hottempergininfusion

stuck fast…thoughts of the other woman

Second Rate

Why am I always the second rate fucker?
Shitting pencil shavings and urging myself to keep living.
Why can’t anyone just want me?
I just want to be fucking held tightly,
Touched by warm hands,
Skin on Skin,
To have someone just fucking there for me, for once.
But,
It’s too late,
I look like a hairless spaniel,
All flabby cheeks and sunken eyes,
I smack of loneliness,
A terrible stench of pain and suffering,
Broken bones,
Damaged goods,
The browning banana.
My chest just constantly feels hollow.
I can’t even weep for myself anymore.
I can’t.

Water colour

I keep having water-coloured dreams.
They spangle with your face and his face,
I do not know who I’m holding
Where I’m holding
Why I’m holding.

But it all still turns,
It all feels great,
Circulating in warmth,
Honey dripping from a brush.

Heat and light dash across us in limbs and loves.
All I want is it to stay.
Against my sheets,
At one with my brown skin,
This joyous feeling of another human with you.
Its all I have now,
As I am deprived from all love.

Alone.

Birthday

I turned 26 yesterday.
You phoned me to tell me I was getting old.
I laughed,
Stretching legs out in the hot bath.
Listening to your soft growl,
Wondering, if and how,
I will ever see you again.

It would have been the most glorious present.
To see you at my door, tired, spent,
But smiling and eyes like the rapture.
I’d have you all to myself till the day after,
When I’d have to give you back.
Birthday gone,
Now back to the old hack,
Of you and her,
and me.
On the edge of your circle,
Limping like a wounded tigress.
Watching and yelping , nothing less,
To do, but scream,
For you.
Happy Birth
Happy Day,
Remember I’m not yours,
I just can’t say.

Swing

We spoke on the phone for half an hour
You sounded sleepy and delicious.
I sipped from my beer bottle,
Kicking the peat underneath,
The hovering swing seat.

It’s so tough,
We talk of her like a woman in the way,
And you say, I miss you,
But we still have our island,
It’s still there.
Just out of reach,
And my drunken heart weeps.

It’s so depressing that the best part of my week,
Has been this call,
You could only make it,
Because you’re alone.
You don’t make it easy.
Everyday I have hated you,
Except today,
When I fell in love with you all over again,
Dust, tears and peat on my naive feet.

Existence

I’m scared of the curtain folding back and never seeing you again.
This distance between cities and times is fine.
That thin thread can be cut with diligent scissors.
But a thick comb of wool,
An unbreakable chain,
Is the most terrifying.

A loose spirit,
Between worlds, eras and dreams.
The silent shadow on your shoulder,
Unfeeling of warmth,
Un-hearing of words.
Dreaming of you,
High.

I have been so fortunate to know you,
To recognise your face and for you to call me ‘friend’.
Blessed to be here,
On this pane of existence,
With you,
It would be greedy of me,
To expect to have all of you as well.

Mr. Norton

And I miss you
I miss you so much,
All ratpack,
Strangers in the Night,
That’s Amore,
And when the moon hits your eye,
Over the blue ridge mountains of Virginia.
I miss your laugh,
The placing of that giant WW2 ring in my hand,
The dancing and the singing.
Ray Harryahusen and monsters in black and white.
Reciting curses and poetry,
Touching golden lions
Old Prescot clocks,
Mexicans in hats,
Calligraphy in wonderous black ink
I feel like you gave me so much
And now you have gone
I can’t do nothing but weep.

Headless

It’s all running around
Headless chicken.
No beak.
No break.
No any idea of the future.
I just want to dream.
So it all goes away.
Easy.
Shutting damp eyelashes.
But now I will really sit down and try.
T-r-y.
The words, the wonder,
The click of plastic nails on plastic buttons.
Could it lead me away?
Take me further.
Take me closer.
Don’t let me rot here,
Covered in dust,
With no head and a prune heart.

Bathory

You underestimated me.
I am a beast.
I am a fierce fire of hate
And you made me this way.
I have seen your eye wandering over their young skin,
Their shiny eyes,
Their glossy locks.
I have wept for your stares.
I have eaten the earth,
I have folded myself in their bones and rubbed red on hidden secrets.
I will create a sea of virginity,
A pack of headless young breasts.
All this living water that cascades my lungs and fills my pores,
Is what you have driven me to.
600 broken hearts cannot mend mine.

My heart is a ruined fruit

I’ve realised that it’s not you that’s making me hurt.
It’s the lack of you that’s making everything ache.
It’s the fact that in one minute you make me feel like Cleopatra and the next I feel like a shadow in a dark light.
It burns my heart knowing that someone else is getting your attention, your eyes, your skin, and yes it is that pathetic and yes, I am that pathetic.
I think about it too much, I think about you far too much because you are my warmth throughout my cold and insignificant days.
I think of you and I dream of all the situations we could be in.
They aren’t glamorous, they aren’t beaches or forests or castles, they are us, just us, on a bed next to an open window.
They are us, just us, sitting next to each other and you taking my hand in your own and clutching it tightly.
These stupid simple thoughts elevate me but also destroy me because it’s so unattainable.
And that’s because you are a coward.
And I love you too much.
I’m not asking for a pot of gold, a giant diamond or the world in palm, I’m asking for you.
Just you.
And when I remember that you netted my soul and trapped my heart knowing full well that you were never going to nourish it or cherish it, I crumble.
What follows my dreams is a white-hot lightening pain that I now associate with you.
You have murdered a part of me.
A bitter broken record.
My heart is a ruined fruit.

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