to be the ones who've seen

The blackness behind your eyelids, as you spasmed and retched on to your side, spilling slime over borrowed floors and yourself; does that feel good now?

That look on your face as you begged and grovelled, snotted all over his feet and his shiny black shoes, flushed face and fevered eyes and then - then, for that one moment of a tired piece of paper going up in fragrant smoke.

That feeling of breath whistling in your nostrils, blood pounding in your head; and the sudden plummeting in your stomach, the inevitable crunch as you meet the ground and lie there in your own wreckage.

You're incurable.

Have you seen it all now?

Good. We can get down to the real business then.

Oh my love, it was a funny funny little thing...

but ships are fallible, I say

There have been nights when I have felt completely alone in the universe.

But never before now have I been lonelier in my alone-ness, until tonight.

with fate as malleable as clay

Yesterday, I almost wrote you a letter. About what I was surrounded by, and felt so disconnected from. How I don't think I will ever. How can it possibly come to me? Where would I find it? But that I hope that sometime in the future I will. How that idealist bit in me will hope forever.

That maybe it isn't time yet and when the time comes - and it will come - it will be perfect; with music that burns a slow path through my veins, better than any alcoholic rush you describe, and words uttered with bursts of warm breath that will be better than all kinds of french kisses.

It was going to be a long, pouring-out-angst-and-woe kinda letter, with a little funny thrown in for good measure. I knew you wouldn't have minded. I thought, you know, so it's okay.

Now I feel like I have nowhere to go. It's not your fault.

Just goes to show how assumptions make me a donkey.

drowning in this tidal wave

Like a thundercloud, rumbling in, with music oddly quiet like the fading pink of the sky, piecing itself together after being split by a bolt of lightning.

Like having to break it down, into small, deal-able pieces: fingertips, eyes, favourite eyelashes, sleep-creased skin under the moonlight - so that, its not too overwhelming. The wholeness of something so extraordinary that it can't beheld all at once.

Like driving down a road at night, blind to everything but the glow of the dashboard on your profile, the rhythm of our breathing, the purr of the road under our feet; blind to the pinpricks of light flashing by, blown away by the force of the cool wind.

Its tightening something in my chest, having something in my grasp almost but not quite.
Like watching someone walk away, through blurry eyes. Knowing that my final memory is going to be fogged up and unclear, softly out of focus.

Even if I wanted to/How could I explain?
Coming through my head now/This tidal wave