my camera makes, when it captures an image of something rather ugly or something rather wonderful.

In my heart of hearts I'm loosing faith in Her, I can feel my lips moving but with no sound.

Am I on mute?

Am I on mute?

No, my voice is only static that someone cannot tune to make gentle sounds.

And I miss her so much.

ThirtyNine

To be lost in a forest, to be caught a drift. You've been trying to reach me, you bought me a book.

And you told me you wanted to eat up my sadness, well jump on, enjoy and gorge away.

This modern love - breaks me. This modern love - wastes me.

Do you wanna come over, and kill some time?

Throw your arms around me.

ThirtyEight

Sometimes he creeps into my mind.

Sneaks into a thought, He's a thought linked to another thought, a flash of nothing next to a simple flicker of my mind.

His face, in its entirety, is buried too deep within my sleeping lids that I only see it, whole, in my dreams. But in waking thought small flashes of his eyes, back of his head, the soft hair on his cheeks. They all flick and twitch.

I dream that he is standing in front of me, away at the bottom of the wooded path, his hair is long and He's wearing the jumper with the ink stain on the pocket, the one He wore to skate. 14 he's only 14. And I love him there, how he is, how he smells; of paint and boy.

He flicks his head back, shaking the hair from his eyes, and I move closer. Move move, feet dragging. My hair is changing color and I can taste metal in my mouth, lips shredding over moving teeth.

I see his face now, eyes of blue and soft freckles over his nose. Auburn hair.

Conal.

I hate his name, hate that it's etched on everything old, scratched into the forehead of every other boy.

When I reach him in the wood, he reaches for my hand. And I can see his face so clearly. He says something to me.

I think I need to remember this.

But when I wake, with sweat in my hair and my headphones choking me and singing to themselves, I panic to hold onto his face, keep it in my brain. But it slips and slides away, and so does his words and his smell.

There's only darkness now.

ThirtySeven

Fuck it.

I'll see you when you're older, when we're older.

I want to go back and tell you that I'm sorry.

For kissing you back, for holding your hand. For wanting you so badly.

I still want to kiss you though, and let you blow raspberries on my cheeks and make me laugh, I still want to play games with you. And pretend that she doesn't exist.

But God... she does.

ThirtySix

Give this to me, on paper, on a small digital screen. With scales and arpeggios. Give it to me, this heavy beat that makes me quake.

Let me feel sorry when a string snaps or you and I both know that this is so unfair and that my bones will ache tomorrow.

Breathe it in, cigarettes and weed, strong and heavy against my chest. Catching breath, smokey night breath. Or cold and crisp, sharp white bursts of air from bitten lips.

Sweat for it, work and break. Write it all down and sing it out loud. Tell me secrets or blow raspberries on my cheeks. Do what makes you happy.

Broken nose and stubble chin, fingers laced and it drives us, the hum of the electricity and notes through the large black speakers.

I have so much to say, and when I try to say it all at once, it just cant...

Function.

I can't function.

ThirtyFive

My lips fumble over the words, I've been singing them for days.

And now that I read them, I know why this song has gone round and round in my skull.

You spurn my natural emotions, you make me feel like dirt and Im hurt.

And if I start a commotion, I run the risk of loosing you and thats worse.

...

I can't see much of a future, unless we find out what's to blame what a shame.

And we won't be together much longer, unless we realize that we are the same.

Ever fallen in love with someone, ever fallen in love, in love with someone, ever fallen in love with someone you shouldn't have?

A sigh escapes,

Yes.

ThirtyFour

Last night was bliss.
I liked your text, I liked that you text me first.
Dancing, skirt moving and feet tapping. Drink spilling, and mouth smiling.
I hold everyones hand, and sleep well, I actually sleep.
I love this dress, it reminds me of london and my cousins and my brother and his sweet 16.
This all makes me happy.

I miss you, I can't wait to call you and hear your voice, I can't physically wait to get home and charge my phone. By then, he should have text me back and we can click over things that pull us together.
Today and this week, will be bliss. Not tragic, not sad, but bliss. With two s's: one to stand for singing and one to stand for smiling.
He's twisted around me, together, things to say, shared experiences on different time lapses. I can't get him out of my system. I like him there.

I feel like Bliss.
This feeling is Bliss.

ThirtyThree

Dear whoever, it's a pleasure to love you, a pleasure to have you break my heart.

I think God wants me to be alone, like he wants my heart to ache and shrivel. If God can't love me, who can?
No one.

Dear whoever, let this night be full of life. Before I am reminded of the pain you've given me.

I won't stop wanting you, and when this al crumbles, haha I'll still be here, ive made up my mind.

ThirtyTwo

They havent been together for very long, but he just doesnt see how he can just end it. Even though he knows, how he feels about me. We just lie, and eventually I go home, to fall asleep to the mumbling Bon Iver, and when i wake, i wake to this

" i love how my bed smells of you"

I can't believe whats happened.
Tell me, what do I do?

ThirtyOne

K says things that I was so desperate to hear. He admitted to be desperate to know my name, to needing to talk to me. How Im the female him, this made me laugh. But what about her? Shh lets just watch.
"If youve got no kind words to say then you should say nothing more at all"
Lets walk home, holding hands and laugh laugh laugh, buzzz from music and booze and laced fingers. Pulls me away from the others, to talk: about anthony, about what people know, how we feel. So new, never before. Kissing, lips pushing and puckering, hands holding. Back to our home town, to walk in the rain to one place and the next, he worries how cold i am. K asks, will i see you later or do you want to come home for a bit? Rain is pouring all over us, and i just nodd.
Sit and facebook stalk people, listen to bits and bobs of albums. He keeps apologising for the state of his room, records and music books line the floor. We lie on the bed, and just talk. He does this thing, where he kisses my cheeks and he's laughing at me.

Thirty

I could feel the weight of his body, pressing down. And his soft lips kissing mine.
Maybe i should start from the beginning.
Train ride in is fine, laugh and talk. We meet M and his bag of booze and walk and laugh and talk.
The bands are good, alcohol pushes and pulls at my body, and i start to burst and shoot with laughter. If he leaves me he makes sure someone stays, someones looking after me. We go to the bar and he thinks its crazy that I want to pay.
Chris comes to find me, sweet chris, who automatically puts his face to close to mine. K's hand is there and his fingers continue to wrap around mine, pulling me away, pulling. Till chris just fades, into the crowd, his face nothing next to K's.
"first love, last love, its only love, only love" we sing along, fingers wrapped together. Thats when he first kisses me, "no, your not allowed you have a girlfriend" and his face just falls, we both know.

TwentyNine

My gift is my song,
And this ones for you.

If I was a bit bigger i'd beat them up for you, they shouldn't have played that game, i'd shag and marry you every single day.

When i think of you like this it makes me so anxious, i worry what your thinking, please don't sad. please.

i dont know whats going on with the C's but im sure that it'll blow over. Besides this C is missing you so much.
i've become a monster too, lonliness has made me this way, created this beast that chews everyone up and spits them out.

Darling, when i think of you, close my eyes and see you, you are sitting in your room, hands slim and blue, hair twisting round itself and your face pale and glittering. but your crying, big wet tears that sprinkle your work books and make the ink run and run away from you.
i hate when i see you like this.

Remember when i held your hand the whole way through the film, think of that.
my hot clamy fat fingers clutching onto yours.

And you can tell everybody, this is your song.

TwentyEight

I wonder as I lie awake what He's doing. In the pub? Is he walking home from his friends house, is he doing the same as me?
I think he's tall, really tall and skinny, but he likes it. Doesn't moan and eats like a horse, when I look at him fro below and to the side I love to watch the look on his face as we listen to the live guitars and mumbled harmonies.
He'll be kinda clever, and laugh when I say ridiculous things. He's gunna think I'm funny.
When we watch a movie, he lies on the couch, on his side, and i sit in the gap between his knees and the back of the couch. We'll like that.
Argue over anything, but appologise to me later, yeah he's gunna do that. It'll be through passion though, he'll feel so strongly about music and books and his future. I won't get in the way.
My hand fits right into his.
Man, I wonder where he is.

TwentySeven

And it's not what I thought,
he's completely taken, but before i even knew that I knew exactly that it wasn't.
Now lets not lie, he's pretty good looking, but he's a Mark and a Steven and a Tom and even maybe a John
A boy who you want to be best friends with, cause he treats you the same as everybody else.

My crush is offically over. Now that I know, I can finally sleep and look forward to my gig and getting completely wasted tomorrow evening ...

Oh Thank Goodness

TwentySix

Im a satellite heart.

That's a nice thought. That your hearts up there, in the dark, connecting with those who may not even realize itm And, although you're connecting with someone else you're still true to one person.
My person is you, wherever you are.

TwentyFive

Unsure, Undecided, Unkeen, Understood.

I've chewed on these words and pharses for days, I make the decision to swallow them and let them rattle around in my brain instead of my gums, hopefully preventing them from trickling out of my bitten lips.

Its the constant worry, to say the right thing, to ask the right question. Unkeen to ask, Undecided whether or not to ask, Unsure where the question will take me. Understood, what I could be loosing.

Can't some one do it for me?

Just ask Him.

TwentyFour

Week Plan;

Monday ~ go to my favorite places, the maccabees singing just for me, and then to uni. Come home and watch bad tv.
Tuesday ~ into lecture bright and early. Sit and cackle with the Crowd. Then to work I go, to watch lesbiens play darts and to see M'z face and wish i loved him back.
Wednesday ~ uni then pub? Yes, pub! Then home to stare at four walls.
Thursday ~ Placement, teach, worry, teach. Gig in apple store with him? If I go I may appear desperate...
Friday ~ uni, relax, then gig or work? If i get a gig tic then I'm off.

But, if i dont get a tic then im off saturday.
which means.
I'm all yours.

TwentyThree

In all of my small life, small in spirt, in love, in intellegence. I have never felt so small.
So completely insignificant. So completely on my own.

I've trained my brain to not let my heart run away, carring feelings it doesn't deserve.
Come now heart, lets think this through.
I hold both parts of my problem in seperate shaking hands. Trembling the words fall from my wet palms, and I'm aware of how ill I am.
Heart;
I want to speak to you always, to have this click. I like being nervous that my phone won't flash your name, and then to be excited when you do. To know that something made you want to text me. Something made you think of my small name.

Brain;
Facts, hard facts. Writting on a screen.
Why would they want you?

I don't know brain, but I wish you'd let me be. This is breaking me in two.