Shell shocked with misty eyes,
mascara runs, polluted river.
There is a brook of blue and black.
It’s all over my face,
and I can’t face the hours as they creep towards me.
I stand before my mirror,
and I tell myself “I’m sorry”,
I’m just trying to make sense of my mess,
looking pretty in the new dress that I wanted to wear for her.
My hair is in curls,
and my wrists still smell like her perfume,
I can still feel her grasp as she begged me not to leave,
surprisingly strong for such a sleepy girl.
I never said it at the time,
but I’m losing myself to how much I love her.
I wrote about her in my diary,
Immortalising my irresistible girl in irresponsible ink,
verses that were more courageous than I could be when I was beneath her, just hours before,
and every few moments I would fall to my desk,
inhaling her essence from my wrists,
regaling myself with promises of my potential.
I could be so capable,
once I clean myself up.
I’ll put down my books and lay myself down,
beneath her once again,
and this time,
she will have everything she wants.