Quick Cups of Tea

I’m unwinding my thoughts walking down some greyscale street, all twisted guts, and finding morning light screaming on to tangled sheets. I left you after quick cups of tea, with none of the softness, or subtlety of night time. None of the light rhyme, pencil stars, eyelashes or out of tune guitars. At night, I can project poetry on your person, watch words swerve your skeleton. Its the dip, between collar bone and chest that I like best and I let words rest there for a while. A sort of sonnet on your lips, a simile on your smile. But, what is simple in the moonlight by morning never is. My eyelids peeling back like paint revealing that same old spot on that same old ceiling. Now, no fun. Just that bright white spotlight sun and my head walking. Me, myself and I we’re not talking. There’s an awkward silence inside myself and so I keep on kicking cobble stones and keep on praying to the beat of my feet. Heavy head, mind low, a plastic bag with high heeled shoes… we were supposed to go slow, and I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m tracing the love lines on my palms and lacing my fingers to make a cage to keep your eyes in. I don’t like the way they roam around each room there’s other guys in, I don’t like how I’ve shrunk myself, I’m always blushing, brushing off your name like it pains me, each love bite is just a bruise. I wish it could stay inside your room. But, I’ve begun to bloom, I get these growing pains, they beat in all by bones and sing in all my veins and I can’t crouch any more, play pretend, be small for you. I feel too tall for you, I never stand up straight beside you and now its knotting up my spine and see my skin, its full of spines and thorns. I don’t let anyone in. If you get closer, the pins stick further in. I’m Alice, life says “Drink me”, you shrink me. But now I’m growing and I’m pretty sure its showing. I have one hand out the window interrupting traffic flow in the street my feet are almost out the door. I can’t crouch anymore.
I haven’t written anything in ages. Too busy staring at that ceiling to stare at blank and empty pages, instead, I kiss counterfeit “I love yous” as carefully as can be on your forehead, and leave you after quick cups of tea.

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