Wednesday 

We were only meant to last for a moment.

We both knew we wouldn’t last for years like we spoke about drunkenly on my roof. 

There would be no house with an expensive oven, the kind that would cook pizza evenly. 

There would be no abundance of dogs. 

There would be no you and me in a rented apartment, watching the other sleep hoping neither of us choke on our own vomit. 

No late night text messages, no early morning coffee runs. 

No college breaks or laying in the sun. 

There was just you, me and a clock waiting to hit 90. 

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Sunday 

I wonder if she knows 

how much you love staying up all night 

and watching the sun rise. 

I wonder if she knows 

about all the bad days you have 

and how you like your eggs. 

Does she know about that night 

you kissed me to your favourite song? 

Lord knows my mind hasn’t shut up about that. 

I wonder if she likes the freckles on your nose 

and the way you always smell like Armani Code. 

But most of all I wonder how she tastes 

because ever since I’ve had yours lips on mine,

he tastes like a mistake. 

The Sun And The Streets 

We fell in love with each other And then with her. 

She gave us hope in exchange for gold, then slowly you’d given her everything you’d ever owned. 

We touched sporadically, losing our minds so rapidly. 

I took a few steps back while you fell through, and into the arms of someone who would never love you. 

She kept you warm but never fed, you looked so ill now from your toes to your head. 

You spent more time staying in bed, I couldn’t remember the last time you weren’t unkempt.

You never failed to go find her, even if it meant waiting around town till everyone bailed. 

You had given in to the vices, knowing they would quiet the noises. 

She took away the sun but showed you stars and galaxies, you spent more and more nights on the streets. 

You had no doubt and you felt free, all you had left were some faint memories that you lent to her so you could drown in her streams. 

Not Quite Yours

I light a cigarette and think about how I always wanted to spend Friday night

drunk enough to forget where I come from

with someone whose name I never learned. 
Now I only long to be snuggled up next to my window, aching to have your lazy body against mine as I listen to you talk about your day. 
I want your weekday exhaustion and your Friday night relief. 

I want your sleep drenched kisses, your saliva, and your warm breath. 
I light another. 
Strained voices and muffled laughter. 

I ask you what you’re wearing and imagine you trying to fall asleep beside me, my fingers running through your hair. 
I hear you go quiet and smile to myself, 

put out the cigarette with my fingers and shut the window. 

I then lie in my bed with all of you on my mind and fall asleep to the sound of you breathing.

Fusilli In Cauliflower Sauce

As an ambitious child who couldn’t wait to grow up, I always imagined myself being quite stable by now. I had seen all the things that people had done wrong and decided I’d learn from them.

 “I will never drink too much. I won’t smoke too often. No drugs. I won’t ever cheat. Never believe in religion.”

Well, I kept to one of those. 

I made all the mistakes I thought I never would and then some. I lost every little bit of ambition, I don’t have goals and I thrive on misery but I think I’m doing okay. I feel like an adult. Every now and then I think about how people are always telling me that drinking excessively, smoking and being apathetic does not make you an adult. But what does? Because all the adults I know now and ever knew, did things – maybe not the exact same things but nevertheless, still things that destroyed them in one way or another. I am all the people I have ever known. I am a dysfunctional adult but so are the rest of you because there is no other kind and while I realise that I am a mess, I will not change a thing. Well, maybe a few tiny things. I might just replace my greasy mac & cheese with fusilli cooked in cauliflower sauce sprinkled with cashew cheese.