When I took her in my arms, she was spoon fed dead stars. Eyes wide, and the colour of frozen lakes. Black rainbow, with a halo above her wasted head. Crescent moon made of oil and snakes as it curved around the arch of her back. Would it make her tingle in all the right places knowing I abuse myself while thinking of her? Would it frighten her to know she’s the one I think of when I write these words? When they bubble inside, it’s her I’m doing this to. All the pain, and every single kiss. A kiss placed upon terrible lips. Irregular breathing patterns. The mist of two hearts lost in the fog that clings to the land like a last embrace. Plucked guitar strings. Echoes of the sea. The universe, dying as we feel nothing, there’s just no way of saying what’s going on inside. Stranded on the edges of nowhere. By my side and out of time. Strips of leather that make her skin welt. Wax from a candle that collects between her breasts. She’s a woman, and I’m a dream. Not real, and neither here nor there. Something I can never have. Something I take for granted. Washed ashore as by torchlight they find the burnt out wreck of a car. Hidden from view by the side of the road, and slipping into chasms of thawed out sound. On the end of a pier looking into the face of God, there’s only faith. As lonely as a child collecting raindrops in both hands, there’s only silence. Flowers and typewriters. Cigarettes and zombies. All those brain-dead atrocities you convince yourself will make you happy. Liquid from my tongue to yours, my hand cups its favourite breast. Picture a scene and keep it safe. Invent a vision, and give it a reason to exist. Feed me. Break me into a million pieces from a burst of emotion more powerful than a full stop.