fallen stars in your pockets

i used to wake up and wish i'd made yesterday worth living past and then waste that day in the same way and never once think to change it.

i used to cycle in the rain and cold and across the concrete by my bloodied palms and i used to give up.

i knew how much love cost and how much i could sell it for, how to lie better than i knew how to truth, and that is where he comes in.

he should have been a director, he knew how to get behind the scenes in my heart and change all the continuity errors.

even though the bike is rusted and the milisecond phone calls have gone, they are still part of my molecular structure.

memories are all we have to set us apart, memories and wars. 

even the worst of what we created was still new and exciting in its atom-bomb proportions of intimacy.

but cvilisations change, though the land inches slowly on. i am your country, your homestead. i am familiar.

my seas plunge deeper and darker than the dead eyes of a killer, whilst my mountains touch the skies like old lovers.

i am running away from solidity, viscosity, hoping that if i can just build up enough speed i might fly.

i run with bare feet over discarded bottlecaps, and leave concentric rainbow gasps on shallows of oil and old beer.

my contract to you is bound in stone, one milk-shined sphere for every promise i made you with touches and small words.

they are bound with smaller circles, each one interconnected, each bead intertwined with a nervous system made of darker colours and shadows on my skin.

the skin of the promises is thin, as if they may burst out at any time, catalystic consequences from dullard chrysalises.

it is a gift, too large and too heavy for my thinned bones, but held on by foolish hopes and soft whispers.

my breath is fluttering in my throat, the knees bleeding and my vision tunring green-green-black-blue as my steps increase.

my muscles are burning and i am turning my pulse into a combustion engine, and a contract must be signed by two parties. 

i swore on heartbeat and hopes that when i was done running, when my path had ended, i would return to you.

a small girl, with frayed edges and bitten-to-pieces lips, who can barely stay awake, alive.