Over dusty shoulders I see
a world I'll never win, and I should be anywhere..
Anywhere but here..

Dirty chalk clouds slur through a city sky
until they drop off the stale earth,
and this is my story, and I shall follow them,
and I shall fall. Harsh and ugly.

We lived life like we were the only ones not broken.

Your heart was the fist matching my bruises,
we were misplaced children, collapsed from our worlds
                                                  and collided.
We tugged our skin on the trees we climbed, trying to kidnap stars,
you tripped me up once or twice
and I stared at you
while you let your fingers
                      tiptoe cautiously
                              across each graze.

You were high and I wanted to save you,
because I heard the sound of your body breaking
                                           against bathroom floor tiles
making the air too painful to inhale.

All I had to offer was stolen clichés slammed into poetry,
you told me you wrote every word in your diary
and read them when the door locked me out
at twelve thirty AM and I followed flat clouds home,
                                          with a cigarette and smile.

I was in love with passion and everyone laughed,
                                                                     apart from one girl,
you, who pressed understanding against me like only I mattered.
We walked along our made-up streets all day,
                          and fell into our glittered dreams at night.

When you walked over our world with a boy at your side,
you took my voice and broke it
                                 into dull monotones with flat ugly words,
I felt betrayed but couldn’t think why.
I abandoned that song that held us together
                              and tried to crumble back into my own world
hoping you wouldn’t noticed
                                    that I had gone.

I tried to explain in postcards and sorry eyes,
but I clutched onto the paper like a child holds the key
                                to her secret box hidden under the bed,
so dropped the pen and let it all slink into the air.
I had too much to lose and I got tired of letting my heart
                                                          block the air from my lungs.
You spoke of how somebody was worried, how it felt like a dream,
I wondered if all the times I had slid out of the room
to brush my eyelashes dry had meant anything to you.
                                                 Anything at all.

I sang myself to sleep and dreamt of yesterday,
when we marched to the beat of
                                    me and
                                        you against
                                              the world.

With messy hair and my blue tinted lips, I whispered -
'show me something pretty' while kicking the mirror away,
I'm beginning to like how my skin looks,
                                                        pale and uneven,
but can’t stand how my eyes look -
                                left behind.