In one breath we suck in the past and a thousand tonnes of dust, and then with the next, we inhale summer and honey and the love of eyes that speak of a season where the leaves fall and cover lakes like an alien skin. Y’know, like when you were a kid and you grazed your knee and after a week or so a strange layer had formed which you just couldn’t wait to peel back. So yeah, you’re my scab but I’ve told you this already, right? I’m sure I have. This wine makes me forget, but not enough to rid myself of the heartbreak you bring. But meh, what’s the point in complaining, because truth be told I like the pain you keep giving. Without it, there’s nothing worth remembering. Not a thing. This headache, it just won’t shift. I should be more active. Should summon some animals and write lurid poetry concerning how I fantasize about you touching yourself. In these fantasies, I’m sat before you while you work your magic and such magic is enough to make me forget everything else while I gaze into your deadlights like a fool and a wizard and a creep. You and your ways. The atoms you consist of and the wonder that resides within them- what a mess- what a beautiful fucking mess. Life could be simple, and life could be easy, but what use is that to me. I could dream of you like I used to when we were together and Sunday’s were those days where we never left each other’s arms. Yeah, those days were good, but now there is no such thing as what there once was. There are no resolutions. No answers. Nothing makes the least bit of sense and yet it shouldn’t have to. This love of ours. It’s mutated into something far beyond my understanding. What was once pure is now perverse, and what was perverse is now the only language I know. Your smile, there was a time when it was all I ever needed and I would put it in my pocket everywhere I went like a good luck charm. Now though, now it’s a bullet and a kiss and a knife wound to my heart each second of every day.