ErraticNeurons

She makes her wings out of paper mache and post-it notes. They are stuck to her shoulders with super-glue and wishes that she pulled out the back of her throat, and every morning she has to remake them where they have ripped in the night as she rolled over on her narrow bed. They are patched with plasters and good intentions, and coloured with her smiles. (She smiles a lot.) He bought his wings from other people's dreams, because he doesn't think he has the imagination to create his own. They are white pigeon feathers driven through hollow steel rods, and they keep him up at night because he can't lie down with their bulk on his shoulders.

Our yesterdays were never made of sex and naked bones and cold coffee morning-afters in cold kitchens with words of caramel coated memories playing in the background. Our yesterdays were made of shy glances and mumbled hellos and goodbyes that ended with standing rubbing cold toes on colder pavements and wishing we could speak. Our yesterdays were never made of opened eyes and cautious good-mornings and   shared body heat in unknown rooms with arm-round-the-waist familiar “honey”s that haven't been said before. (So why are our tomorrows made of them?)

I am tripping over the ends of my sentences and swallowing jagged chunks of eight letter phrases (i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u) that hurt when they puncture the sides of my labouring lungs (it's getting so ha-ha-hard to breathe here) and when they slip down to my stomach they rip the walls so acid burns in my bones (you must be made of alkaline, 'cause i stop burning by you) lately i've been finding it hard to make my self move when i'm not going to see you today (cracking my knuckles don't help, it just hurts) i'm catching myself hanging on your words just in case you say the three i want to hear (eight letters, sound familiar?) there

1. Just because you like seals isn't any reason to dislike killer whales. (I mean, learn about the food chain girl, do you not like fish or something?) (And anyway, call them Orca's, it's prettier, and suits them better, because they're not whales at all) (Don't hate stuff you know nothing about) 2. Your half an inch shorter than me and my favourite person to hug. (Because you understand that I have to know I can let go. I hate being tied to anything that could abandon me) (I think you're one of my favourite people) (Please keep letting me hug you whenever I feel like it, I crave human contact even though it terrifies me) 3. Just p

I curl up in the corner in front of the door, so no one can get in, and drown myself in music lyrics and pencil shavings, with a headphone wire trapped between my teeth. To stop myself from yelling for you. I do sit-ups, let my aching muscles distract me. Not even my abdomen killing me can stop my lungs squeezing my heart till it beatbeatbeats for you. I drag a pencil across the page and just stare at the line. BlackonWhite it seems they're the only colours I see and all the greys in between. In the female eye, there are four colour receptors and in the male only three. This means girls can't be colour-blind. I

1. I asked you why you always wanted to hold me, and you said that you had cingulomania and you couldn't help it. I asked why you always held me so tightly, like I was going to fly away, and you said that you had barophobia and didn't trust gravity enough to keep me on the ground. I asked why you always asked if you could before you ever touched me, and you said that you thought I had aphenphosmphobia and didn't want me to be scared. I asked why you knew so many phobias and manias, and you said you had been looking them up to see if there was a reason that you felt addicted to seeing me. I told you that I had philophobia and you said that yo