between every single
word & i cannot
write you out of me.
i've been listening to blues & jazz all evening. candlelight & a cup of tea. sitting under my window sill. marvelling at the colour of the clouds.
solitude has a different meaning past midnight.
the fruitbats have returned for summer. i love watching their wings, sillouhetted against the sky. they remind me of inkblots.
i have fallen
for billie holiday.
you promised me that crying would feel good. i don't think you know how much practice i get these days
i kept a postcard just for you. i've already written your name on it. i just don't think i'll give it to you.
i'm just a mess wrapped up in electricity.
today was the first time in an age that i felt fine for more than two hours. i still ruined it though. i still managed that.
what if i had turned around & you were already gone?
i feel as though i'll never see you again. it's terrifying, yet i can't help noticing that it's true.
the clock is
tick-tock-beating
((she hears the caustic ticking of the clock))
i finally found a sylvia plath anthology. i just can't afford it. yet.
i don't think anything i did for you was obvious enough. why couldn't you just use that intelligence and realise? i bloody adore you & you keep ignoring me. i can't decide how to let go, because it'll probably hurt me more than it would ever hurt you.
oh look, you're
making me cry
again.
again.
again.
it's like a return ticket to agony
celina thinks she died in september.